#building an email list from scratch

[thatone-churro]

chat i am NOT appreciating the stares i got from walking across campus to cvs in my hoodie and sweatpants as if we didn’t just sit through ANOTHER hurricane like chill man i didn’t sleep well let me get my monster to finish my logic homework in peace 😭

[shadyfestivalperfection]

The Roommate Rulebook~1

Summery: When a campus housing glitch sticks you with Peter Parker as your roommate, things start rocky—he’s always disappearing, hogs the shower, and leaves weird bruises and tech parts around. But as late-night ramen turns into real conversations and comfort, you slowly start to fall for him… only to discover he’s hiding a much bigger secret than you imagined.

Characters: College!Peter Parker (T.H.) x College!F!Reader

Note: All characters except Peter Parker, Ned, MJ and Dr. Ock are mine!

||Master List||

Chapter 1: The Glich

You were sweating.

Not from the heat—not entirely. More from the combination of lugging two duffel bags, a suitcase, and a mini fan across campus while trying to pretend you totally weren’t dying inside. Your parents had kissed you goodbye ten minutes ago with matching expressions of pride and quiet panic. Your mom had cried. Twice. You had waved them off with a forced smile and a whispered “I got this.”

You did not, in fact, got this.

Still, you’d made it to your dorm building, climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor, and found your room—room 308—exactly where the welcome email said it would be.

What you didn’t expect was that it would already be half-occupied.

The door was slightly ajar. There was music playing faintly inside—some soft instrumental playlist with no lyrics. Your heart stuttered as you stepped forward and knocked.

“Hey, sorry,” you called out. “Is this room 308?”

The music lowered. A voice answered—muffled, then clearer as the door swung open.

“Yeah—wait—uh…” The guy blinked at you from the doorway, confusion written all over his face. “Are you… Y/N L/N?”

You blinked. “Yeah. And you are… definitely not my roommate.”

He let out a startled laugh. “Okay, weird. I was just about to say the same thing.”

You glanced over his shoulder into the room.

One side had already been claimed—sheets on the bed, a cluttered desk filled with tangled wires, small gadgets, and notebooks scribbled with handwriting too small to read. A backpack was slumped beside the bed, unzipped and overflowing with chargers. The other side? Completely untouched.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” you said slowly.

“Uh-huh. Pretty sure.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

He offered you a hand, looking somewhere between sheepish and awkwardly charming. You shook it out of politeness, your brow furrowed.

“There’s no way they’d assign me a guy as a roommate,” you muttered. “I requested Mia Carson weeks ago. Got the confirmation and everything.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, no, I was supposed to be with a guy named Raj. We texted over the summer. Unless you’re Raj?”

You shot him a flat look.

“Didn’t think so,” he mumbled, then stepped back. “Wanna come in? We can call the RA. Figure out what went wrong.”

You hesitated, then dragged your suitcase inside and dropped your duffel with a sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

Peter had already grabbed his phone and started typing. You took a seat on the edge of your assigned bed, surveying the disaster you’d walked into.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” you said after a beat, “but this feels like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Peter glanced up. “Why would I be offended? I feel the same way. I haven’t even told my Aunt May yet—she’ll probably sue someone.”

You snorted.

Five minutes and one very unhelpful phone call later, your shoulders slumped as you ended the call with the Housing Office.

Peter watched your expression carefully. “Bad news?”

“Apparently,” you said flatly, “there was a software glitch over the summer. They reassigned a bunch of people. Mia’s now living in Oak Hall across campus. They’re at full capacity, and it’s ‘too late to correct assignments at this time.’”

Peter winced. “Yikes.”

“I could try to get a transfer, but they said the waitlist is insane.” You looked at him. “Do you… wanna try and swap?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I could, but my old roommate already moved into someone else’s room. And I kinda need to stay close to the science building for my work-study.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “Fantastic.”

“I swear,” Peter said quickly, “I’m not a total slob. I don’t party, I don’t bring random people over. I mostly just keep to myself.”

You raised a brow. “What do you actually do?”

He blinked. “Like, generally?”

“No,” you said dryly, “specifically. Why does your desk look like Tony Stark’s garage threw up on it?”

Peter laughed. “Okay, that’s fair. I… tinker. With tech. Robotics, circuitry. I’m in the engineering program.”

You glanced at the blinking device on his desk. “Does that thing… make toast or explode?”

“Both,” he said cheerfully. “Depending on the setting.”

You let out a reluctant laugh despite yourself.

Peter gave a shy grin. “Look, if it helps, we can come up with some rules? Like… roommate boundaries. Make it easier.”

You paused. “Rules?”

“Yeah. Like…” He grabbed a marker from his desk and tossed it toward the whiteboard hanging by the door. “Rule one: No panicking.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s for you, isn’t it?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

You stood, walked over to the board, and uncapped the marker.

“Fine,” you said, writing quickly. “Rule two: No shirtless lounging.”

Peter looked scandalized. “I wasn’t planning on shirtless lounging.”

“Good,” you said, underlining it. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He tried not to look smug as he added, “Rule three: Don’t touch the gadgets.”

“Rule four,” you shot back, “don’t wake me up before 8 a.m. unless there’s a fire. Or a spider. No—wait, even if it’s a spider, let it kill me.”

Peter snorted. “Duly noted.”

The room fell into a companionable silence as you both stared at the slowly growing rulebook on the wall. Something about it felt strangely comforting.

You finally turned and looked at him. “Alright, Peter Parker. Guess we’re stuck with each other.”

His smile softened. “Looks that way.”

You climbed onto your bed, sinking into the mattress, feeling the exhaustion of the day finally crash over you.

Peter, now back at his desk, muttered something under his breath as he fiddled with his tech again. Something sparked with a quiet zap.

You rolled your eyes. “Rule five: If you blow us up, I’m haunting you.”

He didn’t even look up. “Deal.”

You didn’t know it yet, but move-in day was the beginning of everything. Of chaos and late-night arguments and shared secrets and a love story written in mismatched bedsheets and midnight snacks.

And as far as college disasters went, this one… might actually be kind of perfect.

-to be continued

[illbearound]

MOST WANTED MAN

Hiiii! First of all, I want to thank you for all the love I’ve been receiving. I wasn’t expecting that at all. Everyone is so sweet!! So thank you, thank you, thank you! 🥺💜

Second, I’m still trying to figure out tumblr posting (I’m new at this , so I’m still learning how to navigating here). I've noticed that there's a character limit, so I might have to split some chapters and make the story a bit longer than I expected. So please, bear with me.

I have the story almost written (working on the last chapters, atm). And I still got a few things I want to revise first – grammar and punctuation stuff. Still, I have not figure it out yet when I will update it. I was thinking about do it every other three days but maybe that’s a bit much. Maybe I’ll do an upload on a specific day of the week. Or just post whenever. Idk I haven’t set that up.

At last, here it is the first chapter! I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your feedback!!! (only if you want to, a heart is also very good!! ) 💕🫶🏻 Happy weekend!

Chapter One — Oranges and Familiar Faces

Madrid , February 2025

The city looks like a painting when she arrives. Terracotta rooftops glowing beneath low clouds, windows shuttered against a late winter drizzle. Rain taps softly on the car roof. The driver doesn’t speak, only nods when she thanks him. The hotel is made of pale stone and glass. Modern, but trying not to look it.

In the elevator, she watches the numbers change and feels the quiet stretch of panic that’s been building all week. She presses her hand against her stomach without thinking. She doesn’t want to admit she feels sick.

