#angular 8

[shalcool15]

Embracing Angular 8: A Strategic Choice for IT Leaders in 2024

In the ever-evolving web development landscape, Angular stands out as a beacon of innovation, performance, and efficiency. With the release of Angular 8, the framework has again set new benchmarks, compelling IT leaders worldwide to take notice.

This blog post delves into the facets of Angular 8, enriched with the latest 2024 insights from leading market research firms, Forrester and Gartner. It explores why Angular remains the preferred choice for IT leaders over other technologies.

Angular 8: Unveiling the New Features

Angular 8 introduced several groundbreaking features, hire angularjs developers to simplify the development process further. Key among these features were:

Differential Loading of Modern JavaScript: A game-changer for performance optimization, Angular 8 automatically generates two builds of your app: one for modern, ES2015+ capable browsers and another for older browsers. This significantly improves loading times and efficiency, a critical factor in user experience and search engine rankings.

Dynamic Imports for Lazy Routes: Before Angular 8, lazy loading routes required a specific syntax and using the angular-router-loader for Webpack. Angular 8 simplified this by introducing dynamic imports, aligning with the modern JavaScript standard, and streamlining the development process.

Improved CLI Workflow: Angular 8 enhanced the Angular CLI, introducing new capabilities like the ng deploy command, simplifying the deployment process to various hosting services. This is a testament to Angular's commitment to improving developer productivity and operational efficiency.

Web Workers Support: Angular 8 made integrating web workers into your projects more accessible, allowing more intensive computations to be offloaded to a background thread. This enhances the application's responsiveness and overall performance, a key consideration for complex, data-intensive applications.

Ivy Renderer Preview: Although still in preview, introducing the Ivy renderer in Angular 8 marked a significant leap towards smaller bundle sizes, faster rendering, and better debugging. Ivy promises to revolutionize Angular applications' performance, making it a highly anticipated feature for future releases.

Why IT Leaders Choose Angular

In the competitive technology sphere, IT leaders are tasked with making decisions that align with strategic business goals, including technology adoption that ensures scalability, reliability, and developer productivity. With its robust ecosystem and forward-thinking features, Angular presents a compelling case if you are looking to hire frontend developers.

Alignment with Modern Web Standards

Angular's commitment to embracing modern web standards, as evidenced by features like differential loading and dynamic imports, ensures that applications are future-proof and optimized for current and emerging web environments.

Developer Productivity and Experience

Angular's comprehensive framework, including a powerful CLI, rich libraries, and a unified development approach, significantly boosts developer productivity. This ecosystem enables rapid prototyping, development, and deployment, which is crucial for meeting tight deadlines and high-quality standards.

Performance and Scalability

Performance is a non-negotiable attribute of modern web applications. Angular's architecture, coupled with features like the Ivy renderer and web workers, ensures applications are fast and scalable. IT leaders can use Angular confidently for small- and large-scale projects.

Community and Ecosystem Support

Angular benefits from strong community and corporate support, providing resources, libraries, and tools. This ecosystem ensures that Angular remains at the technological forefront, addressing emerging challenges and incorporating innovative solutions.

Insights from Forrester and Gartner in 2024

While direct quotes and statistics from 2024 Forrester and Gartner reports are beyond my scope, historical trends and expert analyses have consistently highlighted Angular's strategic advantages. These include its comprehensive feature set, robust ecosystem, and alignment with enterprise needs. IT leaders, driven by the need for robust, scalable, and efficient web solutions, often cite Angular's continuous evolution, community support, and corporate backing as critical factors in their decision-making process.

Conclusion

As we navigate through 2024, Angular 8 stands as a testament to the framework's enduring relevance and pivotal role in shaping the future of web development. Its innovative features enhance developer experience and productivity and significantly improve application performance and user satisfaction. For IT leaders, the choice of Angular is more than a technological preference; it's a strategic decision that aligns with long-term business objectives, ensuring their organizations remain competitive in a rapidly changing digital landscape.

In adopting Angular 8, IT leaders are leveraging technology and investing in a future where efficiency, performance, and innovation converge to create exceptional digital experiences. As Angular continues to evolve, it will undoubtedly remain at the forefront of web development, guiding enterprises seeking to thrive in the digital age.

[sigalrm]

Jay Bee und der 17. Juni by Pascal Volk Via Flickr: Dieses Mal sieht das Fahrrad viel besser aus als vor einem Jahr, als ich morgens von ihm stürzte.

[northopalshore]

Rising signs in the Groom Persona Chart: Their features

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The rising sign in your GPC tells you about your future spouse's appearance, physical attributes and how they present themselves. Picture it like reading their birth chart lol.

୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉

In the signs & degrees:

♰ Aries (1°, 13°, 25°):

Your future spouse could have very angular features, perhaps their eyes could be sharp or very striking. They could have an eager look to them, or they could look like a kid in a way. You could think that they're impatient or they may like to rush things a lot. They could have a great physique or look very hot. They could wear a lot of gym clothes, tight fitting outfits or just athletic wear in general. Either a dork (Maximilian Goof aka Goofy's son lol) or a gym rat.

♰ Taurus (2°, 14°, 26°):

They will dress very comfortably, while still looking extravagant. They could look sophisticated and very, very attractive i.e perfect smile, perfect teeth. They could be taller or heavier than you. They will be very calm, down to earth and put together. They could have a well built physique, and tough body.

♰ Gemini (3°, 15°, 27°):

They could have a slender face, pale skin and a narrow stature. They will look very expressive when they start talking, but have a rather dull resting face lol. They could look rather breezy if that makes sense. Not one to wear anything too fitted. They could have great facial symmetry. Something about their teeth will be very prominent i.e straight or very white.

♰ Cancer (4°, 16°, 28°):

They could have very soft, rounded features. Doe eyes. They could have a slight glow to their face and their eyes. Curvy body, soft lips. They could wear a lot of baggy or vintage looking clothes. They could gain weight quite easily. They will look kind and mellow. They could have a very inviting smile.

♰ Leo (5°, 17°, 29°):

Gorgeous hair, and that face card doesn't decline. They will love dressing in old Hollywood vintage clothing, old money or loud and expensive. They could have very wavy or curly hair that will catch anyone's attention. They also have a slight cocky look to them. They are attractive, and god do they know it.

♰ Virgo (6°, 18°):

They are usually very petite/short and frail looking. They could look compacted but not aggressively so. They will look very clean and polished. There will not be a single speck of dust on them nor will you spot an unironed spot on their clothing. They will love wearing comfortable yet elegant looking clothes. You'll notice they tend to lean on a specific silhouette or colour that they like.

♰ Libra (7°, 19°):

" They have the face of an angel and the body of a greek god" Beautiful. Elegant and gentle. Looking at them will leave you at a daze. They look good and know exactly how to dress for their body. All of their facial features blend in harmoniously, could have a symmetrical face too. Oval faces, bright eyes, pretty smile.

♰ Scorpio (8°, 20):

Usually, they will have very striking eyes. They could have eye bags or just darkened eyes in general. Like virgo, they could love to stare at you lol. Every feature they have will accentuate their eyes. They are very attractive ( s*xually) , everything about them will be sensual and seductive.

♰ Sagittarius (9°, 21°):

There could be a significant size difference between you. They could have very long legs, curly or fluffy hair, and animated facial features. They will look very charming, but goofy in a way. One look at them and you know they're somebody fun to be around. They could laugh a lot and look stoic (contemplating) at times.

♰ Capricorn (10°, 22°):

They could look very cold or uninviting. He could have a very relaxed yet also somewhat stern look on their face even with neutral emotions. They could look very mature, their eyebrows could often be furrowed lol. They could have very prominent bone structures i.e nose, hollow or defined cheek bones. They could look very "boney" in general lol. Very masculine.

♰ Aquarius (11°, 23°):

They could be very tall or slender. Their heads and arms could be quite prominent something about them will catch a lot of stray eyes. They likely have features that are rebellious in nature. They could have odd hairstyles/ colours (especially) or tattoos or piercings. They could dress very.. exotically? Strange? Their fashion style could be quite questionable to say the least but never are they boring to look at.

♰ Pisces (12°, 24°):

They will have very sad, sultry looking eyes that look almost sympathetic 24/7. They will seem like they're not really "there" with you i.e lost in thought or deep contemplation. They will have very rounded features. Their cheeks could look very puffy or rounded when they smile. You could think that they're too good to be true. Their skin could have a greyish undertone, almost like the moon is beneath their skin.

Note: If there are conflicting signs of their appearance for example you have Virgo rising (small, petite) in 2° Taurus (bigger, heavier) then it means your fs is considered large for a virgo i.e.gains weight easily, and are very well built or muscular while still not being overly built (lean).

˚₊‧꒰ა paid readings available ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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*** entertainment only, reader discretion is advised***

Thank you for reading ♡

@northopalshore

@northopalshore groom persona chart 2024 all rights reserved. Disclaimer

[lena-thinks-too-much]

It is so, so important to me that people understand that Tim didn't figure out the bats because Dick was a "Show off". Like yes, Dick Grayson is the most flamboyant, dramatic ass man you will ever meet.

But the quadruple somersault? There's no way that was because dick was just showing off. Because you're telling me Bruce Wayne, who's so committed to hiding his identity that he literally acts like a completely different person out of the mask in public just to ward suspicion, would miss the fact that Robin regularly uses the flying Grayson's trademark move? There's literally no way.

In the comics we see Tim explain his deductive process to Dick and Alfred and they're both surprised impressed whatever. We don't see him explain it to Bruce. I think Bruce would be surprised and shocked that a 9 year old was able to put the pieces together but I don't think he'd be surprised that the quadruple somersault gave it away.

So if Bruce was possibly aware of such an obvious give away, why let it continue?

I'll tell you why.

It really comes down to the physics

So Dick was 9 when he started out right? That means the most he'd have likely weighed was 43kgs or roughly 95lbs in freedom units.

But Dick and both of his parents are gymnasts who tend to be smaller. So he was likely less than that.

In physics, rotating objects build up angular momentum (this is how bikes stay up right for example). The more rotation, the more momentum. And objects with less mass build up that momentum much faster than those that are heavier.

Robin constantly has to fight people who are nearly 3 times his size. I teach 8 year olds, they're tiny. A quadruple somersault for a small boy that weighs less than a hundred pounds is a brutal weapon. Especially if you add in the acceleration from gravity as he drops in from above.

And I can guarantee you this logic tracks because Dick literally utilizes this idea, without the somersault, in the 2009 teen titans cartoon.

Yeah, that's right. We're talking about the infamous knee drop.

Like it is borderline savage. Add in a quadruple somersault and the resulting force is nearly fatal. It's likely the main reason Batman would ever allow him to do it with the cape on.

Also, Dick landing feet first on the penguin in the first image probably gave the guy severe back issues

[platinumaspiration]

Lovestruck + Sims Delivery Express Updates

Howdy! Hair comes fresh out the proverbial oven to your table. Please enjoy, let me know if any issues.

Afro Puff and Long Braided Pulled Ombre are part of my hair default collection so throw out the mesh files if you have that.

Barrel Twist has an ombre option as well and Fringe has a femme version. I forgot pictures 😣

Download EP16 - SFS | MF Download SDX033 - SFS | MF Download SDX035 - SFS | MF

updated 8 Sept 2024

details below the cut:

EP16 Angular Fringe CU-EU | base colors | animated | 2.502 poly

EP16 Brush Up UM | base colors | 2.756 poly

EP16 Burst Fade UM | base colors + 5 ombre | 3.580 poly

EP16 Curl Pony TF-EF | base colors + 5 non-tinted | animated | 3.186 poly

EP16 Fringe UU | base colors | 3.599 poly

EP16 Long CF-EF | base colors | animated | 3.266 poly

EP16 Long Wavy TF-EF | base colors | animated | 3.704 poly

EP16 Short Hair Pin CF-EF | base colors | animated | 3.900 poly

EP16 Top Bun TU-EU | base colors | 2.110 poly

EP16 Twist Clip TF-EF | base colors | animated | 3.007 poly

SDX033 Long Braided Pulled Back Ombre TF-EF | 5 ombre colors | animated | 6.185 poly

SDX033 Afro Puffs Ombre CF-EF | 6 ombre colors | 3.350 poly

SDX035 Barrel Twist TM-EM | base colors + 6 ombre colors | 5.462 poly

SDX035 Bombshell UF | base colors | animated | 3.636 poly

SDX035 Ponytail UU | base colors | 3.112 poly

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

what placements indicate having vampire beauty?

Vampiric beauty

—Scorpio placements, scorpio degrees (8, 20) on the big 3. I’ve noticed these placements have their eyes emphasized through eyeliner, kohl, or eyeshadow! They usually have eyeshadow, mascara, their brows are done or left natural which adds to their allure! Some may have beautiful thick brows!

—Libra placements/degrees add harmony to the facial structure. Vampires tend to have a soft charm to them that really grabs you by the scruff, something so subtle and it really helps to hide their ferocity. Even more allure! Libras’ can also have airbrushed skin from how much they care for it. Looks quite supernatural. Even the way they move is slow and gentle.