The room is fine. Clean, anonymous. The bed is made with perfect corners. A tiny desk under a high window. She doesn’t unpack, just lifts the most decent clothes from her suitcase and lays them over the chair. The rest stays in the case like a secret. Her phone buzzes but she doesn’t check it.

She opens the window instead. The air is damp, tinged with exhaust and oranges and something floral she can’t name. Somewhere down the street, music plays — fast, percussive, joyfully unaware of her.

She takes a deep breath. Her throat tightens.

It’s only a work trip.

She reminds herself of that like a mantra, like it’s supposed to mean something.

*

She had received the email last Saturday morning. She was on the couch in her sweatshirt, curled around a cup of tea that had gone cold. Outside her apartment, Paris went on living. Footsteps on pavement, a motorbike, the clink of glass from the bakery downstairs. Inside, everything had gone still.

Subject: Madrid Expansion — Selected Staff for Team Integration & Travel Itinerary

At first she thought it was a mistake. Or a bulk email. She read it twice. Her name was there, in the list. One week in Madrid. A full week.

She didn’t move. Not at first. The room felt like it had narrowed in around her.

The kettle began to scream in the kitchen. She stood too quickly, banged her hip against the table. Her hands trembled slightly as she turned off the stove. The tea didn’t matter anymore.

Julie appeared in the doorway, yawning, her hair in a sideways ponytail like a comic strip character.

“You’re up early.” she said, scratching her elbow.

Anna blinked at her, still holding the dry teabag.

“I have to go to Madrid,” she said “for work.”

Julie tilted her head. “Like… Madrid Madrid?”

Anna nodded.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Julie crossed the kitchen, leaned against the fridge. “And how do you feel about that?”

Anna shrugged. “It’s just work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Anna sighed, looked down at the counter like it might give her the answer. “I don’t know.” she said finally. “There’s the chance I see him. Or the chance I don’t. And I honestly don’t know which is worse.”

Julie didn’t try to fix it. She just stood there, steady.

“You’ll handle it,” she said. “You always do.”

Anna didn’t believe that, but she didn’t argue either.

They’d met in university, at a party Anna had tried to sneak out of before she was even halfway through her drink. Julie had caught her on the stairs and pulled her back in with a laugh and a brash, charming “no way are you bailing on me, I just got here.”

Julie was the kind of person who filled rooms without trying. People leaned into her, wanted to be close to her. She was funny and bright and fast. And not in a showy way, but with a sort of effortless gravity. She was studying art history and was always covered in paint or glitter or bits of tape, like her life was made in collage. She told stories with her hands. She loved hard and forgave quickly. Anna had never met anyone like her.

They moved in together that spring and never really stopped. Even now, years later, they shared a flat in the 11th, though Julie would be leaving soon. She was engaged now, to Guillaume, her long time boyfriend. Steady, gentle, impossibly French but a really nice guy. Anna didn’t say it out loud, but the idea of Julie leaving scared her more than she expected.

So she listened to her.

At the airport, Julie texted her:

Julie: You should text him. Just let him know you’ll be in town.

Anna: Isn’t that weird?

Julie: He’d want to see you. But it’s your call. Just don’t overthink it. You’ve got this.

Anna didn’t text him. She opened the window in the hotel and watched the city instead.

*

Madrid is warmer than Paris, but not by much. The days start gray and end with a wash of gold on balconies. On the first afternoon, Camille, her coworkers, takes her to lunch in a narrow restaurant where the waiters speak happily. They sit at a corner table with red napkins folded like fans.

Camille orders wine. Anna asks for something lighter, an orange juice.

Camille raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.

They talk about work. Or Camille does, mostly. She’s effortlessly polished, with that subtle Parisian way of seeming completely disinterested while knowing exactly what’s happening. She’s in her forties, with a calm kind of authority. Red lipstick. Clean suits. Long earrings. No apologies. She isn’t quite a friend, but she is the kind of woman Anna quietly admired. Camille had the composed confidence of someone who'd long stopped worrying about being liked. They'd fallen into a quiet sort of companionship since Anna had started working in the office; a lunch here and there, an occasional walk to the metro when they finished late. Camille talked more than Anna, but it never felt like noise. She was curious, clever, a little cynical. The kind of person who asked how your weekend was, then actually listened.

“I almost married a chef once,” she says between bites of roasted fish. “He wrote poems on receipts and smoked in the shower.”

Anna laughs. Not because it’s funny, exactly, but because Camille says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Anna smiles faintly "I thought Spain would be sunnier." she admits

"Spain is sunnier. February just doesn't care."

The week moves in blinks. Meetings. Introductions. Office tours.

The Madrid office space was slick and modern, all clean lines and filtered light. But the people were the opposite — tactile, warm, constantly offering coffee, food, compliments, stories. Anna spends most of her time trying to match their energy, knowing she never quite does. Camille thrives, even with her broken Spanish and ironic tone. She knows when to push and when to vanish. She doesn’t push Anna, but always found ways to include her gently, effortlessly. Anna smiled when she needed to, contributed when she could, and disappeared into herself whenever possible.

She walks through the city at dusk, letting herself get a little lost. The buildings look sun-worn and sturdy. There are oranges on the trees. The light feels closer than it does in Paris.

She doesn’t text him. But she thinks about it every night.

It’s Friday night. The restaurant is loud, full of weekend buzz and cheap wine and too much cologne. Her small group from work had planned dinner. A chance to relax, to laugh and to celebrate the successful week they had. They've got the weekend off before returning to Paris, and this feels like the perfect start, a night out in the last stretch of their time in Madrid.

Outside, the rain has quieted to a mist, fine and invisible until it catches the light. The street is narrow and damp, cobblestones slick with reflection. A row of motorbikes leans against a wall across the way, their seats glistening. A neon sign from a corner bar buzzes quietly in the distance, humming its way into the silence between them.

Anna tucks her arms across her chest, bottle of water cold in her hand, she’s too tired to drink tonight . Camille lights a cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind, the tip flaring orange before settling into a steady glow. Smoke curls up around her, mingling with the city air — exhaust, wet pavement, something faintly floral.

They don’t speak for a few moments. There's a comfort in the quiet, in the shared act of being slightly apart from the noise, of pausing without obligation. Camille offers her a cigarette.

Anna shakes her head. “I’d just embarrass myself.”

Camille smiles faintly. “We’ve all done worse.”

Then Camille exhales and glances sideways. She smokes with a casual grace of someone who's been doing it since the '90s. “You’ve been a little strange this week,” she says. “Quieter than usual.”

Anna shrugs, watching a raindrop slide off the edge of a streetlamp. “I’m always quiet.”

Camille gives her a dry look. “You’re not always like this.”

There’s no malice in it. Just observation, casually dropped into the night like a coin into a fountain.

Anna’s eyes flick toward the building across the street. There's nothing remarkable about it, shuttered windows, a closed florist, some dark shapes that might be tables inside a café. But one door glows faintly, a soft amber rectangle in the dim. Seems like one of those expensive restaurants with ridiculous menus.

“I’m fine.” she says eventually, because it’s easier than untangling anything real.

Camille takes another drag. “You've been here before?"

It is an innocent question; light, casual, nothing loaded. But it catches her off guard. Because even though Camille doesn't know the history, the question lands heavy. Like it grazes something buried.

Anna doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she looks up again at the sky, pale and blank. Then down the street, where taillights smear across the wet stone. The city feels suspended, like it’s holding its breath with her.

“No.” she says finally. “But it's... familiar. In a way.".

Camille studies her. "Love thing?"

Anna's smile holds no humor. "Isn't it always?"

Camille doesn't press. Just nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. “We should get drunk.” she says lightly, as if to break the tension.

Anna huffs a small laugh. “Probably.”

And then, just as she begins to turn back toward the door, her foot lifting slightly from the ground, the door across the street opens.

It’s subtle at first, just a creak of movement. Her eyes catch it out of habit, not expectation. She’s not looking for anything. Not anymore.

But then, like a slow, deliberate reveal, he steps into the light.

Her body stills before her mind does. Her breath cuts short, like she’s suddenly underwater.

Kylian.

He’s there. Real. Present. Not memory or fantasy. Not the version she’s rewritten in her head a hundred times. He walks into the faint orange glow of the doorway with that same easy posture, the way he adjusts his sleeve with one hand like he's done it a thousand times. The rhythm of his movements unchanged. Unthinking.

For a split second, she doesn’t feel anything. No rush of emotion. Just a hollow quietness, like the air has been sucked out of her.

Then it floods in — the weight of the months, the questions left hanging, the sudden, cruel sharpness of the present.

Beside him, Étienne appears. The bodyguard, the driver, the trusted shadow; tall, composed, still somehow blending into the background. Just as he used to. He speaks to Kylian in a low voice, then scans the street, that same soft vigilance in his eyes, as though checking for exits no one else sees. She remembers the way he used to play French rap music from the stereo, tapping his finger lightly on the wheel. She hadn't thought of Étienne in months, and yet, there he was too. Like a ghost from the past.

And then, as if pulled by something unseen, Kylian lifts his head.

His eyes land on her.

Not around her. Not through her. On her.

The recognition is immediate. No delay. No question. Like he was expecting her all along, or maybe hoping not to.

For a second, neither of them moves. The city carries on around them. A horn in the distance, the rush of tires over wet stone, but here, in this stretch of air between them, time narrows to a point.

Kylian’s face doesn’t change much, but something in it softens. He says something to Étienne, too quiet to hear, and then takes a step forward.

Then another.

He begins to cross the street.

Anna doesn’t move. Her fingers tighten slightly around the bottle in her hand, but she doesn’t step back. Doesn’t breathe. She watches him approach, each step sounding louder in her ears than it should.

He isn’t rushing. There’s a carefulness to the way he moves, like he’s not sure if this is allowed. Like one wrong word could send the whole thing toppling.

Beside her, Camille straightens a little, glancing between them. “Is that–?” she begins, her voice low “Do you know him?”

Anna doesn’t look at her. “Kind of.” she murmurs.

Camille nods, sensing something in the stillness, in Anna’s posture. “I’ll give you a minute.” she says, already stepping toward the door, flicking her cigarette to the gutter without looking back.

And then he’s there.

Not close enough to touch, but close enough to speak. His presence feels too large all of a sudden. Too familiar. He smells like the same cologne. Wears the same kind of coat. And his expression, that small, half-smile, eyes flicking quickly to hers, it all crashes into her like a memory she's still grieving.

“Hi.” he says, quiet.

“Hey.” she answers, almost as softly.

The word feels simple, but her throat tightens around it. He looks at her like he’s still trying to understand the fact of her.

He blinks, then glances around, like trying to place this version of her in this particular streetlight. “What are you...?” he starts, then trails off. “I didn’t know–”

“I’m here for work,” she says quickly, the words sharper than she intends, too rehearsed. “They’re expanding. I came for the launch. Just a few days.”

She hears herself. The precision of it, how careful she sounds. Not casual, not surprised. Just... neutral. She doesn’t know why she phrases it like that. Maybe part of her doesn’t want to give him the wrong impression; doesn’t want him to think she came here because of him, for him. That would feel too exposed. Too much like something she used to do.

But underneath it, there's a flicker of something raw, a quieter truth pressing up against her ribs. That maybe she’d hoped for this. That maybe part of her had scanned every room for this moment, just like this, without letting herself admit it.

She watches his face, waiting for some reaction, a shift in his expression, some small sign of what he’s thinking. But he just nods, slow, like he’s absorbing it. And she can feel it all beginning to catch up to her now, the sudden nearness of him, the old ache unfolding in her chest like a bruise returning.

Kylian nods, then shifts slightly, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. That same half-smile plays at his mouth — crooked, a little unsure, like he's trying to land somewhere between familiarity and caution.

“Still drinking water at social things, huh?”

It’s such a simple thing. Barely even a real comment. The kind of line people toss out when they don’t know what else to say.

But it hits her like an echo from another life.

He remembered. The first time they met.

She glances down at the bottle like it’s just appeared there, like it’s someone else’s. And then the smallest smile pulls at her mouth, not quite amused. More like caught.

“I guess some things don’t change.” she says.

But they both know a lot of things did.

———

tags: @nowrosesaredead

[disneyprincemuke]

build me up * ls2

two hit men, one target: each other. the problem? you're soulmates.

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!reader

trope: soulmates destined to kill each other

wc: 1.2k

(f1 masterlist) | (falling in reverse)

logan’s not a murderer per se. well, he kinda is. but with a purpose; he’s not just going around killing people for no reason.

there’s always a reason.

but when he’d been assigned to take down an assassin of some sort, he almost hesitated. because it was you and well, the bias is very simply explainable: you’re very beautiful.

he’s a hitman — not a robot. he can still find people attractive.

he’d been contracted to take out the person sneaking up on the big people he’s working for. naturally, they’d want you taken out.

he’s followed you around for a couple of hours now, trying to find a perfect time to lunge at you and make it quick. there wouldn’t be much to admire seeing when the world is still very much monochrome in his eyes.

he wondered, watching you devour your dinner just an hour ago, if there was somebody that would mourn your death. not in a psychopathic manner, just in a sense that he’s also all alone.

ever since he’d taken the genius career path to be a hitman of some sorts, it’d been easier to be by himself. nobody to look after, and nobody in danger from the things he’s gotten himself into.

his want to eventually meet his soulmate and see the world in colour would have to wait. it might even need to be scratched off from his list completely.

when he comes home to an empty apartment, nobody in it but his dog happily wagging its tail up at him, he gets the urge to drop everything to pursue the life he wanted. a nice home somewhere discreet with his soulmate and maybe kids.

his picture perfect future gets the best of him sometimes. he’s got his letter of resignation collecting dust in the bottom of his email drafts but whenever he comes close to hitting send, there’s hesitation.

because what if he doesn’t actually ever find his soulmate? does that mean that he would have to go about life in black and white all by himself?

so logan doesn’t ever send the email out. he will just have to eventually find the time to deal with the inevitable loneliness looming over him.

it’s not an easy lifestyle: trying to be a hitman for a big corporation and desire for normalcy.

logan follows behind you, slowly and quite a distance, into an alleyway. he keeps a hand against the cold material of the gun stowed away underneath his jacket — for comfort — and to finish you off fast.

your sigh echoes in the empty alleyway as your footsteps come to a slow halt. you kick the ground slightly and drop your head, starting to dig for something in your bag.

and that’s his cue.

but just as he launches to get you, he finds himself frozen when he hears a click. there’s a barrel of a gun pointed right at him with your back still turned to him.

instinctively, he draws his gun out, pointed right back at you. and he finds himself in a situation.