—Aquarius placements have a unique facial structure, their asymmetry is what makes them attractive. One brow might be raised more than the other giving them a very pointed, sharp look. Aquarius’s can have piercing eyes and a gaze so deep it sends shivers down your spine. They may prefer to outline their lips in liner, or something darker to add contrast to their face. May have a bolder stride, get out of my way kind of walk.

—Aquarius’s also may have a refined voice to them, something so grounded and sharp to it. You can tell it’s distinct. Something about it pulls you in like a calling. There is something real edgy to their eyes. Something you know you can’t trust. It also calls you in to the void, urging your body to jump.

—Gemini and Leo placements look amazing in voluminous hairstyles. With their powerful stride their hair bounces with every step and you know they’re on their way to eat your heart out.

—Gemini/Mercury dom placements may prefer having their nails done stiletto shape, giving them that vampiric appearance. Red nails. They love caring for their hands and may post pictures of then holding a mug, or if they’re feeling really confident, your shirt collar as they lean in for a bite <3

—Gemini’s also have lips that are prominent in nature. They can wear a lot of gloss to attract attention there, or have sharper thinner lips when they smile. Lifted cheeks to express their never ending youth of a vampire.

—I’d also see taurus placements having this, but only if they have a scorpio degree on their big 3, heavy mars aspect/placement, heavy Saturn influence. Most Taurean’s I know go for a simple put together style, not necessarily dark in nature unless paired with the aspects I mentioned.

—Taurus women/venus 1h have beautiful facial structure as well. Well defined and cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper. Even more emphasized when they dress sharply and its dark! With darker colored clothes, angular pieces like coats and knee length boots that clack heavily in the midst of the fog.

—Pluto-venus asp adds a touch of darkness to their outfits.

—Capricorn, saturn dom women just have that beautiful fine wine energy. They are so graceful. The thing is they may have had a baby face growing up and as they near their mid twenties to thirties, their bone structure pops. Vampiric of them all and timeless charm, and there is something visually nostalgic to them. A 90s fashion model vamp trapped in the modern day era <3

—They look great in long coats, leather motorcycle jackets, platform boots. Some may have a stout nose giving them a sharper appearance with softer cheeks (asp to neptune can add this) and some may have piercing eyes cutting into you like a knife. These women embody femme fatale with low neckline dresses.

They’ll eat you out and undress you with their eyes before they touch you.

[bluebeads-art]

2024 December 24th

SECRET SANTA ATTACK!! A beetle Loop for my gift victim @petrii-dish >:3c

I saw "insects" and "Loop" on their wishlist and neurons started firing. I'm always saying that I love when people creature-fy characters I like, but I've never done the creature-ing myself until now!

While going through Pep's blog for inspiration, I saw art of a woolly chafer beetle drawn by @/bowelfly. I'd never seen them before, and let me tell you they're the cutest bug I've ever seen and I was obsessed with them immediately. So round... so woolly...

As I was going down the woolly chafer appreciation rabbit hole, I started noticing traits I could incorporate into Loop's design. And thus; beetle Loop! :] (Although their antennae are more common cockchafer inspired. Their big antenna fans are so fancy!)

Lots of rambling and bonus art of a much more beetle-looking Loop under the cut, so be warned if you're squicked by bugs

The creatuuuure. Boop here was my first time trying to draw organic shapes with vanishing point guides and such. It went... okay...? No clue how people apply that to more complicated shapes like people though, heh.

Anyways, back to the humanoid Boops. The design elements I focused on were the antenna leaves looking like those shards of light you can see in the opening CG and some of Loop's portraits, the fluff and tibia spikes substituting for Loop's skin frizzles, wings with veins made up of constellations, and that very peculiar angular elytra shape. ;)

I had to stop myself from going ham and making the design super detailed, because I wanted it to look like something you could reasonably imagine in-game. I think I did alright in that regard! Their suspicious elytra ended up feeling fitting too, since only seeing them from the front in-game would make that foreshadowing more subtle. Also, while my decision to make them a beetle was 100% just "I really love that beetle I saw", I like the implication that the Universe was like, "Stars, you have a thick shell. Become a beetle." 😂

I struggled for a bit trying to place clock hands in the first drawing, but then I started to think that a handless clock is kinda fitting? Love when I can cover laziness with symbolism. :P

Time taken on designing and the first two drawings was 31 hours and 34 minutes (I forgot to tally them separately whoops), and beetle Boop took 8 hours and 44 minutes. It was supposed to be a doodle (because common cockchafers are sometimes called "doodlebugs" get it-) but I'm SO bad at doodling. Got lost in the perspective ruler sauce.

Check out @isat-secretsanta-2024 for more cool art, and have a happy holiday! ♥

[stargirlygirl]

no, you can't buy my ranch

rancher!sylus x spoiled!city girl!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one: new home

summary: today is the day you move into your dad's ranch house, but there's a problem. who is this silver-haired man touring your property?

contains: swearing, angst, 1.5k words

You never thought it would come to this, but as rolling grassy hills and cattle whir past your tinted car windows, you realise it indeed has.

You’re a city girl. You love the buzz and bustle of the concrete jungle; the fact that there are so many people, no one looks at you. You blend right into this fashion-forward, $8 coffee-drinking, road rage mania. It’s your home.

When your father bought a property in the middle of nowhere a few years ago, you didn’t think much of it. Not until a couple of months ago, when he asked you to pack up and move in there for the next year, so he won’t be taxed on rent collection. You were in utter disbelief and refused straight off the bat. You couldn’t give up your barista-made 57-degree oat milk lattes, let alone your apartment, or your job. And what of your gym membership? Your weekly outings with friends?

But here you are, growing frustrated at your GPS as you try to navigate the few roads of this tiny town.

You’ll be working remotely for as long as you stay here, and daddy-poo bought you an espresso machine in preparation for your move. In your mind, this next year couldn’t go any faster. You can’t wait to be out of here. Sure, the countryside looks nice. But it’s not going to be very nice when you find snakes in your backyard and can’t pop down to the supermarket after work because it closes at 5pm.

And don’t get me started on the small town gossip. Within days, everyone here will be fluent enough in your life story to write a biography about you. What high school you went to, every crush you’ve ever had, how many times you’ve peed in the pool, all of it! They’re going to know, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them from talking about it. You said so to your father when he saw you off.

“This is a bad idea,” you pouted. And he just sighed and waved as you pulled out of the parking lot and hit ‘start route’ to your new hellhole home.

For the third time in the last hour, your GPS has missed a turn and is now redirecting you back to the main road. The busy ice cream parlour workers must be tired of seeing your rust bucket of a car; they’re probably gossiping about this fucking loser who keeps circling. Determined not to go past your turn again, you drive extra slow, take the right lane, and round the corner when clear.

Driving to the end of empty grasslands, you find a small ranch house. Blue-tiled roof, white exterior, chimney, and is that a rocking chair on the porch? The sun is setting, tangerine hues casting the quaint house in a cosy glow. It’s enchanting, even more so as you pull off the dirt road and park on a nearby worn patch where you assume the prior tenants parked.

But there’s just one problem.

On the opposite side of the dirt trail is a black pickup truck. Stepping out of your beat-up tin car, the hinges groaning as you gently shut the door. Staring at the intruding vehicle, you notice the red interior of the truck and various tools stacked up on the tray. Huffing, you head to the passenger’s side and turn your handbag inside-out looking for the house keys. Upon grasping them, you lock your car and stride up your new ‘home’.

Drawing closer, you hear muffled voices from the side of the house. A deep, resonating chuckle accompanies feet crackling on the tall shrubs. You change course, following the sounds of the approaching strangers instead. It only takes a few seconds before silky silver locks glinting in the fading light come into view, followed by narrow crimson eyes. They settle on you instantly, zeroing in and assessing you like a predator does to its prey.

He’s gorgeous. Ahem. Fine. He looks fine.

Angular features, rippling muscles beneath his button-up, broad shoulders and the sluttiest little waist (that black vest understood the assignment). You’re practically ogling him with how your lips are parted, a bit of spit forming at the corner of your mouth while your eyes rake up and down his every line and curve.

Sylus’s dark boots squish every insect and hint of vegetation in their path until he stops a few feet away from you. His shadow looms over you, making you feel small and weak. His eyes have you glued in place, rendering you speechless and flushed as you wish you could run to your car and book it back to the city. So what if it’s another six-hour drive? Who cares? You certainly don’t if it means escaping the hunk of man in front of you.

Feebly, you murmur, “Who’re you?” The way it comes out, you sound like an abandoned kitten drenched by an unrelenting storm. He smirks; it sends chills rolling up your spine.

“I could say the same about you, kitten,” he confidently drawls.

Your eyes widen as you stutter, “W-what? What did you just call me?”

The man by his side, whom you haven’t even spared a glance at, interjects, “Miss, this is private property. If you don’t identify yourself, then you could be charged with trespassing.”

“Trespassing?!” You echo, a hint of panic in your tone.

Crossing your arms beneath your chest, you scold him, “If anyone’s trespassing, it’s you two.” Your gaze flickers to the silver-haired man, his sharp eyes still fixated on you; they observe every breath you take, the darkness beneath your eyes, and how you shift uncomfortably on your feet like you’ve been driving for hours.

You continue, irritated, “My father owns this property. Who’re you to come here and accuse me of—”

“Oh,” Sylus interrupts, his voice rich like dark velvet.

“So, you’re Miss L/n, then?” He continues with a raised brow and a mocking grin on his perfect face. Oh, how you wanna punch it off! You nod, a little knot in your brow, which he finds amusing.

The silver-haired man introduces himself, “I was hoping to make your acquaintance sooner or later. I am Sylus, and I’d like to purchase your ranch.”

Your jaw slackens as you stare at him, sputtering, “Y-you what?”

“Mr Qin is a successful ranch owner and businessman. You have quite a nice block of land, Miss L/n. I was showing him around the property in preparation for a sale, once your father gives the word, of course,” the other man explains. You notice that he’s in a suit and holding several papers. Must be the real estate agent, you think.

You scoff, “Who… who do you think you are, you prick?” Pointing at Sylus, you scowl, “You have no right to be inspecting my land and you—” Your fury switches to the real estate agent, “are out of your fucking mind! Showing potential clients around here? Are you so desperate for commission? Get the fuck out of here or I’m calling the police.”

Delving into your back jean pocket, you retrieve your phone and open the dial pad.

Sylus’s charming chuckle unnerves you, “There’s no need to do that, sweetie. The tour is finished anyway.” Glancing up from your screen, you step back reflexively as he steps forward.

He holds out a red card between his long fingers, smirking, “My business card for when you’re ready to negotiate price.” You snatch it from him, glaring at him the entire time. And you don’t stop until you can make out his tall figure (bakery in full view btw) amongst the sunset backdrop, climbing into his truck and driving away in a flurry of dust and mystery.

Locking your phone, you slide it into your pocket and flip over Sylus’s business card. Address, email, phone number, all detailed in silver embossed lettering on a smooth background. But not as smooth as his voice. What?

Shaking those thoughts out of your head, you trudge back to your car and flip open the boot. It’s a long night, pulling out the few boxes you could fit, carrying them up the porch steps and eventually dumping them in the warm living room. Luckily, everything’s mostly furnished. It’s just your homely touch that needs to be added.

You unpack the ‘essentials’ box: toiletries, fry pan and toaster, and phone charger. Shortly afterwards, you collapse into bed, a certain silver-tongued fox on your mind. His shrewd gaze haunts your dreams, as do the defined contours of his body, evident in the afternoon light.