“do you think i’m stupid?” you mutter with sarcasm. “i know when i’m being followed.”

you whirl around and logan almost drops to his knees. he finds the boring black and white motif that he once thought he would never get rid of, slowly fading away. he can decipher the warm glow of the orange lights in the alleyway and the colour of your skin and the colour of your hair.

you don’t mask your shock very well. you flinch and your hand falters when the bright green of logan’s eyes greet you when you turned and locked eyes with him.

your gaze softens as you try to figure out what’s happening. only then it hits you that this man who has a gun pointed right at you is your soulmate.

you steady your arm immediately and tighten your grip on the gun. “i noticed you the minute i stepped out of the restaurant,” you say lowly, “why are you following me?”

logan lifts both of his hands in surrender, his gun pointed into the air. “are you just going to ignore what happened?”

the colour of your eyes mesmerises logan. to hell with his task, there’s a more pressing matter: he can see colours.

colours that seemed like a mere myth, growing up with parents who would describe it to him all the time with the biggest smiles. he wonders now if his eyes are as beautiful as his mother would tell him when he was growing up.

if he cared to ask you, you would say they’re the best thing to be greeted with. but that’s not important.

just like every other kid, growing up, he always thought what it would be like to meet his soulmate and watch the world transition to something he’s only ever heard his friends talk about growing up.

it wasn’t until the reality of losing a soulmate struck him when he was 19, when he lost his mother. and eventually watched his father grieve, and then lost him too.

and friends of friends bear stories of losing their soulmates, describing it as the most devastating feeling. he decided at 20 that he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that pain.

so logan distracted himself training at some shooting range down the street. some burly man liked what he saw and recruited him.

and now here he is.

“i’m not fucking around with you.” you keep your guard up walking towards him and logan doesn’t move another inch. “i know you’re not here to mug me, so what gives?”

logan’s eyes trail down to the gun barrel now pressed against his chest. he lifts his eyes with a small smile. “would it help if i said i think you’re pretty?”

you dig the barrel into his chest. logan stumbles a step back. “i will kill you without thinking twice.”

“okay!” logan whines. “i was… i’m being paid to kill you.” he watches the annoyance on your face grow. “but please, acknowledge what just happened.”

you look up at him, trying to figure out if he’d just make an attempt for your life either way. you snap your head at the item still in his hand and he follows your stare. “i’ll unarm it,” he offers. “please, let’s just talk.”

“one wrong move, i’ll shoot you in the leg,” you threaten, gesturing your head towards the ground.

you weren’t shy of falling victim to great love stories of meeting your soulmate. you watched your best friend and her soulmate tear each other to the brink of insanity trying to make it work, evidently throwing in your face how it’s all just an illusion, and gave up on it.

the story of how you landed a job as an assassin is a long story, deriving from your childhood and your parents’ businesses growing up. all there is to know is that you’ve been here almost your entire life, courtesy of your parents.

given the brutality of all of your lines of businesses, you often think about how they managed to make their marriage work.

seeing colour has always been emphasised in yout society. it’s a magical moment, you’ve heard people say. but nobody ever tells you what to do when you’re meant to kill the other.

and you’re curious… you’re thinking, what now?

frankly, logan is thinking the same thing.

gen taglist: @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @localwhoore @namgification

series taglist: @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @lozzamez3 @haikyuu-carat @bicchaan @ @cinnamongirlontv

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Three: Game of Thrones: House Of Blue SS: 9 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.9K Content Warnings: None?

Previous Next Masterlist

Ayame pushes open the office door, the familiar scent of printer ink and stale coffee slamming into her like a bad memory. It's late, and the fluorescent lights feel unnecessarily aggressive after a long day spent trekking across Seoul for a meeting that could've been an email, or, better yet, not existed at all.

She sighs heavily, dropping her bag onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. Her black stilettos click against the tiled floor as she strides in, her red turtleneck hugging her like a second skin, the black miniskirt showing off legs that are screaming for the nearest couch. Instead, she's here.

She barely registers the figure standing in her space before something whizzes past her face. Her instincts kick in, and she ducks just in time. The object, a hardcover book, smacks into the wall behind her with a resounding thunk.

"Uh, maybe warn a girl next time, Seonghwa?" Ayame says, straightening and running a hand through her hair. 

Seonghwa stands there, grinning sheepishly, his dark hair sticking out like he's been wrestling with a wind tunnel. "Sorry, sorry! I should've waited for some eye contact or, you know, consent. But hey, it's the new book."

Ayame grabs the offending missile from the floor and inspects it as she moves toward her desk. Across the room, Bang Chan glances up from his meticulously arranged workspace, one eyebrow lifting.

Seonghwa follows her like an eager puppy, leaning against her desk while she collapses into her chair. "The designers got a few advanced copies. I thought I'd bring you one."

Ayame flips the book over in her hands, examining the cover. Her nose wrinkles almost immediately, her lips curling into a grimace. "Oh no. This is the cover?"

Seonghwa shrugs, looking apologetic but not particularly surprised. "Kang made us approve it. Jisung designed it."

Ayame holds the book up, her expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "The story is about a female time traveller solving the Jack the Ripper mystery, and this is what we're going with? A half-naked woman in lingerie, draped over a clock? Who the fuck does this even appeal to?"

Seonghwa winces. "Probably no one, honestly."

She slams the book onto her desk and leans back, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers to life's greatest questions. "Why do we even bother writing blurbs for these books when we're selling them like erotica for middle-aged men? Do they think anyone reads the jackets anymore?"

"Unlikely," Seonghwa mutters, scratching the back of his head.

Before Ayame can launch into a full-blown rant, Seonghwa digs into his bag and pulls out a small parcel. He tosses it toward her, but her reflexes kick in again, and she ducks so fast her chair spins slightly. The package lands on her desk with a dull thud.

"Oh for two," Seonghwa mutters, grimacing as he watches Ayame glare at him.

From his desk, Chan chimes in, not even bothering to look up. "Oh, are you ordering your tiny clothes again?"

Ayame doesn't miss a beat, ripping the tape off the package with unnecessary force. "Nope. It's a container to trap soul-sucking corporate trolls. You're first on the list."

Seonghwa snickers and says, "I bet it's another smurf"

Ayame freezes for half a second before shoving the package into her desk drawer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Chan leans back in his chair, his smirk turning smug. "Wait, another smurf? As in, there's a collection? What are you doing? Building a little Smurf village?"

"Stop," she groans, pressing her palms to her temples.

But Chan's on a roll now. "Do they have little houses? Are you reenacting Smurf Game of Thrones: House Of Blue?"

Seonghwa jumps in, his grin pure mischief. "She's got the full set"

"Adorable," Chan quips, his grin spreading. "She's probably naming them, too. What's this one? Smurfette? Brainy Smurf?"

Ayame raises a hand, cutting them both off. "That's enough. Shut up. Both of you. And they already have names, you uncultured swine"

Seonghwa shrugs, still smirking as he grabs his bag. "Well, my work here is done. Delivery complete."

"Thank you, Hwa," Ayame says with exaggerated sweetness, narrowing her eyes at him. "Now get out before I make you regret ever stepping foot in here."

Seonghwa gives a mock salute. "Anytime." He hesitates for a second, glancing between her and Chan like he's waiting for something. Ayame focuses on her laptop, while Chan stares him down, unblinking.

"Alright, bye!" Seonghwa blurts before fleeing the room.

As soon as the door closes, Chan leans forward, his pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of his clipboard. His smirk sharpens, his voice low and dripping with mock sincerity. "You know that poor bastard thinks you're flirting with him, right?"

Ayame snaps her head toward him, her glare deadly. "The same way people think you flirt with me?"

Chan doesn't even flinch. "Shortcake, if I was flirting with you, you'd know it."

Her eyes roll so hard she half-expects them to pop out of her skull. "Right. Thanks for the warning."

He grins, picking up his red pen and meticulously marking something in his leather-bound planner. The scratch of the pen fills the room, its rhythm grating on her nerves.

Ayame mutters under her breath as she turns back to her laptop, "Soul-sucking fucking dementor."

She swears she sees his smirk widen out of the corner of her eye.

Ayame settles into her desk chair with the grace of someone teetering between exhaustion and sheer determination. Her black stilettos tap lightly against the floor as she boots up her laptop, her red turtleneck stretching taut as she leans forward.

The screen flickers to life, and she sighs audibly at the ever-growing list of unread emails that could probably double as her personal hell. Reaching for her desk phone, she dials a number and leans back, balancing the receiver between her ear and shoulder while scrolling through her inbox.

"Hi, this is Lim Ayame," she says in her most syrupy voice, her tone so sweet it could rot teeth. "Yes, Mr. Yun! I had the meeting with your rep this morning. It went so well, and thank you so much for brunch. That was such a treat!" She forces a giggle that sounds just fake enough to sting her own ears. "I just got back to the office now, right at the end of my workday. You're so lucky you caught me!"

Across the room, Chan glances up from his perfectly organized desk. His brow arches, and his lips twitch into that infuriating smirk he always reserves for moments when she's being particularly fake. He doesn't say anything, but the amusement in his expression is loud enough.

"Yes, brilliant," Ayame continues, flipping through a folder like she's looking for something important. "I'll put you through to Seungmin, who can help you with all that legal and accounting jargon that my little lady brain just can't handle. Thank you! Bye-bye now!" She slams the receiver down with a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she mutters something unintelligible.

Chan clears his throat, his smirk firmly in place. "The whole flirting and playing dumb thing? Really not your best look."

Ayame doesn't even glance up, flipping him off without hesitation.

Chan chuckles, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "I could report you to HR for that, you know."

"Go ahead," Ayame replies, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "Make Minho's day, he loves me and hates you so anything I do, makes him laugh"

Before Chan can fire back, Kang Haechul's obnoxious laugh booms through the hallway, growing louder as he approaches their office. Ayame's jaw tightens as he strides past the door. "Mr. Kang!" she calls out, holding up the book Seonghwa had delivered earlier.

Haechul pivots, his grin wide and patronizing as he steps into the room. "Ah, my favourite little lady," he says, grabbing the book from her outstretched hand. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Ayame forces a smile so tight it could snap. "Of course."

Haechul flips through the book lazily, his grin growing as he glances at the cover. "Stripping Time," he announces proudly, holding it up like it's a trophy. "That cover's all me, you know. Really grabs your attention, doesn't it?"

Ayame hums noncommittally, biting her tongue so hard she can taste blood. "It's definitely eye-catching."

"Exactly!" Haechul beams. "Marketing gold. Oh, Chan," he adds, turning toward him, "you got my tee time set up for tomorrow, right?"

"Eight-thirty," Chan replies without looking up, his fingers flying over his keyboard.

"Good man." Haechul nods approvingly, then leans closer to Ayame, dropping his voice like he's sharing some grand secret. "Gotta work on my stroke, you know."

Ayame hums again, this time inching her chair back subtly, her expression unchanging. From the corner of her eye, she notices Chan watching the interaction, his expression unreadable.

"Well, see you kids in the morning!" Haechul declares, giving them a mock salute before striding out of the office, his laugh echoing down the hall.

As soon as he's gone, Ayame slumps in her chair, muttering, "What a fucking dick."

Chan doesn't even try to hide his amusement. "Did you seriously call that cover 'eye-catching'? It looks like it was designed by a horny middle schooler."

"Well, Jisung did design it," Ayame says with a shrug. "So, yeah. Tracks."

Chan leans back, crossing his arms as he tilts his head toward her. "The cover is not exactly consistent with the tone of the book."

She raises an eyebrow. "Since when do you read the books we publish?"

"It was a struggle," Chan admits, smirking. "I fell asleep three times on the first page."

Ayame snorts, grabbing her coat. "Big surprise. You're more comfortable reading stock reports than actual stories."

Chan pulls on his coat with an easy shrug. "The book was boring as hell."

"Yeah, because your asshole boss cut two hundred pages and left us with plot holes big enough to devour the earth," Ayame retorts as they step into the elevator.

Chan presses the button for the ground floor, leaning against the wall with his usual casual arrogance. "Big plans tonight? Or are you just gonna sit at home playing with your Smurfs?"

Ayame rolls her eyes so hard she feels them ache. "What about you? Gonna sacrifice a virgin to maintain your soul-sucking powers?"

The elevator stops on the third floor, and Minho steps in, a manila folder clutched in his hand and exhaustion written all over his face. He looks between them, his expression already fed up. "Four complaints about you two, and it's Tuesday."

Ayame grins, leaning against the elevator wall. "Only four? Wow. We're off our game."

Minho sighs dramatically, flipping open the folder. "Three of them are about the break room incident where, Ayame, you called Chan a 'brainless, dickless fuckwit,' and Chan, you called Ayame a 'pint-sized pixie with short-person syndrome.'"

Ayame smirks. "Honestly? I think I won that round."

Chan shrugs, unbothered. "Mommy and Daddy argue sometimes."

Ayame snorts. "We have discussions."

"Like how Mommy always forgets to CC Daddy on memos," Chan adds, his tone mock-stern.

"Or how Daddy has a fucking aneurysm over fonts in quarterly reports," Ayame shoots back.

Minho groans, plugging his ears. "You two are the worst part of my job. I love you, Ayame, but god, you're a fucking nightmare. And now I have to write a report because Chan called himself Daddy and you Mommy. More work for me."

Chan smirks. "Or you could pretend this conversation never happened."

Minho considers this for a moment. "You know what? Fuck it. What were you two saying?"

"Nothing HR-worthy," Ayame and Chan reply in perfect unison, their faces a picture of innocence.

Minho narrows his eyes, then sighs. "Good. Carry on, then."

As the elevator continues its descent, Ayame and Chan exchange a brief glance, their matching smirks promising that their ongoing war is far from over.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 32

how the hell do I have 32 parts of this thing already

xx

Zoe stretched out in the king sized bed, reaching out for her phone to shut off the alarm.

She had ever intention of going into the office today. However, since she was at Cillian's, it was adding an extra 15-20 minutes on to her commute, as well as having to feed Scout and let him out before she left.

Before she could even consider hitting the snooze button, she heard Scout scratching at the door. She dragged the comforter off and got out of bed, unwillingly. She opened the door and was greeted by Scout, sitting patiently at the door with his tail wagging. The second she took a step forward, he leaped towards the stairs and raced down them, making a mad dash for the kitchen.

"okay, okay," Zoe said, following him through the kitchen and to the back french doors that opened up to the large, fenced-in back yard. She opened the door and Scout ran out, sniffing the grass immediately, looking for the perfect spot to go to the bathroom.