Oh, what it would be like to feel such muscles beneath your palm, to have his eyes on you for eternity. Such dreams are forbidden, yet you cannot stop the wandering mind from doing just that in the early hours of the morn.

masterlist

[nenoname]

How Stan+Ford+Bill refer to each other

Stan

Ford:

Childhood: Stanley (9)

Teen: Stan (2)

Pre-Portal: Stanley (15), my brother (5), S (2)

Post-Portal: Stanley (33), Stan (13), my brother (7), my hotheaded brother, idiot (2), knucklehead, [Dipper's] uncle Stan, hero, stubborn mullet-haired frostbitten vagabond, wrinkly carnival barker, irresponsible shortcut-loving overgrown child, cheater, fraud, "looks like me if I gave up on life"

Post-Weirdmageddon: Stanley (16), Stan (5), my brother (2), Stanley Pines, hero (2), the man who saved the world, "selfish jerk", the most selfless man I’ve ever met in any dimension

Lost Pages: S (5), Stanley (4), my brother (3)

(S is a pre-portal incident Journal only thing + pre-portal incident Journals only has "Stanley" mentioned in code, tends to call him Stan when talking to the kids)

Bill:

Pre-Weirdmageddon: Stan Pines, Stan (6), old man, [D+M's] uncle, you idiot, Stanley

Post-Weirdmageddon: Stanley (7), Stan (10), Stanley Pines (2), fat grandpa, fumbling idiot con man, weaker copy of Sixer, Bootleg Sixer, mouth breathing carnival barker, gambler, lifelong loser, goofus, PTSD Barnum, side character, co-dependent, stupid, tacky, smug, unworthy, resume-inflating cheap trick loving past-denying overgrown child, pathetic excuse for a 5-sensed three-dimensional one-life spanned skin puppet, carbon-copy of a better genetic duplicate, conman clown, Lucky Stan

Non-canon shorts/Reddit AMA/That cut perpetual machine nightmare: Stan, Stanley, Stan Pines, slick

Lost Pages: inferior clone, brother (when pretending to be Ford)

(Most of the post-Weirdmageddon Stan mentions are for the "fun" facts in the Wheel of Shame, Bill spends the How not to Draw short never directly acknowledging Stan which I find hilarious)

Ford

Stan:

Childhood: Sixer (5), Stanford, Ford, Poindexter, bro, buddy

Teen: Sixer, Stanford (2), nerd robot

Pre-Portal: Stanford (5), pal, you jerk

Post-Portal: Stanford (3), Ford (8), Poindexter (2), my brother (11), brother, bro, the Author of the Journals, you ungrateful-, my nerdy twin brother, my dumb brother, know-it-all, dangerous-know-it-all, world's nerdiest old man, show-off, that jerk, stuck up son of a gun

Post-Weirdmageddon: Sixer (5), Ford (3), my brother (5), Stanford, Fordsy, bro, my nerdy bro, Brainiac, Mr Goody Nerd-Shoes

(Tends to use "Stanford" when shit's serious, yes i'm including the two getting traumatised by thrist comments clip come and stop me)

Bill:

Pre-betrayal: Sixer (2), Stanford, smart guy, Stanford Pines

Post-betrayal: Sixer (5), Stanford (2), Ford (4), Stanford Filbrick Pines, Stanford Pines, ol' Six-Fingers (2), Fordsy (2), my old pal, IQ, Mr Brainiac, Brainiac (2), [Mabel's] uncle, our friend, old man, kid, tough guy, pal, Mr Serious

Post-Weirdmageddon: Sixer (20), Ford (7), Fordsy (2), drama queen, fella, sad nerd, genius, idiot, partner, Mr Tabletop Gaming, backstabber, gallant, perfect pawn, pet human

Lost Pages: Sixer (7), Fordsy, Slick, pal, my old pal, my property

Bill

Stan:

Pre-Weirdmageddon: Bill (3), all-powerful space demon, you one-eyed demon, wise-guy

Post-Weirdmageddon: Bill (3), Bill Cipher, little wise guy, Pointy, jerk of the week, narc

Non-canon shorts/That cut perpetual machine nightmare: you creepy triangle, guy (3), nacho, cop

Ford:

Pre-betrayal: My Muse (19), a strange being from a higher plane, being (3), strange whimsical creature, true friend, Bill (2, however!! this is from Dreamscaperers long before J3 was properly written)

Post-betrayal: Bill (default way of referring to him), My "muse" (3) Bill Cipher (10), Cipher (10), the demon (2), my enemy (3), you insane three sided--, The Beast with Just One Eye, the devil, liar, monster, angular psychopath, nightmare in disguise, king of nightmares, the Triangle, a has-been, a needy theater kid

Lost Pages: Bill (17), my Muse (11), Cipher (18) , Bill Cipher (2), extradimensional deity of knowledge, Cill Bipher, this Bill guy

[lynxastrology]

Intimidating placements ⛓️💥

Disclaimer: These observations are based on my personal interpretations <3

Mars dominance: These people might face alot of challenges in life but their resilience and their willpower is what makes them powerful. They have a fiery energy to them and are very energetic people. These people never quit when they are faced with a challenge and are very independent. This placement gives off major WARRIOR vibes. The only problem about this placement is controlling anger which might take time but once they master how to channel their anger, These people are immensely powerful and strong both mentally and even physically. Can bless someone with great mental strength.

Aries ascendant/ aries dominance: These people are naturally very assertive. When they set a particular goal, they make sure that they finish it ASAP. These people have low level of patience which can cause some problems in their life but the drive towards their goals is nearly unstoppable. Their confidence and assertiveness is intimidating.

Capricorn mars/MC/rising: These people have absolutely zero tolerance for bullshit. They’re not bossy, they are the boss. Since they are heavily ruled by saturn, they have this air of authority around them and saturn also indicates karma so if anyone messes with them, karma will hit those people 10 times harder. People naturally see them as someone who is the BOSS and they might look kinda stoic and strict. They have patience but once they lose it, then can be very intimidating and merciless. BOSS BITCH energy FS

8°,20°: Personal planets (venus, MARS, rising) can bless someone with lots of sex appeal (esp if this degree is on the mars/venus). Their aura is just powerful even if they think they are not, people naturally see them as someone who is powerful, resilient and sexually attractive. 8° on the mars can make the mars sign a lil scorpionic 🦂.

Lilith square ascendant: This is a very intense placement in a birth chart. They evoke strong reactions from people and might have been a victim of bullying during the early years. These people usually get hate for no reason especially from women and its cuz of pure jealousy. One of the most sexiest and intimidating placements to have in a birth chart. Especially women with this placement intimidate alot of men but men also find them to be sexually attractive and seductive. People with this placement get alot of jealousy and hate which can shatter their confidence. Working on themselves and bringing back that confidence will make them very sexy, intimidating and powerful. They might have very intense facial features which look raw and sometimes even scary.

Pluto-sun aspects: These people radiate power and charisma (esp the easy aspects). Sun is all about identity, ego and pluto is about power and transformation. This aspect can make someone very resilient and they can handle pressure quite smartly. I have sun sextile pluto and i can handle pressure pretty well. These people are naturally persuasive and this placement is also kinda scorpionic 🦂❤️‍🔥.

Asteriod aura(1488) conjunct mars/MC in aries/scorpio/capricorn: Their aura might be very commanding and authoritative. These people might also viewed as a sex symbol and someone who is intimidating. They might also have a prominent sex appeal which can be viewed as seductive and dangerous (in a sensual way).

10°,8°,22° on the ascendant: Having these degrees on the ascendant means that your first impression to people would be strong and intense. 8° degress on the ascendant can give dark and sharp features to the native. Meanwhile, 10°, 22° (esp 10°) can bless someone with sharp and angular features. People who have this degree on the ascendant literally look like models and they look very seductive as well. These people can capture people’s attention and make heads turn fr 💋.

1st house ruler in the 10th house: These people usually are very charismatic and have a big presence to the people around them. They command respect and they naturally get that respect. This placement can be a fame indicator. Everyone knows their name and who they are because they attract popularity so effortlessly. Their career is the most important aspect in their life and they can also be authoritative. These people can also be excellent CEOs, entrepreneurs because they have an energy that intimidates people in a way that everyone respects them. Another BOSS BITCH placement ✨.

saturn-asc hard aspects: People with this aspect have the ✨best✨ bone structure. This placement is kinda similar to capricorn mars. These people have very defined facial features and their face naturally looks kinda stoic. I have this placement and everyone tells me that i have a stoic/ rbf. They have an aura about them that is authoritative and disciplined and these people also have good sex appeal as well. These people usually age like fine wine.

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 9/?)

There is a monster inside all of us. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you are no exception.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 5,7K

Warnings: blood and violence, graphic violence, slight hints of reader's past, murder, description of deaths, delusions about dead people, attempted murder, threats, torture, kidnapping, canon-typical Silco violence, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence, proceed at your own risk.

Part 8

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━ The cigar smoke rose lazily, forming an opaque veil that clung to the low ceiling of the room. The lack of ventilation made the air heavy, saturated with the acrid scent of tobacco that seemed to seep into the walls, the wooden floor, and even the skin of anyone present. But no one complained. Complaining would be an act of stupidity. And in front of Silco, during those moments when he sat in silence, his expression neutral and molded by an unsettling self-control, the last thing anyone wanted was to test the limits of that man.

The cigar was the only thing that moved in his hands as his eyes remained fixed on the man before him. Tied to a chair, the unfortunate soul was unconscious, his pale face betraying significant blood loss but still alive — for now.

He took a slow drag from the cigar, the orange glow of the ember briefly illuminating his angular face. It was ironic, he thought. He, a man who had always taken what he desired, now found himself on the opposite side, dealing with the fact that someone had dared to steal from him. The thought almost made him smile, but there was no humor in his expression — only disdain.

Sevika had been efficient in her work, as always. The bodies in the apartment were identified as mercenaries, but that only raised more questions. Who had hired them? It didn't seem to be any of the chem-barons. Even in their arrogance and stupidity, they knew that challenging Silco was tantamount to signing their own death warrant. Besides, it wasn't their style; the barons preferred silent intrigues, subtle manipulations that maintained the facade of loyalty while they schemed in the shadows.

Perhaps it was a smaller player, some aspiring crime boss in Zaun trying to prove himself. Silco knew the type well — men desperate to gain relevance in a world that ignored them. And yet, something didn't add up. The operation seemed too specific. Calculated.

He took another drag, exhaling the smoke in a long breath as he considered another possibility. What if it wasn't about him? What if the target was her?

The thought bothered him more than it should. Absurdly, it didn't seem impossible — not after what he'd seen. She clearly had enough skill to survive an assassination attempt. Even so, it was hard to imagine anyone having a reason to pursue her so persistently. She had always seemed like someone who avoided major trouble, who preferred to stay out of the spotlight — until she met him. But Silco knew that life was rarely so simple.

He recalled something she had said once, with that firm tone and a gaze that seemed to pierce through his soul: "Men have this pathetic need to turn anything they desire into property." At the time, he had dismissed it as a generic comment, a reflection of her natural sarcasm. Now, the words felt different. Perhaps they made more sense than he cared to admit.

Men like him understood that need all too well. He was a living example of it.

Silco allowed a faint, cynical smile to curve his lips for a moment. "Property." It was almost ironic to apply that word to their relationship now, though technically, it wasn't wrong.

Perhaps the one who orchestrated this was someone who viewed her that way — someone who couldn't accept that she had retired from working at the brothel. An old client, perhaps, someone who couldn't stomach being discarded.

Silco took one last drag from his cigar before extinguishing it beneath the sole of his boot. The ember hissed faintly as it died out, but the air around him remained thick with tension and the promise of violence. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, almost lazy, as his sharp eyes focused on the man tied to the chair.

Silco had dealt with situations like this before — collateral damage and potential problems eliminated before they became real threats. He had cleaned up the loose ends, eradicated clients he deemed problematic, all without her knowledge. To her, Silco was simply the man with Kate's blood on his hands, nothing more. In truth, there was much more, but he preferred his dove to remain in ignorance. Some truths were simply too inconvenient to be revealed.

The thought brought a brief flicker of satisfaction. She would never know. The deaths were a small price to pay to keep her safe — or at least, to keep her his, where she belonged.

"Wake him."

The command came out low but laced with authority. Sevika didn't hesitate for a second. She stepped toward the man with firm strides, her expression impassive, and delivered a sharp slap across his face. The sound of the impact echoed in the small space, followed by a muffled groan. The unfortunate soul's eyes flew open in a jolt, his breathing rapid and disoriented as he tried to grasp where he was. He struggled, pulling at his arms and legs, but quickly realized the bindings that held him to the chair. Only then did his gaze land on Silco.

Ah, that moment. Silco lived for moments like this. He saw the recognition in the man's face, followed by an overwhelming fear he couldn't hide. The wide eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. It was almost comedic, if it weren't so predictable.

The man swallowed hard, the sound audible even in the silence of the room. Oh, he knew. He knew exactly who he was dealing with, and the panic emanating from him was almost tangible. Silco stepped forward, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor marking each second, each frantic heartbeat of the man.

For a brief moment, the prisoner seemed to falter, as if calculating his chances of survival. Perhaps he would have preferred to die at her hands—the woman who nearly killed him. At least she might have granted him the mercy of a quick death. But Silco wasn't so generous. There was no honor in what he would do.

"So." Silco began, his voice low and deliberate, carrying a calm that was as deadly as any weapon. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes assessing the man as if he were something unworthy of even breathing. "Who sent you?"

The man opened his mouth, hesitant. "I... I don't know. I was paid, that's all. Just a simple job, you understand?"

Silco let an uncomfortable silence linger between them, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on the man with an overwhelming intensity. Then he turned his back on him, walking to a nearby table. His gloved fingers picked up his dagger, spinning it between them in a gesture that seemed distracted but was far from casual.

"That was the wrong answer." Silco turned his head slightly toward Sevika, a small but sufficient gesture. "Teach him the value of better answers."

Sevika smirked, that sly grin laden with sarcasm and anticipation. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and delivered a sharp punch to the man's stomach. The impact was brutal, forcing the air from his lungs in a groan of pain. He doubled over in the chair, restrained by the bindings, coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

"Oh, I didn't say to kill him, Sevika." Silco remarked casually, sitting back down with the dagger still in hand. He adjusted his jacket calmly, his eyes fixed on the man. "We still need him functional. For now."

"Of course, boss." Sevika responded automatically, but Silco could detect the faint amusement in her tone. She stepped back, standing like a shadow at his back.

The man was desperately gasping for air, coughing out broken words. "I swear... I don't know anything! I was just paid to... to take her... to the bridge. That's it. I didn't even know what they were going to do with the girl after I got paid."

Silco raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "Take her to the bridge? Then who paid you?"

"I don't know!" the man cried, the desperation clear in his voice. "It was just... just a middleman. Some guy. I swear!"

Silco tilted his head again, his gaze cold and methodical, like a scientist examining a failed experiment. He sighed, as though lamenting the effort he was about to expend. "Sevika."

Before he had even finished speaking, Sevika was back in action. She grabbed the man's arm, twisting it until he screamed again. The sound was deafening, but Silco showed no reaction, waiting patiently for the man to stop yelling.

"Last chance." Silco said, his tone so calm it was almost a whisper. "If you keep giving me useless answers, I'll start to think your life isn't worth much. And Sevika isn't known for her patience."

"I... I don't know his name!" the man sobbed, his face drenched in sweat. "But... but he had a Piltover accent. He was... too refined to be in Zaun. He gave me a sack of coins and said to make sure she... that she was delivered alive."

The silence that followed was long. Silco allowed the words to hang in the air, a small curve forming on his lips. "Now we're getting somewhere. Continue."

The man hesitated, his lips trembling and his eyes darting nervously between Silco and Sevika. "He... he mentioned something about... a recoil. Said it would be the only time she'd be vulnerable."

"Recoil?" Silco repeated, each syllable laced with curiosity and threat. "Explain."

"I... I'm not sure!" the man hurried to reply, his voice trembling, barely audible. "He said we'd have to... sacrifice some men. That she... that she'd only let her guard down if forced. Something about creating a distraction. That's all he said, I swear!"

Silco allowed himself a moment of reflection. It confirmed something he'd suspected but hadn't been certain of until now. He had found who he'd been searching for years ago, though he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this newfound certainty. Running his thumb along the edge of the dagger, he appeared deep in thought before looking up again.

"A plan this specific for what should've been a simple capture. Why?"

"I... I don't know!" the man whimpered, shaking his head in denial. "I swear, I don't know! They just told me to follow the plan. They didn't give me any explanations!"

"Wrong answer." Silco pronounced the words with a chilling coldness that made the man flinch before Sevika even moved.

Sevika, in her usual efficient manner, pulled a short knife from her belt and pressed the blade against the side of the man's arm. Not cutting him immediately, but making the threat tangible. "Perhaps this will refresh your memory." Silco commented, nodding toward Sevika. She pressed the knife hard enough for blood to begin seeping out, slow but visible.

The man cried out, his resistance shattering like glass under a hammer. "Please! Please! All I know is he said... she had a weakness! Something about... about her only holding out for ten seconds before retreating. I don't know what that means, I swear on my life!"

Silco narrowed his eyes, taking in every word. He knew there was a thread of truth in what the man said, but he also knew much more remained concealed. Slowly, he rose to his feet, the dagger firm in his grip.

"You're running out of usefulness." Silco remarked, his tone indifferent. He turned to Sevika. "Make him remember more details. I'm sure there's something buried in his memory."

Sevika smirked, that cruel, predatory smile that always preceded more pain. She sheathed her knife and grabbed the man's hand. Before he could protest, she twisted his fingers at an unnatural angle, the sharp crack echoing through the room as his scream filled the air.

"SHE'S A MONSTER!" he bellowed, pain and fear twisting every word. The declaration hung in the air, but Silco showed no immediate reaction. He simply stood there, motionless, dagger in hand, his eyes fixed on the man as if deciding his fate at that very moment. "And they want her back. At any cost!"

Silco's gaze narrowed. He raised a hand — a simple gesture that made Sevika step back, though she remained alert, her eyes locked on the man like a guard dog awaiting its next command. The silence Silco let fall over the room was calculated, suffocating. He advanced slowly, each step echoing against the old wooden floor. When he finally stopped in front of the man, he leaned in until their faces were nearly level.

"A monster, you say?" Silco paused torturously long. "Interesting choice of words."

"Please..." the man choked, trying to beg for mercy, but his dry throat made the words difficult. Silco tilted his head slightly, almost as if in childlike curiosity.

"Why don't you tell me where she is now? Where exactly was this 'monster' taken?"

The hesitation in the man's eyes was fleeting. The physical pain and overwhelming fear rendered him incapable of holding out any longer. He took a deep, shuddering breath before letting the words spill out as though each one was a confession of guilt. "A warehouse... still in Zaun... near the bridge. It's used as storage for a fireworks shop. Blue building." he paused for a moment, his eyes wide as if bracing for another blow from Sevika. "The delivery... is at dawn."

Silco remained silent, analyzing every word. He could detect lies with ease, and the man's desperation seemed genuine. He nodded slowly, straightening himself with an elegance that made the entire interrogation seem like a mere inconvenience to his night.

"Sevika." the mention of her name was all it took for her to step forward again. "Gather the men for a raid."

"Understood." Sevika replied with a curt nod, her gaze lingering on the man for a second longer, as though he were already a corpse, before she left the room. The door creaked as it shut, leaving Silco and the prisoner alone.

The man breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling erratically. His eyes, still wide with fear, briefly flickered with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had said enough to be spared.

"You've been very... cooperative." Silco's voice came as a murmur, low, calm, but laden with something the man couldn't immediately identify as Silco straightened to his full height. "Indeed, you've saved me time and resources. For that, I thank you."

"So... so I can go?" the prisoner asked, his voice trembling but tinged with foolish optimism.

Silco tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. He took another step forward, the tips of his shoes aligning with the congealed blood on the floor. "Of course." he said, almost in a whisper. "You're free, in a manner of speaking."

It was swift — so swift the man didn't have time to react. In one almost elegant motion, with the precision of a surgeon, the dagger Silco still held was plunged into the man's throat, precisely where it had struck before. The sound that escaped the prisoner was a mix of choking and gurgling as blood filled his trachea. He began to struggle futilely against the ropes binding him. The flicker of hope in his eyes was replaced by sheer terror and, finally, inevitable acceptance.

Silco gripped the dagger's hilt firmly, pushing it a bit deeper as he tilted his head to observe the man drowning in his own blood. He didn't look away for even a second, as though he were studying the process of his death with an almost academic interest. When the man finally stopped moving, Silco withdrew the dagger in one clean, precise motion. He gazed at the blood-soaked blade for a moment, as if assessing its effectiveness, before meticulously wiping it on the dead man's jacket.

"A monster..."

He repeated the man's earlier words about her, his voice a near-inaudible whisper. He allowed the silence to fill the room once more, the sound of blood dripping from the chair to the floor the only noise breaking the stillness.

"There's a monster inside all of us." ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

[...]

It was raining.

An intense storm, the kind that even sent the rats scurrying for shelter. But there you were, standing in the middle of the bridge, staring at the raging river thrashing against its banks as if it wanted to break free. The sound of raindrops hitting the metal around you was constant, almost deafening, yet it didn't stop you from hearing the footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, as if their owner knew there was no need to rush. Soon, the drops of rain falling on you ceased, replaced by a different sound: the faint patter of droplets striking fabric and rusted metal.

An old, crooked umbrella hovered over your head.

"You're going to catch a cold like this." came Vander's deep voice, calm but laced with an implicit concern. He held the umbrella firmly toward you, letting the rain drench his shoulders and arms without hesitation.

You glanced at him sideways, raising an eyebrow. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"You're pretty predictable." he replied with that half-smile that always seemed to shoulder the weight of the world. A soft laugh escaped you, almost involuntarily, before you turned your face toward him. Despite the smile, Vander's eyes were heavy with worry. He always wore that expression around you, as if it were his duty to carry the burdens you preferred to hide.

"How's Violet?" you asked, changing the subject. "I heard she got into a fight."

"She's fine. Just a black eye. Nothing she can't handle."

"Did she win?"

"What do you think?" his tone carried a mix of pride and frustration. So typical of him. Then he let out a low chuckle, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

"You shouldn't have taught her that hook, Vander. The kid's a little fighter." you gave him a light slap on the shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie. "Give her a pair of gloves, and she'll solve half the Lanes' problems with her fists."

Vander made a visible grimace at your suggestion, as if your words had hit him in a way he didn't like. You knew exactly why. Ever since he'd taken on the role of Zaun's leader and protector, Vander had clung to the idea that peace was the only viable path. He'd left his fighting days behind and was trying, with all his might, to keep others from following the same path he once had.

You understood that. Respected it. 

But it wasn't your way. 

It never would be.

They didn't make you for peace.

"That's not how things should be solved." he said, his voice low but firm, like a father's. "Peace imposed by force crumbles in mere days."

Without a word, you took the umbrella from his hand. You didn't ask for permission, and he didn't resist. Yet instead of using it for yourself, you pushed it back toward him, letting the rain strike your skin again. It was cold, biting, but you stood still. 

"But for there to be peace, there must be war."

Vander remained silent for a moment. The sound of rain falling around you filled the void between words. He watched you with that look — part reprimand, part genuine concern. Crossing his arms, his brows furrowed, he held your gaze. There was no fear in your eyes. Maybe, in some way, you even hoped he would challenge you.

But Vander wasn't one to yield easily to emotion. He shook his head, letting out a sigh that seemed heavier than it should have been. 

"There's always another way, little one." he finally said, breaking the silence. His large, calloused hand rested on your shoulder with a gentleness that seemed impossible for someone of his stature. The touch was almost comforting. "The choice is always there... if you look for it."

"Not always."

You retorted without hesitation. Your gaze dropped to the ground, watching the puddles around your feet. The raindrops created concentric ripples, a brief but effective distraction. You knew he would understand. Vander always understood. And as expected, he didn't try to argue. Instead, his broad hand moved, covering yours as you still held the umbrella.

With a firm yet gentle motion, he adjusted the umbrella to shield both of you. "But you have that choice now." he said, his tone so calm that it made you look up at him. His voice carried something you couldn't ignore: hope. "You can't escape the past. But you can choose what you'll be from here on."

You couldn't tell if what was streaming down your face were tears or just the rain. Maybe both. The whirlwind of emotions was so overwhelming that you clung to sarcasm, the only weapon you had left.

"Are you going to give me a moral lecture now?" you tried to mask your vulnerability with a teasing tone, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Last I checked, you didn't adopt me as your daughter."

Vander chuckled softly, the sound muffled by the storm. "No, but you're a stubborn brat I think of as a little sister. And someone has to look out for you, don't they?" he offered a small smile, the kind that carried more warmth than a thousand words could ever convey. "Now, let's go home."

Then that drop hit you. It struck the corner of your eye, making you blink involuntarily. The reflex was enough to pull you out of that momentary stupor. When you opened your eyes again, you realized the scene had changed. There was no bridge, no umbrella, no Vander standing in front of you like a protective shadow. All that remained was the rain. You could feel the droplets falling directly onto your skin through an insistent leak. The sound of the drops echoed on the iron roof of the warehouse where you were slumped, like a silent drum marking the rhythm of your despair.

Your hands were chained behind your back, the cold metal biting into your skin. You tried to move, but there was no strength left for such an effort. It was useless. At some point, you accepted the discomfort and stayed there, motionless, with your face turned upward, letting the rain soak you, washing away whatever was left — or perhaps only exposing more of the emptiness you felt. Above you, a flickering light swung erratically. At times, darkness took over, and the rain seemed to be the only sound in the world, filling the air with its endless rhythm. Each drop that fell on your face was a reminder of your state: a body tossed in the corner of a cold room, waiting for the inevitable. And with every passing moment, it seemed harder to find something that would make you rise.

That was when you saw him. A movement beside you, faint as a shadow, caught your attention, and when you raised your weary eyes, he was there. Vander. Squatting in front of you, his hands firmly planted on his knees, wearing that expression of sorrow and concern you knew so well. Of course, it had to be a delusion. It could only be. And yet, he looked so real that you almost believed it.

"Giving up doesn't suit you." his voice was low, firm, but laced with a tenderness that seemed to reach out and pull you from the depths.

You almost laughed, but the bitterness won out. "Funny you'd say that... considering how we met."

"You mean that day on the river?" he raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I thought we'd moved past that."

"I tried to drown myself, remember?" your voice came out cold, a stark contrast to the warmth he exuded. "And you showed up."

"Yeah." he let out a short laugh, glancing away for a second before his eyes locked onto yours again. "But what matters is that you didn't try again."

You frowned, confused. "Why does that matter?"

"Because it was a choice." he sighed, crossing his arms while still keeping that crouched posture. "You decided to keep going. Maybe you didn't realize it at the time, but you did. And that's what counts."

"Not this conversation again..." you turned your face away, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze. But Vander was persistent — he always was.

"Again. Until you get it." he sighed, as if carrying the weight of a conversation he'd had countless times before. "When you find something worth dying for, you also find something worth living for. That's what you did back then. And now? Is this what you want? To die here, like this? To give up now?"