It was still early, and the sun had just come up. It was Zoe's favorite time of the day, when the day was still so new and perfect, the birds were starting to softly chirp, the sun wasn't too hot. The calm before the storm, the serenity before the chaos.

The home came with a deck, perfect for outdoor seating and a fire pit. However, Cillian hasn't purchased one yet. Zoe couldn't wait to have her morning coffee out there, and maybe build a fire and roast marshmallows there on chilly nights with Cillian.

Zoe retreated back into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. She opened up the cabinet she designated for Scout's food, and took out a scooper and filled his bowl for his breakfast and gave him some fresh water. Scout was already at the door, whining to come in. Zoe let him in and he went straight for his food, ready for breakfast.

Okay, going to eat something quick, let Scout out after he eats, then go upstairs and shower quick and change, make it to the office and pray the traffic gods are on my side so I can have a spare 5 minutes to stop for more coffee, Zoe thought, mentally going through her to do list for the morning.

Zoe looked at her laptop sitting on the counter. Checking my emails couldn't hurt, she thought. She took a seat, opened up her laptop and logged in.

the first email was from her sister, which wasn't unusual, but the subject line was what caught her eye.

"WTF is this shit," Zoe read the subject line out loud, as she clicked open.

In the body of the email was a link to a Daily Mail article, and it made her stomach drop.

Party like a Shelby! Cillian Murphy Spends Time With New Lady as Peaky Blinders Cast Grabs Dinner and Drinks

Zoe read it 7 times, as if it was going to change in front of her eyes.

He told me he was working late. He was at dinner? Why couldn't he just say he was at dinner?

Zoe scrolled down, and saw photos of the cast, and in the background was Cillian and a tall blonde woman smiling at him. In other photos, she was laughing with him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

What is she laughing at? he's not THAT funny, Zoe thought.

Zoe continued to scroll:

Cillian Murphy might have been called to begin filming, but that doesn't mean the fun has to end. Murphy, 46, was spotted out at Harry's Bar in London. Joining him at the posh bar was the rest of his Peaky Blinders cast, including new cast member Lizzie Hughes, who joined the cast last minute for season six. Previously modeling for Versace in their latest campaign, she excited to spread her wings and jump into her role - and it seems like Cillian Murphy has no problem showing her the ropes! As previously reported, Cillian was recently dating Zoe Parker, journalist. They have quietly spit earlier this month, and it seems Cillian is back in the dating pool. Scroll below for pictures from the wild night - by order of the Peaky Blinders -

Zoe's heart was in her throat.

"First of all, all the peaky blinders references are annoying," she said out loud, to anyone who will hear her. She looked at Scout, who was by the door again. "It's corny, right?" she asked him.

Scout just stared at her, then back at the door. She rolled her eyes and let him out again.

"Second of all, who the hell is Lizzie Hughes??" She opened up a new tab and searched her name. Millions of pictures came up, with her mile long legs and green eyes staring back at Zoe. She clicked on a picture that brought her to her call card, that had her contact information for bookings.

managed by Hannah Woods, Elite Talent and Public Relations.

That's... odd.. Zoe thought. Maybe it's a small world?

Zoe went back to the article and took a deep breath, she was about to click through the photos.

At first they weren't too bad. All of them out, drinks in hand, having a good time.

But in every picture, Lizzie was there, right next to Cillian. In some pictures, he was leaning in close to her, assuming to hear her. At least, that's what Zoe wanted to believe.

As she clicked through, it seems like they all got drunker and Lizzie got more touchy with Cillian. She had her hand on his bicep, hand on his chest, hand on his back. Cillian... wasn't stopping it.

The pictures got worse.

They were all leaving, and bringing up the rear was Cillian and Lizzie, arm in arm. She was leaning heavy into him, and he was holding onto her tight.

Zoe slammed the laptop shut, tears in her eyes, face bright red.

These pictures are exactly like the ones of her and Cillian. She was so embarrassed, so angry, so hurt. This wasn't like him, AT ALL. She thought she knew him and he was better than this, was this NOT the Cillian that she got to know, the Cillian she opened up to, the one who she sat on the beach with all those days ago.

Am I that forgettable? She thought, letting tears roll down her cheeks.

She was interrupted by Scout barking at a squirrel outside. She glanced at the clock on the stove - she was running late.

Shit, she mumbled, wiping her tears. She got up and went upstairs, planning on throwing on whatever she could to make it to the office at a decent time. She couldn't think about this, not now... But she was planning on texting him when she got to work. And she planned on thinking about what to say the entire time before getting to her office.

xx

Cillian was sound asleep, with about 15 minutes left before his alarm would go off.

Hannah, however, was wide awake.

She had the key to his hotel room, and she quietly let herself in. Cillian was asleep in the bedroom, however his cell phone, wallet and keys were on the coffee table in the living room. Hannah walked over and grabbed his phone, entering the password and opening it up.

She knew the Daily Mail article hit in the US already, and she was certain Zoe would have said something to him by now.

Since the cast had a wild night last night, production for the day was delayed and Cillian didn't have to be on set until later that evening. This allowed him to sleep well into the afternoon, since they all didn't get home until about 4am.

Hannah opened up his phone and smiled, texts from the 2 people she needed texts from; Lizzie and Zoe.

Lizzie: Thanks for being so kind, Cillian! you're sound, looking forward to a good season! x

Hannah rolled her eyes. she left that one unread; he could see that one.

She took a breath and opened the one from Zoe; she was ready to go back and forth with her a little.

Zoe: Hey. I thought you said you were working? looks like you had fun last night. You could have just said you were going out to eat; who's that girl?

Hannah couldn't help but smirk. She began typing:

Cill: hi. didn't know i need to tell u my every waking move. went out to dinner. nbd.

Zoe responded almost immediately.

Zoe: ... you don't need to? I was just asking. I was looking forward to talking to you.

Cill: i know but i cant drop everything to talk to u. im working. i cant pick my schedule like u do. im busy.

Zoe: ... okay? is everything okay?

Cill: this is stressing me out. this schedule isn't working. how bout ill call u whenever im free. don't call me. i cant keep having my phone go off. just lemme call u. i luv u but u gotta let me work. please. Zoe: you're acting weird. can you please pick up your phone? I want to talk. Cill: i can't right now. ill call u later. everything im fine. im sorry. <3 u Zoe: i love you too...

Hannah was interrupted by Cillian's alarm going off. She quickly deleted the text message thread and placed his phone on the coffee table. She opened her work bag and grabbed some papers, making it seem like she was working or going over a schedule.

Cillian emerged a few minutes later, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He turned and looked at Hannah.

"I wanna die." Cillian said, squinting at Hannah.

"Welp, partying like you guys did last night will do that to ya," Hannah said, smiling, "Coffee?"

"Tea, please." Cillian mumbled, stretching his arms over his head. "What time is it?"

"A little past 2pm" Hannah said, not looking up from her papers.

"Fuck. I have a workout in half an hour, i feel like shit, and then we start at what, 5 tonight?" Cillian groaned, hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing it. Hannah nodded, confirming the start time. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom.

"I'm hopping in the shower, can you please text Zoe for me and tell her i'll call her later?" He yelled over his shoulder, grabbing a fresh towel and closing the bathroom door.

"Hannah laughed, biting her lip to keep the noise down. "Consider it done, Cill!" She yelled back.

"Consider it done!"

tags:

@lau219 @cillianinlove @vervainandspritz @supershadowymiraclestudent @borntodiemp3 @cillianmurphyvevo @shopgirl6us

[aspiringtrashpanda]

This is part two of Day 9! Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 12 Prompt: Haunting Additional tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, the Satan and Asmo friendship is so important

Asmodeus’s D.D.D. wouldn’t stop buzzing. 

The vibration was tinny, resonating with some sort of metal within the polished stone countertop of his vanity. The sound wormed its way through Asmo’s eardrum, needling at some part in his brain that stoked irritation. All he could do was scratch at his temples, the pressure pulsing behind his eyes building with each new notification across his screen. 

There were so many alerts from FabSnap, from Devilgram, from TrickTok. Interspersed by emails about online sales, exclusive deals, brand sponsorships for his DevilTube page, it was easy to write everything off as shallow. 

The word was haunting him. His reputation was haunting him. His fucking D.D.D. that would not stop buzzing was haunting him. 

Asmo lifted bloodshot eyes to the mirror, disgust flaring in his gut at the sunken skin beneath his dull eyes. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t bothered to style it before leaving his room. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he had failed to catch a wink of sleep and then skipped classes the next day, either. 

He had told himself it was an exercise in identity. If he purposely deprived himself of his perfect appearance, then he would be met with the pieces of him that remained behind the shattered veneer.

What he got was vibrating confirmation that all anyone wished to talk to discuss with him was his beauty and his influence. 

“You’re Asmo. You don’t do the hard work, you know?” 

And what if they were right?

A sharp rap on his door knocked him back to reality, the pain within his skull poking at his brain and making him wince.

One knock, then two. When he failed to answer, Satan’s voice called through the wooden panel of his sanctuary. “Asmo? Are you in there?”

Asmo shuddered at the sound of his name. Who was Asmodeus? Was he just an empty shell loved for its pattern and not the decaying hermit crab within? 

Satan tried again. “I can smell the fresh roses in the bath. Open up.”

Pulling himself up from his vanity chair, Asmo wrenched the door open, not bothering to mask his… Where did he even start? Frustration, exhaustion, anger, fear, pain? 

He settled for a simple, “Yes?”

“What’s wrong?” If Satan was taken aback by Asmo’s haggard appearance, he didn’t show it. 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“That’s a lie.” Though Satan’s lips remained fixed in a stern frown, Asmo did appreciate the humor in his voice when he added, “You didn’t try to coax me into sharing a bath with you just now.” 

Asmo didn’t protest as Satan shouldered his way into the room. With his hands on his hips, his seagreen eyes took quick note of the dirtied makeup remover wipes still lingering by the bathroom sink, of the clothes from last night bunched into a corner by the closet. Concern overwhelmed Satan’s gaze as he accused, “You’ve been locked up here all day and you won’t respond in the house chat.”

The words bounced around Asmo’s head. Oh, Satan, how sweet of you to occupy your thoughts with ol’ adorable me~. Of course you can’t take your mind off me! I’m just too cute ♡! But, he didn’t have the energy to play it up. Instead, he deflated face first into the plush duvet of his bed. The movement pushed an anguished groan from his chest. 

The mattress shifted, Satan taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Lying like that will leave imprints on your face.”

“I don’t care,” Asmo’s protest rose muffled and near indistinguishable from the fabric. 

“Asmo,” Satan huffed, though there was no impatience in the timbre of his voice, “Talk to me.”

Asmo considered it. Just for one moment. One moment where his stomach lurched and his temples throbbed and he spewed, “Am I shallow?”

“What do you mean?” Satan waited until Asmo had pulled himself up, hugging an embroidered pillow to his chest.

“Am I a shallow person?” The question scorched Asmo’s throat worse than the hard liquor he had switched to last night. Speaking the fear aloud was so much worse than letting it ferment in his brain. “Do I only care about image? Would you consider me someone to avoid putting the work in for anything?”

Satan’s expression was unreadable, much to Asmo’s disappointment. All his brother did was cock his head slightly to the right and ask, “Why would you say that?”

If Asmo had been hoping to bottle it up, well, Satan wasn’t going to let him. That simple, curious gaze lacking any judgment wrenched Asmo’s screw top open, the disturbed carbonation spilling out in a messy rant. “I offered to interview Zaramela for Devil Style because Lamiya said they aren’t doing a feature on her, even though she’s coming to our region. And then I thought, hey, this would be a good opportunity for Majolish to collaborate with Zaramela and release a new line for both party and casual wear that would appeal to both demons like, well, me, and demons like Levi!”

Satan hummed in understanding.

“But Lamiya and Marbas and Astia kind of…ignored me? And then, Astia told me that I don’t put in the work.” There were those words again. Asmo worried he was going to vomit everywhere, and it had nothing to do with his hangover. Burying his face in his hands, he lamented, “I feel like a loser.” 

The longer the silence stretched on, the less Asmo wished to lift his head. Was that embarrassing? Was he making a fuss about nothing? Was Satan going to agree with them? 

But then, Asmo felt a heavy hand pat his knee, and Satan spoke gently, “You’re not a loser. The people you surround yourself with are losers.” 

Asmo stilled. He spread his fingers, peered out at Satan from between digits. 

And Satan did not regard him with pity, or even sympathy for that matter. No, Satan lifted his hand away, tapped his index finger against his chin and considered, “Let me talk to Zaramela’s manager. Did you know they love cats? We met through an online chat group. They believe orange cats are superior to all, but I’ll overlook their ignorance and see if I can pull some strings.”

Asmo blinked. “Huh?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” Again, the irritation that flashed through Satan’s eyes was entirely void of any sort of commiseration. Really, Asmo should have known better. Satan wasn’t one to take Asmo’s feelings, ball them up and throw them away, but he also wasn’t the type to get into the nitty gritty mess that accompanied emotions. He was one to listen, to validate, and then to solve the problem. 

Asmo knew that Satan would never put his association on the line if he didn't believe in Asmo wholeheartedly. Such a show of trust spoke volumes, answering all his questions in one fell swoop.

The gratitude welled up in Asmo’s chest, pressing on his heart, and he thought he was going to cry. His bottom lip was trembling, his vision blurring as he started to sniffle. 

“Seriously,” Satan’s frown deepened. Pulling himself up from the bed, he made for the door. “Stop it. Why don’t you go talk to Levi about your ideas? I’ll let you know when I hear back from Kreos.” 

“Satan!” But Asmo wasn’t about to let him go that easily. He lunged forward, wrapping his technically little brother up in a tight embrace. “I love you so much ♡!”

Satan only sighed, though did not fight against Asmo’s arms. He allowed Asmo to hug him tight for a whole ten seconds before squirming away, not unlike a stray cat suffering unwanted affection. 

“Hey, Asmo…” Satan paused with his fingers hovering over the door knob. “Someone who doesn’t put in the work would never have been able to paint my nails. Don’t forget that.”

And Asmo thought that maybe, as Satan shut the door behind him, the affection wasn’t entirely unwanted after all.

His heart lighter than it had been in the last 24 hours, Asmo picked up his D.D.D., cleared all notifications without bothering to read them. Though the bright red numbers continued to tick up, up, up in the corners of his apps, he told himself that none of that mattered at this very moment. No, there was something he needed to do.

7:54pm - Asmodeus

Hiiii! Are you free right now?

7:55pm - Leviathan

Lol why does that sound like Mammon’s fail of a pick up line? Yeah, I’m in my room. Why?

7:56pm - Asmodeus

Yay! I’ll be right over! 😘

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Inspired by the latest Reductive Audio Pt. 2!!