"I lost my reason to keep going." your voice cracked at the end of the sentence, a bitter confession that hung in the air. You could go on. You could finally say out loud, "I lost you." But you decided to stay quiet.

Vander was silent for a moment, and the weight of his absence made you feel even emptier. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more understanding. "You'll find another."

As Vander began to fade, his figure dissolving like a flame extinguished by the rain, something inside you broke — or maybe, something finally mended. Without thinking, you rose to your feet in a sudden motion that made your head spin. The movement was so abrupt that the chains around your wrists clanged loudly, the sound of metal echoing through the warehouse walls like a desperate cry for freedom. You lunged toward him, but he was already gone.

In the place where his imposing figure had been, there was only emptiness, the space now filled with the rising noise of the rain and... footsteps. Rapid footsteps heading your way.

And gunshots?

Yes, gunshots in the distance.

Something was happening outside that warehouse. Something you had no idea about.

But you didn't care, and it didn't matter as you struggled against the chains. The pain tearing through your shoulders with each pull was almost unbearable, but it was irrelevant. Vander's words hammered in your mind, almost like an order: "Find another reason." The faces came in a wave. First, Powder's innocent smile, then Violet's. And then, a face you tried to ignore, a figure you didn't want to accept as a reason. But it was there. Persistent. Etched into your mind like a dagger.

Your body seemed to be operating on a strength that didn't belong to it. Your arms burned, the metal cutting and scraping your skin as you thrashed harder. You felt as though your flesh might actually tear apart at any moment, yet you didn't stop. The footsteps, once distant, were now rapidly approaching. Then, with a sharp crack, the bolt on the wall gave way. The chains fell, taking you down with them. You stumbled forward, hitting your knees with a hard thud, but you quickly scrambled to your feet.

In one fluid motion, you wrapped the chains around your hands like makeshift gloves. Then, they appeared. Armed men, their silhouettes emerging against the flickering light of the entrance. Your eyes barely had time to register how many there were before one of them shouted.

"Fire!" and then, the next line almost made you laugh. "Before she kills us!"

You reacted before your mind could catch up, driven by that familiar sensation. The chains in your hands shot up quickly, shielding your head as you moved forward. The first shot ricocheted off the metal, sending sparks that briefly lit up the space. Another shot followed, but you were already moving, dodging to the side while swinging the chains, intercepting the bullets mid-air. Each impact made the metal vibrate in your hands, the jolts reverberating up your arms like electric currents. Your eyes burned, a strange tingling beginning to spread across your vision.

In one fluid motion, you released one of the chains from your makeshift gauntlet, this time launching it toward the nearest man. The sound was like a whip slicing through the air before it struck his head with full force. The sickening crack of the impact was nauseating, and he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, the weapon slipping from his hands without resistance.

The other two hesitated for a second, shocked by the speed and brutality of your attack. It was a fatal mistake. You surged forward before they could react, the sound of bullets whizzing past you like a swarm of angry wasps. Your vision seemed sharper now, every detail of the environment standing out in almost surreal clarity. The bullets were slow, almost predictable, and your hands moved with precision, spinning the chains to deflect them before they could reach you.

The second man tried to retreat, but you gave him no chance. Using the chain still attached as a gauntlet, you struck him on the side of the face with enough force to make him spin on his axis before he collapsed heavily to the ground. You didn't pause to check if he was dead. Your eyes were already on the third.

The man ran, fear evident in his wide eyes as he fired wildly in your direction. You dodged to the side, wrapping the chain around his arm and yanking hard enough to disarm him. The gun clattered to the floor with a metallic clang, and before he could react, you struck him square in the chest with your other hand, sending him sprawling to the ground.

But there were always more of them. There were always more.

You moved forward like an uncontrollable storm, the sound of chains slicing through the air blending with muffled screams and gunfire echoing around you. Your movements were automatic, driven by instinct. Bodies fell around you, one after the other, but you no longer distinguished faces or forms. The sounds were distant, muted, as if you were submerged underwater. Your hands acted of their own accord, the chain moving like an extension of your body, ensnaring, crushing, destroying. The pain in your arms was nearly unbearable, but you no longer had enough control to truly feel it.

With each step, the room seemed to spin. You felt something warm and thick running down your face, and it took you a moment to realize it was blood. Your nose was bleeding, the dark liquid mixing with the sweat dripping from your chin. Your vision began to blur at the edges, as if the world around you were melting, dissolving into indistinct smudges of light and shadow.

Your body was dangerously close to its limit, every movement tearing away what little energy you had left. But you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. It was as if rage, desperation, and survival had taken hold of you, driving you forward, even if it meant your own end.

And then the shot came.

Pain exploded in your shoulder, searing and excruciating, tearing through flesh and bone. The impact made you stumble, almost fall, but something inside you refused to give in. A guttural sound escaped your throat — a mix of a scream and a growl — as you launched yourself forward.

The shooter, startled by your resilience, tried to retreat, but it was too late. You collided with him, throwing your full weight against him and bringing him to the ground like a wild animal. Your eyes were unfocused, but you could smell his fear, hear his desperate whimpers as he struggled to free himself. You weren't thinking anymore. Your hands grabbed at anything — the chain, your own fists — and began to strike.

Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of the impacts was grotesque, but you didn't stop. Not until he stopped moving.

Until he was still.

The sounds around you became distant, as if you were submerged in a dream. But you could still hear the footsteps. They were closer now, but there was something different about them — not the brutal haste of enemies, nor the metallic clinking of weapons being raised. They were firm steps, yet... careful. Until they stopped, likely around you. Still, you didn't move. You just stood there, your eyes fixed on the void ahead.

And then you saw them.

The Lamb and the Wolf.

They stood there before you, like figures pulled from a legend. The Lamb, serene and graceful, tilted her head in your direction, her luminous eyes reflecting something you couldn't decipher. The Wolf, a living shadow of teeth and instinct, circled around her, watching you with an almost tangible intensity.

You knew the stories. Everyone in Zaun did. Kindred, the bearers of death. The Lamb offered a peaceful passage, while the Wolf brought a wild and violent end. And now, they were here, staring at you as if your fate had already been decided. The Lamb raised her silver bow, the tip of the arrow gleaming like a distant star, and aimed it directly at you. An invitation. A promise. A certainty.

You didn't resist. There was no reason to. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes, waiting for the final blow that never came.

Instead, the world grew warm.

You felt hands, strong and trembling, holding your body with care. The touch was firm yet hesitant, as if the person holding you was on the verge of breaking along with you. The warmth of that embrace began to chase away the cold consuming your being, a sensation almost contradictory to the reality surrounding you.

Your knees buckled, but the body around you didn't let you fall. It followed you to the ground, supporting you as if your weight meant nothing. The hands moved, snaking along your sides, holding you with an urgent, protective need, as though the very thought of letting go was unbearable. You wanted to open your eyes, but the exhaustion was absolute. Your head slumped against the chest of the figure holding you, and the sound of a steady, irregular heartbeat filled your ears. Safe. Warm. Comforting.

One of the hands rose to the side of your face. The touch was soft, gentle. You could feel the urgency in the way the fingers cradled your skin, despite the effort to maintain composure, as though at any moment, you might slip away from their grasp. And that voice... It was like a balm, something that pierced through the pain, the fatigue, and reached a part of you that still wanted to fight, even if it was just a faint spark.

"Stay with me, dove. Hold on."

You tried, but the darkness won.

Part 10

AUTHOR'S NOTES: No smut yet in the next chapter, but don't worry, we'll be back soon. I don't know if it was clear, but I based the fight scene on Ambessa's fighting style. Those chains unlock something in my brain... By the way, did you already know about the existence of Kindred? Those who play League of Legends probably already know their lore, but if you only know Arcane stuff, I recommend you research them. In any case, I hope I managed to convey their idea in their brief appearance. And that final sentence? Is it just me or has someone else said it? 🤭

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[piscesmerc26]

Short Astrology Observations. 🤎

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

(2 things. Thank you for 400 followers🤎 I appreciate all the support and love AND I haven't posted in a long time, im really trying to get back into posting astrology. Doing this post for enjoyment and as just a bit of a warmup to get myself back into posting again but for now, I hope you enjoy🤎)

🍂 • Having your Sun in Aries/Leo in the 12H can create an internal conflict on the native on how they are perceived by the community. The sun shines naturally in these signs but in the 12H, it can be dimmed, creating a conflicting image on the individual.

🍂• Leo Suns are easiest to notice, they not only have a bright personality but they exude a certain gracefulness and elegance. I notice they have a golden glow to them.

🍂 • Having an Air moon (Gemini, Libra, or Aquarius) at a Scorpio degree (8°, 20°) definitely creates a stoic and mysterious personality, unless other aspects/influence say otherwise. In addition, these people hide their emotions often, they remind me of the "🫥😶" emojis. These individuals also have a great amount of self taught self-control.

🍂 • Having Part of Fortune in 3H/9H or at degrees 3°, 15°, 27° make the individual a born influencer. these people gain the most from using their voice and sharing unconventional ideas.

🍂 • Uranus-Midheaven aspects create individuals who are innovative. Not just in their ideas but how they go about certain situations, they tend to do things the way they see fit for themselves rather than go with what other says they should do. These people are the type to have different pathways in life than most around them, they may pick a job that non-traditional or delve into the science field.

🍂 • Individuals may aspire to or already act more like the sign in their 3rd house. They may possess the traits of the sign in the house, it's how they communicate and how people close to them may view them as.

🍂 • Having Personal Sagittarius placements makes someone naturally charming, something about Sagittarius placements makes the individual witty and exciting to be around, they have a way of joking and talking that makes people around them hooked on them.

🍂 • Individuals with Personal 8H/Scorpio placements tend to easily attract people who hate them at first and will try to upset them, but literally a week later they'll be all up in their face. Bonus points if the individual has placements in angular houses (1H, 4H, 7H, 10H), or in fire signs.

🍂 • Regulus aspecting Sun/MC or Ascendant is a fame aspect. Especially if the aspect is applying. These people may have fame related to their occupation or their image/looks. Effortless fame.

🍂 • Having A mix or Scorpio/Pisces and 12H/8H placements make you a transformation magnet, it's likely these individuals are always changing, when they leave for a long time and return they never come back the same people.

🍂 • Sun/Saturn-Pluto aspects may indicate struggles with a father figure. Moon-Pluto aspects may indicate struggles with a mother figure. These struggles may consist of distance or just a transformative/impactful effect on the individual.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

That is all for now, have a lovely day.

- J.

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Audition

Author's note: @transform4u requested a story, so this one's for him. This is kind of a departure fore me. It's mostly done in first person, which I don't usually do. I hope you enjoy it.

“I wish I didn’t have to remember all these lines,” the words came out as a whisper.  A soft breeze blew in the theater.  “Granted,” it seems to say in the wind that chilled you to the bone.  The words on the script faded away, being replaced with a signed contract with a television company.  Something about documenting your life for the next few months.  Leaving your home and going to a time-share with some other people.  You look at the paperwork confused.  A buzz infiltrating your brain. 

“Rocko”, the director calls me.  I’m confused.  Isn’t my name Richard?  “Rocko Salvatori?  On stage please.”  He looks at me and I head up to the stage for an audition? 

The director looks at me and asks, “Hello, Rocko.  Your resume says your favorite hobby is working out?  Can you tell me about that?”

“Working out?  No, I mean,” images of the time I’ve spent in the gym, dedicating time and sweat and tears to making my pecs and bis grow.  Never skipping leg day.  Always taking creatine mixed with pre workout, downing protein shakes and doing endless crunches...  Gotta take care of the “situation”. 

“Yeah,” I say.  “I go to the gym five days a week.  Can you tell?” 

I flex a bicep that seems to grow out of nowhere.  Ten inches around turns in to 12 inches, turns in to 15 inches, turns in to 20 inches.  I flex my pecs.  Since when do I flex my pecs, I ask myself?  My pecs inflate with newfound muscle.  Growing to a whopping 50 inches around. 

I find my body stretching taller…  legs more so resembling long logs, stretching to the sky, torso stretching out, getting rid of the pudge that used to be there, and developing in to 8 separate rocks, an 8-pack of abs. 

My dick growing longer and longer now resembling a beer bottle in length and girth.  “Fuck yeah, I work out, bro,”  I say. 

The director asks, “I also see that you’ve done some modeling?”

Images of past gigs fill my memory.  That time I was flown down to Cancun to appear on a show for MTV Spring Break.  That photo shoot for a young adult clothing brand.  That one time he posed for Exercise for Men Only.  “Yeah, bro,” you find yourself saying.  “I aced modeling.”  Your face reshapens.  Jawline becoming sharper.  Cheeks becoming  accented, less round, more angular.  Eye brows becoming shaped, more perfect.  Teeth whitening, glowing, straightening.  Eyes becoming more clear, turning from blue to a sharp glowing brown.  Stuble growing around your chin and mouth area.  Your thick black hair standing straight up, held up with a precise amount of Spiker hair gel and a 16-second spray of Got 2 B hair shaper and molder.  You give ducklips pose to the director, and bring out your phone to take a selfie and post it on Instagram. 

The director clears his throat.  “Under life philosophy you just wrote GTL.  What does that mean?”

“Bruh,” you say, your brain rearranging information.  Reprogramming your memories, your thoughts, making you a different person. 

“Bruh, it’s a way of life.  A philosophical kind of being.  Gym, Tan Laundry.  You gotta take care of your bod… your pecs, bis, and abs… I like to look fresh, so everything has to go in to it.  You know, you have to go to the gym the whole week.  Tan.  You have to have color if you didn’t go to the beach.  And then the last thing you need to take care of is the outfit.  You gotta look fresh, you know.  If you don’t look good, you ain’t gonna feel good bro, and then you ain’t gonna have a good night.”

 You give in to the words that are coming out of your mouth.   Gym.Tan.Laundry=LIFE, bruh,  Fuck yeah.  Gotta be FTD, Fresh To Death.  Looking for hunnies DTF.  Down To Fuck.  Hell yeah!  The thoughts running through your head.

“Rocko,” the director says, “it says here that you identify as a Guido?  Can you tell me about that?”

The words go through my head.  Guido… Guido…  Fuck Yeah, I’m a fucking Guido.!  I GTL all day and am DTF all night.  I go out FTD, and get all the pussy I want.  I am so Hot, So Fresh.  I’m a fucking Guido.  “I’m a Guido.  What’s there to explain?  I work out, tan and clean up fresh.  I go out and party all night and bring home the PU-NA-NI, you know what I mean?  And I have over three million followers on my social media.”

Red flashes over the director’s eyes, and a demonic façade flashes over the director’s face, just for a second.  “You’ll be perfect for the next generation of our new reality show, Rocko.”

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Where You Are, I’m Home

a Kim Taehyung one shot.

Summary:

After a long year serving in South Korea’s elite Special Duty Team, Kim Taehyung finally comes home—to her. The girl he left behind. The one who waited. But while their love is still there, so is everything the military changed in him.

A/N: this is so foreign in comparison to what I usually post. But I had to do so for the 13-year-old girl inside of me who‘s obsessed with BTS. Is it impossible for me to get concert tickets after their break? Yeah. Will I stop fantasizing? Never😓

btw this is romance so no platonic at all.

TW: ptsd mentions, men being disgusting, no smut (I would never write that) but mentions of them having done it, also I do not know how the military is like it’s just my imagination :)

Still unedited! Sometimes I used different narratives oops

And I will continue Blossom reverse, just going through drafts :)

The morning air was biting cold despite the spring sun trying to climb over the rooftops, pale gold light sifting through clouds like fingers reaching gently for something long-lost. Y/N waited just outside the security gates, her hands shoved into the sleeves of her oversized cardigan, her heart beating louder than the wind.

He was supposed to arrive around 8:00 a.m.

It was 7:53.

The young woman shifted on her feet, the white soles of her sneakers scuffing against the ground. Her body was still, but her mind wasn’t. She could still hear his voice from the last phone call three nights ago — deep, gravel-lined from exhaustion and distance. Even then, even through the crackling line and all the military-coded short phrases, he still said:

“I’ll be different when I come back, jagi. Not in a bad way. Just… older. Don’t be surprised.”

She didn’t fully understand what he meant. She had visited him, yes, a few times — brief weekends that vanished in a blink. And there were nights she’d fall asleep with her phone on her chest, his voice the last sound in her ear, muffled by static and time. But now, it was different.

Now, he was coming home for good.

The woman didn’t cry. Not yet. But her chest was tight — like something had been wound inside her since the day he left, and now it was slowly, painfully starting to unwind.

The base gates opened.

And then she saw him.

Uniform pressed. Boots shining. That familiar black beret angled perfectly atop his head — a symbol of what he’d endured, what he’d survived. But none of that struck you as hard as him.

Kim Taehyung had always been beautiful — honey skin, sleepy eyes, voice like velvet and thunder. The man of her dreams. But now…

Now he was different.

Broader shoulders, thicker arms that stretched the fabric of his uniform tight across his biceps. His jawline had hardened, more angular than she remembered, more man than boy now. His expression was unreadable — composed, still, almost too still.

Until he saw his girl.

His steps paused — just for a second. His gaze fixed, sharp as a blade and soft as a whisper. Then the world seemed to tilt forward as he crossed the distance between you in long, silent strides.

Y/N forgot everything you’d planned to say.

“Taehyung—” she breathed, but the sound broke, and before you knew it, you were running.

Your shoes slapped against pavement as you flung yourself into him — arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your face burying in the crook of his shoulder. He caught you effortlessly, one strong arm wrapping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like something precious.

He didn’t say a word at first.

His grip was crushing. His body was warm. Hard. Solid.

And you were trembling.

“I missed you,” you whispered into his uniform. Your voice cracked on the second word.

You felt him exhale. Slow. Heavy. Like it had been trapped in him for months.

His mouth pressed into your hair.

“I missed you more than I knew how to say.”

You clung to him tighter. Your small frame curled into his, swallowed whole by the man he’d become. It was still him — your Taehyung. The one who used to leave little sticky notes on your mirror with doodles of tigers and kisses. The one who laughed with his whole body, and sometimes stayed up at night just to watch you sleep.

But something deeper lived behind his eyes now.

You felt it when he pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes roved over your face like he was trying to memorize it from scratch. His fingers touched your cheek like they couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re still so small,” he murmured, voice like a low hum in your chest.

You smiled, blinking fast. “And you’re… not.”

His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Military food,” he said flatly. “Push-ups. And crawling through mud for eight hours.”

You laughed — watery and breathless — and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “You really did change,” you whispered.

He didn’t deny it.

There was a long, quiet moment between you, full of everything neither of you could say out loud. Things he’d seen. Things he’d endured. The shadows under his eyes weren’t just from sleepless nights — they were born from things that would never make it into songs or interviews.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

“I am now.”

That answer came without hesitation. And the way he looked at you — intense, unwavering — made your stomach flutter and your eyes sting.

He looked at you like you were the only familiar thing in a world that had gone cold and violent.

Then his hand cupped the back of your neck, firm and possessive. His body shifted closer — his chest pressing against yours, your head tucked right beneath his chin, and he just held you. Like time had stopped.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he said, voice low. “Not for a second.”

“Then don’t.”

The air around you thickened. There was a new tension there now — not just reunion, but longing. Deep and physical. Your fingers clung to his collar, nails grazing the base of his neck, and he let out a breath that trembled slightly.

“I used to dream of this moment,” you said, soft against his skin. “And now you’re here, and I don’t even know what to do.”

His answer was a murmur, rough at the edges. “Let me take care of you. The way I’ve been dreaming about for months.”

Your pulse jumped. Your cheeks flushed. He leaned back just enough to look into your eyes, and the expression he wore was one you hadn’t seen before. Mature. Grounded. Possessive.

There was no boy left in him.

Only the man he’d become.

The man who came back to you.

________

The apartment was full — not loud, but full.

Namjoon had arrived first, clapping Taehyung on the back with that signature dimpled grin, his hair still regulation-short, his posture just a little straighter now, like the military hadn’t fully left his spine. Jin followed not long after — not in uniform, but carrying his usual brand of calm chaos with a grin that masked the months of waiting and missing and enduring.

And in the middle of it all, quietly orchestrating dinner in the background, was you.

You weren’t supposed to be seen.

Not on camera. Not in selfies. Not in the live. You moved like a ghost in your own home — barefoot, in soft jeans and a plain sweatshirt, your hair pulled up in a loose bun as you helped the quiet staff from the company set up drinks and arrange the food.

You’d spent the day preparing for this.

They were going live on Weverse. For the fans. For their brothers. For the first time since discharge.

And you?

You were the hidden heartbeat between them all. Taehyung’s secret girl, his quiet refuge — the one person who’d loved him before the beret and the camouflage and the harsh, freezing nights crawling through drills no one would ever know about.

From the kitchen island, you watched them get ready.

Taehyung in black — a loose cotton shirt that clung just enough to hint at how wide his chest had gotten. Hair pushed back, exposing the sharper cut of his face now. The tattoos on his hands were more visible than ever. So was the faint shadow beneath his eyes.

He was laughing with Namjoon, but you saw it. The stiffness that sometimes crept into his smile. The alertness behind his eyes.

“Five minutes, hyung,” a staff member called.

Namjoon nodded. Jin, ever casual, grabbed a bottle of water and cracked it open, flopping onto the couch beside Taehyung like he’d never been gone.

You moved to hand the plates to a staff assistant, smiling gently. But as you turned, the corner of the tray was accidentally jostled, and you flinched—not from the tray, but from the sudden, hard elbow of one of the staff brushing against your face, too fast and unintentional.

A sharp sting bloomed across your cheekbone.

“Oh! I’m so sorry—” the staff gasped, reaching out instinctively.

You quickly shook your head, hands up. “It’s okay, I’m fine—”

But he was already watching.

From across the room, Taehyung’s head snapped in your direction. His smile faded instantly. His body stilled. The conversation fell to static behind him as his gaze narrowed, jaw tightening like stone.

The room didn’t notice. But you did.

His hand curled slightly into a fist on his thigh.

He couldn’t say anything. Not on live. Not with cameras about to roll. But the look he gave the staff member — dark, piercing, quiet — made your skin prickle. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared for a beat too long, until the staff member backed away instinctively.

Namjoon called his name, drawing him back.

“Tae? You good?”

His voice didn’t change. He leaned back into the couch, nodded once. “Yeah.”

But you knew that tone.

Low. Clipped. Unforgiving.

You finished setting the last cup of tea beside the snacks and retreated into the hallway just as the live countdown started. The screen lit up.

🟢 [LIVE] — Namjoon and Taehyung have joined.

The chat exploded.

He smiled for the camera. Laughing beside Namjoon, joking with Jin as he leaned into the frame from off-screen. But the tension in Taehyung’s jaw never fully disappeared. His hands were loose now, yes, but his energy — it was taut. Watchful. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to the hallway — where he knew you were.

He answered questions — talking about training, about missing the members, about what it felt like to finally shower without twenty other men around.

At one point, Jin teased him.

“I feel like if we fought now, you’d probably kill me,” Jin laughed, nudging Taehyung.

Taehyung’s eyes flicked over lazily. But his grin was different — a slow, shadowed smirk.

“I’ve been to scarier places than that, hyung.”

The way he said it — quiet, measured — made the chat explode with laughing emojis. But Namjoon looked over for a second longer, brows furrowed, like he heard something under the joke.

The live rolled on.

Laughter, soft chaos, a few serious moments where they talked about missing the fans, about Jimin and Jungkook who’d be next to come home, about how quiet the dorm had felt without all of them together.

Namjoon answered a fan who asked what they missed the most.

“Honestly?” he said. “The silence, sometimes. But also — the noise of us together.”

Taehyung nodded once, then added, “And seeing the same person’s face every night for months — it makes you appreciate the face you actually want to see.”

Namjoon gave him a look. “Was that aimed at someone?”

Taehyung only smirked again, his eyes sliding to the hallway behind the camera.

⸻

By the time the live ended, you were standing just past the corner of the hallway, fingers clutching your phone, your heart still beating too fast from the way he’d looked after you earlier.

The moment the camera turned off, the entire room sighed.

Staff moved quickly to pack up, conversations overlapping. Jin stretched, yawning.

“I’m gonna go. Gotta record early tomorrow.”

Namjoon gave you a brief, soft smile as he passed you in the hallway. “Thanks for the food, Y/N.”

You nodded, bowing slightly. “Of course.”

But Taehyung was already pulling on his jacket, voice low. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “Should I—should I say goodbye—?”

“No.” His hand found your wrist, firm but not rough. “They’ll understand.”

You looked once over your shoulder — Jin had raised a hand in a wave, half-smiling. Namjoon gave you a nod.

But Taehyung had already turned, pulling you gently but insistently toward the elevator.

You followed. Silently. The ache in your cheekbone long forgotten, replaced by the tension radiating off him in quiet waves.

Only once the elevator doors closed, cutting you off from the world, did he finally move.

He turned.

One hand slid up to your face — careful, warm. His thumb brushed against the place you’d been hit, and his eyes searched yours like they were reading something only he could see.

“Did it hurt?”

You shook your head, voice small. “It was an accident.”

He didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched once.

Then he leaned forward — kissed your cheek, right where the pain had bloomed.

Soft. Reverent.

His arms wrapped around you — possessive, grounding. “Let’s go home.”

The car rolled into the long private driveway as the gates glided shut behind them, the quiet hum of tires over the smooth concrete echoing in the soft Seoul dusk. Taehyung had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your jeans as you leaned against the seat—calm, but thrumming with unspoken energy.

As the mansion came into view — all clean lines, soft lights through tall windows, and that familiar ivy climbing the front pillars — he exhaled.

Home.

———

He parked in silence, engine purring once before cutting off. Then he turned to you, eyes dragging over your face like he was taking inventory of your soul.

You smiled softly. “It’s just us now.”

He didn’t answer. He just reached for you and kissed your forehead.

Inside, he dropped his duffle by the door.

And froze.

There, in the center of the open living room, right above the sunken couch — was a massive white banner strung across the stone wall in perfect lettering:

“Welcome Back Tae 💜”

Below it, on the table, a line of plush BT21 figures stared up like a tiny cheering squad — TATA front and center, wearing a tiny paper beret you’d cut out yourself. Beside it, his favorite wine. A fresh vase of white tulips. And the faintest scent of sandalwood candles lingering in the air.

Everything was clean. Warm. Ready. The bed was made. Slippers laid out. The lights dimmed low.

He stood still for a moment.

Then turned toward you.

His voice came out low, hoarse with emotion. “You did all this?”

You nodded, cheeks warm. “Of course. You’ve been gone. I wanted your first night home to feel like… home.”

His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, he crossed the space between you and pulled you into his arms — not with urgency, but with the aching weight of someone who hadn’t touched softness in too long.

His hands were warm against your back. His mouth lingered at your temple. And when he breathed your name, it was almost reverent.

“God, I missed you.”

You smiled into his chest. “I noticed.”

Later, after wine and soft music and laughter that came easier with each hour, it shifted — somewhere between the second glass and the last flicker of candlelight. His voice dipped lower. His eyes never left yours. And when he reached for you — slowly, wordlessly — you didn’t hesitate.

⸻

The sheets were tangled and half-slipped off the bed, your body curled loosely on your side, one leg stretched across the cool linen as your arm draped over the pillow he’d recently occupied.

You were quiet. Bare. Asleep.

And he was watching you.

The sky outside had deepened into a navy velvet wash, the stars faint behind the tinted windows. From where he sat — back against the headboard, one arm behind his head — he could see every inch of you lit by soft bedside lamp glow. Your skin warm, your hair mussed. A tiny line between your brows, like you were dreaming.

So delicate. So small.

He’d seen you like this before, hundreds of times.

But now…

Now, everything was different.

Something primal stirred in him. Not lust — not only that — but the heavy, possessive protectiveness that had sunk into his bones since the military. The training. The missions. The way it’d changed how he breathed, how he saw danger in everything.

How he now understood just how fragile the world could be.

And how much he could lose.

You stirred, shifting slightly.

A sleepy hum escaped your throat as you blinked up, lashes fluttering before your eyes found him.

“…You’re staring,” you murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but amused.

He gave a small, lazy smile. “You’re beautiful when you’re wrecked.”

Your brow twitched in sleepy offense. “Wrecked?”

“Mm.” He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. “You look like someone who’s been thoroughly missed.”

You huffed. But your cheeks flushed pink as your arm slid lazily up to rest over his abdomen, your fingers grazing the ridges of his stomach, the firm rise of his chest.

“Yeah well,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded, “You didn’t exactly come home with restraint.”

He chuckled. It was the first time in months he’d laughed that quietly. “No,” he agreed, tilting his head, “I didn’t.”

You cracked one eye open. “You were kind of rough.”

His gaze darkened for a second, but not dangerously. “You didn’t complain.”

You smirked, eyes fluttering closed again. “Didn’t have a reason to.”

He reached out, letting his fingers trail lightly over your bare shoulder, your neck, down the curve of your back until you shivered faintly.

A pause.

Then your voice, soft: “You… really did miss me, huh?”

Taehyung’s voice was quieter now, his palm resting fully against your back. “You have no idea.”

You shifted again, turning just enough so your head was pillowed against his chest, your fingers splayed gently across the firm muscle there. You traced one invisible line across him, like mapping the difference.

His breath caught a little at the contact — more from the intimacy than the sensation.

“You’re stronger now,” you said softly, your voice almost childlike in the dark. “You changed.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, his arm curled around you, anchoring you closer.

“I had to,” he said. Simply. Quietly.

You tilted your chin, looking up at him through your lashes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your voice was innocent. Light. But not empty.

His gaze dropped to yours.

And for a second — a full, weighted beat — he just looked.

Then he let out a breath, not heavy… but slow.

“Not yet.”

And you didn’t press.

You just tucked your head against his chest again, your fingertips trailing over his heart as if to memorize it.

And he held you tighter — like if he let go, the world might take you too.

_______

The sound of laughter spilled out of the dining room like music from a house that had been quiet too long.

Dinner was set in the garden-facing room, the long wooden table full with homemade food, half-finished bottles of makgeolli and soju, and the echo of six voices layered with history. Candles flickered in the center, catching the edges of glassware and grins.

Jimin and Jungkook had arrived an hour ago — freshly discharged, freshly free, their energy explosive and familiar. Jungkook had crushed Y/N into a hug before she could breathe, lifting her off the ground in a whirl of excited laughter.

“Noonaaaaaa—!”

“You’re going to break my ribs,” Y/N wheezed against his shoulder, giggling.

“Worth it!”

Jimin had been more composed, though his hug had lingered. Soft. Gentle. Like he was still grounding himself.

“It’s been too long,” he whispered against her hair. “You didn’t forget me, right?”

Y/N had swatted at him with a mock scowl. “As if I could.”

Now they were all together again — Namjoon at the head of the table, Jin beside him, Jimin and Jungkook across from each other, and Taehyung…

Right beside Y/N.

His hand rested on the back of her chair, fingers brushing the top of her spine occasionally. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to make her stomach flip every time.

She was talking with Jungkook now, her arms folded on the table as she grinned at him. “So,” she teased, “how was it? Which one of you cried first?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “We don’t talk about that.”

Jimin snorted into his glass. “You mean you don’t.”

“Hyung—!”

Namjoon chuckled. “Honestly, I thought Jungkook would be the military muscle boy again, but—” he tilted his head toward Taehyung “—this one came back with shoulders.”

“Oh yeah,” Jin added, raising his brows dramatically. “You could balance a whole tray of drinks on his back now.”

Jungkook pouted. “Hey! I still got my muscles!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin teased, poking Jungkook’s bicep. “Still a golden maknae.”

“Who’d win in a fight now?” Namjoon mused, resting his chin on his hand. “Jungkook or Taehyung?”

Silence.

Then chaos.

“No way he could take me,” Jungkook declared.

Taehyung didn’t move. He just tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. “Wanna test that theory, bunny?”

Jimin burst out laughing. “He’s not kidding. He could break your spine with that stare alone now.”

“Chill,” Taehyung said, voice dry. “I’m a civilian again.”

You leaned your head against Taehyung’s shoulder, giggling. “Please don’t break anything. I just cleaned the house.”

The group quieted for a beat.

Then Jungkook leaned across the table. “Y/N, are you still baking?”

You lit up instantly. “Always. Now that Tae’s home, I can start again.”

Taehyung turned to glance at you, his voice teasing but warm. “You’re going to fatten me up, aren’t you?”

“That’s the plan,” you said proudly. “I already have a new menu just for you. Lemon honey chiffon, your favorite, and I’m testing a persimmon tart.”

His smile softened. “I missed your food the most.”

“Military food was that bad for you, huh?” Jimin asked, leaning in.

Y/N made a face on Taehyung’s behalf. “He wouldn’t even talk about it. Just gave me this haunted look.”

“It was inedible,” Taehyung muttered. “They called it curry. It was glue.”

Everyone laughed.

You nudged him lightly, your voice playful. “Good thing you’re back in civilization now. Let me take care of you, okay?”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then his hand gently squeezed the back of your neck, thumb brushing your skin.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Ugh, get a room,” Jungkook grumbled, dramatically covering his eyes.

“We have one,” Taehyung said coolly.

“YA!” Jin and Jimin shouted in unison, and the table erupted.

Eventually, the conversation turned to other things — promotions, comeback ideas, Yoongi’s discharge date. The group slowly quieted into warm, easy tones, the comfort of years spent together folding into every gesture.

At one point, Namjoon brought up something Taehyung had said in a recent live.

“You really said you hate childish people now?”

Taehyung nodded calmly. “They exhaust me.”

Everyone stared at him.

“You were the most childish one here,” Jin deadpanned.

“Facts,” Jungkook added. “You once cried because your snack fell on the floor.”

“Once?” Jimin choked.

“I evolved,” Taehyung said with a smug shrug.

Y/N pouted at him from her seat, hands coming up in mock offense. “So what, am I childish now?”

His eyes flicked to her, narrowing with playful threat. “Don’t push it.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Then reached up to squish his cheek, teasingly. “Don’t be too grown-up and serious, Mr. Military Man.”

But before she could get a proper hold, he caught her wrist mid-air �� fast, firm, one brow raised.

“You forget how much stronger I am now?”

You gasped in outrage. “Let go!”

He smirked. “No.”

You pouted harder, lips trembling in exaggerated pain. “Oppa… you’re bullying me in front of your brothers.”

“You’ve been bullying me since I got back,” he murmured, pulling her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her fingers, slow and deliberate.

The table went silent.

Then Namjoon broke into a sigh. “We’re literally right here.”

“You two are the worst,” Jin muttered.

“Seriously, just get married,” Jimin said under his breath, sipping from his cup.

Y/N only leaned against Taehyung’s shoulder, victorious, as he wrapped his arm around her with a sigh — his hand resting right over her ribs, pulling her in like she was his.

Which she was.

______

It was a weekday afternoon, bright and mild, the sky above Seoul a lazy shade of blue. The streets weren’t crowded — just enough to feel alive without pressing in too close. You walked hand-in-hand with him, your steps light, your skirt fluttering with every breeze like petals across pavement.

You looked like spring incarnate.

Floral midi dress in soft yellow, little ribbons tied at your sleeves, sandals that made no sound. Your hair was pinned in a way Taehyung liked — soft, girlish, sweet. You were glowing. Laughing. Asking him if he wanted gelato from the corner place you always dragged him to before he left.

He wore sunglasses and a black baseball cap pulled low. A simple tee. Loose jeans. Mask. To anyone passing, he looked like any tall, faceless boyfriend doting on his tiny, radiant girlfriend.

But to Taehyung, it felt different now.

Everything did.

He’d gotten used to analyzing his surroundings. The shift of footsteps. The angle of parked cars. The sound of voices layered in a crowd. He hadn’t meant to keep doing it after discharge — it just stayed with him. The SDT trained his eyes to see threats before they were threats.

He still couldn’t stop calculating exit points every time they turned a corner.

You’d just pulled away, walking toward the gelato cart with a soft “Wait here,” and he nodded, watching you float toward the vendor.

You smiled brightly at the ahjussi behind the cart, pointing at the mint chocolate flavor like a kid, the little purse in your hands bouncing with each step.

Then Taehyung’s smile vanished.

His eyes locked on a man about twelve feet down the sidewalk — tall, in his 30s, standing near a lamppost with a phone in hand.

But not using it.

He wasn’t looking at his screen.

He was watching you.

Too long.

Too directly.

Taehyung stepped forward once. Then again.

His heart beat differently now — not fast, but cold. His hand clenched inside his pocket. The muscle in his jaw twitched once as his body shifted between the man’s line of sight and your figure.

The man noticed.

Looked away.

Too late.

When you turned back with a smile and two cups of gelato, Taehyung had already stepped close, took both in one hand, and curled his free arm tight around your back, guiding you quickly away.

“Wha—? Tae—?”

“Not here.”

His voice was low. Controlled. He didn’t say anything more until you were two streets over, near a shaded alley with no one watching.

He let go of your arm, breathing slow and sharp through his nose.

You looked up at him, frowning. “Hey. What happened?”

He didn’t answer. His head tilted, scanning, shoulders still tense.

“Tae.”

His eyes flicked to you finally. Still dark. Still locked in that place only soldiers understand.

“There was a guy. Back at the cart,” he said flatly. “He was staring at you.”

You blinked. “…Okay. I didn’t even notice—”

“I did.”

He took a deep breath and leaned against the brick wall behind him, setting the gelato aside on the bench.

You stepped closer, voice careful. “Tae… it’s just Seoul. People stare sometimes.”

“It wasn’t normal staring.”

“You mean, like…?”

“Like he wanted something.”

Your lips parted slightly at the way he said it. There was no hint of jealousy in his voice. Only danger. Calculation. Something hard and cold behind his eyes.

You placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the tense pull of muscle beneath your fingertips.

“You okay?” you asked.

He hesitated.

Then scoffed under his breath. “You really think you can be out in the world acting like nothing’s wrong?”

You blinked at him. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at you, and his voice was low. Real.

“You don’t know what I’ve heard.”

The air between you thinned.

“I spent a year around nothing but men,” he continued. “No privacy. No filters. Just hours of hearing how they talk. How they think. About women. About what they want to do. About what they have done.”

You were quiet.

“They don’t think women are people. Not really. Just things. Toys. Disposables.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “I never showed them your picture. Not once. I kept it in a zip pocket at the bottom of my duffel, inside a wrapper, hidden under soap. Because I was scared someone might recognize you. Find you.”

You touched his wrist.

He didn’t move.

“You were the only thing I wanted to protect,” he said softly. “They talked about their wives, their girlfriends, the things they’d do if they ever saw certain idols in real life. Your name almost came up once and I felt my entire body go cold.”

“Tae…”

“I didn’t want you to ever be in the same sentence as the way they talked. And now—out here—some guy looks at you for too long and my whole fucking brain goes back there.”

You stepped in.

Wrapped your arms gently around his torso, your cheek resting against his chest.

His arms came around you immediately, his hands curling into the back of your dress, clutching you not like a lover—but like something sacred.

You didn’t speak. Just let him breathe.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You’re too soft for this city.”

You pouted. “I’ve lived here longer than you.”

He half-laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re sweet. You talk to strangers. You wear ribbons in your hair and floral dresses and smile at old men selling chestnuts like they’re your grandpas.”

You looked up. “You’re making it sound like a crime.”

He sighed, then pressed his forehead to yours.

“It isn’t a crime. It’s why I love you. I just… I’ve seen how fast the world can get ugly.”

You cupped his jaw gently. “So let me be soft. You can be strong. I’ll bake the tarts, you fight the ghosts.”

He closed his eyes, smiling faintly. “Deal.”

You paused, then grinned up at him. “So… what was it like, being locked up with only men for a year?”

His brow lifted. “…Loud. Smelly. Violent.”

“Did they talk about feelings?”

“Not unless it was followed by ‘shut up, loser’.”

You laughed softly.

“Bet you missed touching a girl.”

His gaze dropped to you, suddenly darker. “You have no idea.”

You flushed.

He leaned in closer, whispering at your ear.

“You’re the only softness I had left. Don’t ever underestimate how badly I needed you.”

Your breath hitched.

Then he kissed your temple. Once. Twice. His hand still firm on your waist like he was anchoring himself to the only thing real.

That night, the bedroom was dim and warm — moonlight slanting through gauzy curtains, casting soft shadows across the wall.

The sheets were half-kicked off the bed, your legs tangled with his, your body resting against his chest as your breaths slowed together. It wasn’t urgent this time. Not hungry. Not frantic like that first night.

This time was different.

Slower.

His mouth had explored you like a hymn, like a melody he’d forgotten how to hum. Your skin remembered him — every line, every pause, every breath.

He didn’t talk much. Just held you close, moved with care, touched you like you were the only soft thing left in a world full of stone. And when it was over — when the tension in his body had eased and yours had melted — he kept his arms around you like a cage made of comfort.

You ran your fingers lazily across his chest, lips brushing his shoulder.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He kissed your hair. “I am now.”

You fell asleep not long after.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

_____

2:13 a.m.

You woke to the sound of movement.

Not the usual kind — not shifting blankets or sleepy murmurs.

This was sharp. Gasping.

You turned.

Taehyung was sitting upright at the edge of the bed, hunched over, his elbows on his knees, one hand buried in his hair, the other clenched tight on the sheets.

His shoulders rose and fell like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Tae?”

He didn’t answer.

You sat up slowly, the sheets falling off your body, heart hammering now — not from fear of him, but for him.

You crawled across the bed and knelt behind him, arms gently wrapping around his back. You pressed your cheek between his shoulder blades.

He flinched. But only slightly.

Then exhaled.

It took a while before he spoke. His voice, when it came, was barely audible.

“There was a call. During drills. Fake scenario… supposed to be a simulation. But something went wrong. A real threat alert went off. Border movement.”

You stayed quiet, listening.

“I was closest to the line. They handed me live rounds. Told me I might have to shoot. Just like that.”

You tightened your hold, your face buried against his spine.

“I didn’t. Nothing happened. But the silence after that? The waiting? That’s what messed with me. That moment between breathing and shooting… I think I’ve been stuck there ever since.”

You turned his face gently toward you, crawling around to his lap, straddling him slowly — not to seduce, but to anchor.

He looked at you like he didn’t know where he was.

You cupped his cheeks softly. “You’re home. You’re safe. I’m here.”

His eyes watered, but the tears didn’t fall.

He leaned forward until his forehead pressed against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist, breathing in your scent like it might pull him from the battlefield still living behind his eyes.

And it did.

Eventually.

⸻

You heard the front door open with a click.

It was mid-morning. He’d gone to the gym after breakfast — the one you insisted he try out, clean, private, just a few blocks away.

You were already in the kitchen, the scent of browned butter and cinnamon thick in the air. A tray of raspberry almond croissants cooling beside you, powdered sugar melting into the ridges.

You wore an apron over a soft tank and cotton shorts, your hair up again, music playing faintly on your phone.

When he walked in, the scent hit him first.

Then he saw you.

His pace slowed. His bag dropped by the door.

You turned with that signature beam — pure, unaffected joy — and held up a plate.

“Chef’s pick of the day. I demand a taste test.”

He stepped forward, eyes flicking over your flour-dusted cheeks, your bare legs, the way your smile could still make his chest ache.

“You’re going to kill me with sweetness.”

You smirked. “That’s the plan. You’re getting too handsome, you know. ARMY’s gonna riot. You need to eat more croissants. Just a little chubby Taehyung. For safety reasons.”

He raised a brow, playing along. “Oh? And if I don’t?”

You gave him a dramatic sigh. “Then someone’s gonna steal my boyfriend.”

He stepped up to you, slid one hand around your waist and the other to your jaw, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.

“Don’t know how I’m supposed to feel,” he murmured, “when every guy in Seoul wants to steal my girl.”

You bit your lip, cheeks pink.

He leaned down, kissed your forehead.

And in his mind, a quiet monologue drifted through:

There are still days I wake up expecting the alarm. The cold floor. The sound of boots and orders and men screaming over drills.

But then I open my eyes… and she’s here. Soft skin. Sweet voice.

She smells like vanilla and sugar and peace.

I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I’ll protect her with my life. Even now. Especially now.

She’s the only thing that brought me home fully.

And I’m never letting her go.

He kissed you then. Long. Quiet. Gentle.

You fed him a croissant between kisses.

And he stayed close the entire day. And longer.

[wayslidecool]

arabic numerals ranked from worst to best by their potential as the lens in new year's glasses

#10: Seven (7)

seven is a very awkward number for a lot of things, and new year's glasses are no exception. its weird angular shape leaves no opening to put a lens in, and unlike the next entry, it's too wide to comfortably squeeze between lens in the second and fourth digits. and the impressive thing about 7 is that this is a number with plenty of writing variations, and yet i can't think of a single one that makes it an efficient lens! sorry 7. i think you're the best number for a rating scale, but that's about it.

#9: One (1)

the 2010s were a rough time for new year's glasses, huh? coming off the high of the 1990s and 2000s, people were determined to make the 2010s work, but that's a tall fucking order. the saving grace of 1, and the reason it's above 7, is that it's skinny enough that you can slide it between numbers and use the fourth digit of the year as the lens, but the fact you have to resort to that is only further evidence of how much 1 sucks at being the lens.

#8: Two (2)

two is definitely a tier above the previous two entries. it's an interesting and versatile enough shape that you can mess with it to try and make a viable spot for a lens, what with the upper loop and lower angle, but i feel no matter what you try, you always gotta make some concessions. like, you have enough to work with that a talented enough designer can make something that works, but usually the result is more "functional" than "good".

#7: Four (4)

now we're getting into numbers that could actually make for passable lenses. i mean, check it out! we have a closed loop here and everything, that has GOT to count for something! what makes me put four relatively low on the list is that with its right-triangle shape, i can't imagine it being a very comfortable shape for a lens, especially with how much ends up sticking out and downwards. still, a vast improvement over the previous three entries, even if it's basically just a worse 9.

#6: Five (5)

i feel like depending on what you prioritize in new year's glasses, these next two entries could end up going below the previous one, but personally, i think the not-closed round loop feels like a more practical spot for a lens than 4's closed-but-angular loop, y'know? so what if the loop isn't closed, it still mostly surrounds your eye, and feels generally passable to me. this is a number that wouldn't inspire the idea for new year's glasses, but certainly works now that the idea has been established.

#5: Three (3)

three is basically the same thing as 5, and i could even see some people putting it below 5, since 5's loop is a bit closer to being closed than either of 3's loops. that being said, 3's dual-loop is ultimately what gives it the edge to me. it ends up feeling more versatile to me. i feel the bottom loop is generally the correct choice, but just having the option of the top loop as well really helps it out. either way, after suffering through the 2010s and 2020s, i expect the 2030s to be a welcome breath of fresh air.

#4: Nine (9)

now we're getting to the really good ones. i mean, the 1990s are when the trend of new year's glasses started! if this number was good enough to kickstart the trend, then clearly it's a good number to put the lens in. having a closed round loop really goes a long way, it turns out! what puts 9 below the next three entries is the tail. having that swoop down towards your face feels like it'd be a bit uncomfortable, and this issue doesn't crop up with the next three entries. still, 9 is a trailblazer and its place in the New Year's Glasses Metagame needs to be respected.

#3: Six (6)

if 9's only issue is the tail getting all up in your face, then what better way to solve that then just turning it upside-down? it might just be me, put having it brush up against your forehead feels much, much less intrusive than having it brush up against your face. and plus, it can give the impression of a raised eyebrow! bonus! the 2030s-2050s are going to be a refreshing breath of fresh air following the awful new year's glasses of the 2010s and 2020s, but the 2060s are going to be a true new year's glasses renaissance.

#2: Eight (8)

hey, so remember how i put 3 above 5 since i felt the double loop made it a bit more versatile? well now imagine that, but both loops are closed. 8 makes for such a good lens, it's a little surprising we didn't see new year's glasses in the 1980s (i'm guessing having two of the same number is more inspiring than two different numbers?) either way, eight isn't content to give you just one closed loop. it'll give you a second closed loop right above. (or below!) 8 is a versatile number with many options, and i hope i can live to see the day we see it in new year's glasses. a true stand out in its field.

#1: Zero (0)

still, even with all the good years ahead, it's hard to ignore the fact that the best years are sadly behind us, with the 2000s being the absolute pinnacle of new year's glasses design. i mean, come on. a single loop with no frills is basically what glasses designs default to already, so using the middle two zeroes as the lens for glasses? impeccable design. the 1990s were good enough to kickstart the trend, but the 2000s were good enough to make us want to brute force the 2010s and 2020s. if that's not the mark of a good design, i don't know what is.

sadly, it's likely we'll never see design this good again. the next year with the middle two digits being two zeroes is 3000, and while we might be able to execute double-zero designs at the turn of each century, they'll end up looking weirdly lopsided in the process. i believe humans are hubristic enough to try and brute-force bad decades, but multiple bad centuries? forget about it.

oh well. happy new year

[study-diaries]

Introduction To HTML

[Note: You need a text editor to do this. You can use Notepad or Text Edit. But it's so much better to download VS Code / Visual Studio Code. Save it with an extension of .html]

HTML stands for Hyper Text Markup Language

It is used to create webpages/websites.

It has a bunch of tags within angular brackets <....>

There are opening and closing tags for every element.

Opening tags look like this <......>

Closing tags look like this

The HTML code is within HTML tags. ( // code)

Here's the basic HTML code:

<!DOCTYPE html> <html> <head> <title> My First Webpage </title> </head> <body> <h1> Hello World </h1> <p> Sometimes even I have no idea <br> what in the world I am doing </p> </body> </html>

Line By Line Explanation :

<!DOCTYPE html> : Tells the browser it's an HTML document.

<html> </html> : All code resides inside these brackets.

<head> </head> : The tags within these don't appear on the webpage. It provides the information about the webpage.

<title> </title> : The title of webpage (It's not seen on the webpage. It will be seen on the address bar)

<body> </body> : Everything that appears on the webpage lies within these tags.

<h1> </h1> : It's basically a heading tag. It's the biggest heading.

Heading Tags are from <h1> to <h6>. H1 are the biggest. H6 are the smallest.

<p> </p> : This is the paragraph tag and everything that you want to write goes between this.

<br> : This is used for line breaks. There is no closing tag for this.

-------

Now, we'll cover some <Meta> tags.

Meta tags = Notes to the browser and search engines.

They don’t appear on the page.

They reside within the head tag

<head> <meta charset="UTF-8"> <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0"> <meta name="description" content="Website Description"> <meta name="Author" content="Your Name"> <meta name="keywords" content="Websites Keywords"> </head>

Line By Line Explanation:

<meta charset="UTF-8"> : Makes sure all letters, symbols, and emojis show correctly.

<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0"> : Makes your site look good on phones and tablets.

<meta name="description" content="Website Description"> : Describes your page to Google and helps people find it.

<meta name="author" content="Your Name"> : Says who created the page.

<meta name="keywords" content="Website's Keywords"> : Adds a few words to help search engines understand your topic.

_____

This is my first post in this topic. I'll be focusing on the practical side more than the actual theory, really. You will just have some short bullet points for most of these posts. The first 10 posts would be fully HTML. I'll continue with CSS later. And by 20th post, we'll build the first website. So, I hope it will be helpful :)

If I keep a coding post spree for like 2 weeks, would anyone be interested? o-o