I realized as I was posting that I missed like… half the channel. I didn’t include the ones I just don’t care for or I’m not interested in. So sorry if that includes ur fave 🙏. If you want me cover anybody else or want another lol headcanon for anybody I’ve covered so far, feel free to send an ask!! You can find part one here! With no further ado;

Ollie

Mike’s Hard Lemonade enjoyer. He’s a simple man. What he wants from alcohol is a lil tasty treat that gets him drunk. Mike’s Hard does that. His fav flavor is the strawberry lemonade one.

Babe (Ollie’s listener)

Neat whiskey kind of person. They don’t believe in mixed drinks and are terribly embarrassed when they have to buy Ollie’s Mike’s Hards. They do like it when they order drinks at a bar and the bartender assumes the daiquiri is for them. The look on most faces when Ollie starts slurping that thing down is delicious.

Aaron

Can’t keep his desktop organized for the life of him. Aaron is a Virgo to the max, he has like… five placements of it in his chart. He is incredibly organized. He folds his underwear and puts them into little stacks in his drawer. He has a little velvet lined case where he keeps all of his cuff links and tie pins. His shoes all go in the exact same spot on the rack every single day. But he can’t organize his folders for the life of him. Everything is just saved wherever there’s room for it. It’s incredibly frustrating for him to try and find anything.

Smartass

They are So Good at grocery shopping. Aaron hates grocery stores. The lights and noise and amount of people stress him out. So they make a list together and Smartass gets shit done. They have a system. They group their list by aisle and start at the back of the store, and make their way up to the front, wearing through the aisles. In total, it takes them about 30 mins to shop for two weeks worth of stuff. They time themself. Their record is 23 mins.

Elliot

He wants a cat really badly. His and Sunshine’s current lease agreement doesn’t allow pets, so they’re waiting until they can move. He volunteers at a local cat cafe and is in love with a little calico baby there. He’s determined to adopt her as soon as he can.

Brachium

He wishes that he could try strawberries. Sunshine loves them, but he isn’t able to experience them through anything but their memories. When he feels resentful of his situation, the small thing he gets caught up on is the fact that he’ll never get to try strawberries.

Sunshine

Hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car since their accident. They’ll ride in one if they have to, but they haven’t been able to drive since. Elliot is more than willing to drive them wherever they need to go, and they have a bike they use when he’s busy.

James

As a form of short hand when asking his partner if he can be in their brain for a while, he telepathically goes “Knock Knock.” He has to stop himself from using it with other people.

James’ spouse

Uses snail mail with James. Of course they text and email and call, but they love to write out a letter, put pictures in, pressed flowers. They make beautiful, decorated papers with their gorgeous handwriting. James has chicken scratch, but he still replies to every one. He just has to send an accompanying email with the translation so they can read it.

Anton

Writes poetry in his free time. He’s a scientist, but he believes that science and art are not so different from each other. When he’s stuck on a problem having to do with his work, he’ll write a poem about it. He writes a lot of poems to his partner. He never sends any of them.

Brian

Loves Animal Crossing New Horizons. He’ll never admit it, but it’s his absolute favorite pass time. His favorite villager is Lucky and he bought an amibo card to get him. His island is beautiful and has a sort of cityscape theme. He changes up certain areas for the seasons and does custom builds. He doesn’t believe in treasure islands and does everything for himself. He’s completed the Happy Home Island DLC and is a minor celebrity in ACNH spaces for his customs. If this ever gets out he’ll be ruined.

The Asset

Gets songs stuck in their head. It’s a weird, human thing that they just happen to have. Brian was startled when he heard them humming a Mitski song under their breath. It seemed to disturb him that they were capable of it.

Guy

He thinks he’s a good script writer, but he’s actually most talented in writing fiction. He would absolutely slay as a novelist, but he’s stuck on the idea of being a screenwriter. That’s why his script hasn’t gone anywhere in the last few years.

Honey

When they were a kid and people asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up, they always said “bus driver.” They just thought it would be fun to drive those big ol things around.

Kody

Still stalks the entire D.A.M.N. crew’s social media. He has a few alt accounts he uses to drop nasty comments on everybody’s posts. The crew pretty much knows it’s Kody, but every time they block an account a new one pops up. He seems to delight in messing with Lasko the most, since every time he gets a Kody comment, Lasko won’t post for a few weeks. Kody thinks it’s because he’s scared, but actually Lasko is afraid he’ll violate terms of service with the things he’s likely to reply.

Geordi

Avid consumer of reality tv. He will never admit it, of course. It feels non-intellectual. But he has watched every season of both The Bachelor and The Bachelorette and has incredibly strong feelings about it. He runs a semi-popular twitter account where he live tweets every new episode. He’s deeply, deeply ashamed.

Cutie

Early riser. They’re up before the sun is. It’s somewhat comforting to them to know that they’re the only person up, and there’s nobody who can be thinking about them and them not know it.

Blake

Thinks that Drake won the Kendrick beef. He won’t even listen to “Not Like Us.” He’s been an avid Drake fan for years and refuses to accept that he lost.

Bestie

Does tarot readings, funnily enough. They like the idea of being able to look ahead to the future. On the day that Blake died, all their deck would let them draw was The Ten of Swords.

[harshnirmal]

How to Build a Strong Personal Brand Online in 2025

In today’s digital age, your personal brand is often your most valuable asset. Whether you're a freelancer, entrepreneur, coach, content creator, or job seeker—building a powerful online presence can open doors, generate income, and create influence. In 2025, personal branding has gone beyond fancy bios and selfies. It’s about authenticity, authority, and consistency across platforms.

This guide will show you step-by-step how to build a personal brand online that attracts opportunities and earns trust in an increasingly noisy digital space.

Why Personal Branding Matters More Than Ever

The internet is saturated. Every niche is crowded. If you don’t stand out, you disappear.

But a strong personal brand:

Positions you as an expert in your field

Attracts clients, partnerships, or job offers

Builds trust and community

Helps you charge more for your time and services

Whether you're starting from scratch or refining your online image, a clear brand can be your biggest differentiator.

Step 1: Define Your Personal Brand Identity

Before posting content or building a website, get crystal clear on who you are and what you stand for.

Ask yourself:

What’s my mission or purpose?

What problems do I help people solve?

What are my values and beliefs?

What kind of audience do I want to attract?

This identity will influence your content, visuals, tone of voice, and positioning.

Pro Tip: A digital marketing consultant can help you craft a brand message that feels authentic and resonates with your ideal audience.

Step 2: Optimize Your Online Presence

Once you’ve defined your brand, your next goal is to align your online profiles with your message. That includes:

A professional profile photo

Consistent username/handle across platforms

A powerful, clear bio (who you help and how)

Links to your website, portfolio, or landing page

Focus on platforms where your audience hangs out—LinkedIn, Instagram, Twitter (X), YouTube, or your own website.

Need help building a stunning personal website? Work with a website development team that knows how to make your brand shine online.

Step 3: Create Valuable, Branded Content

Content is the engine that drives your brand. To gain visibility and trust, post content that provides value consistently.

Content types:

Educational posts (tips, how-tos, tutorials)

Opinion pieces or thought leadership

Behind-the-scenes or personal journey updates

Video content (vlogs, reels, YouTube shorts)

Live streams or podcasts

Create 3–5 content pillars that relate to your brand and rotate them weekly. Consistency builds recognition and loyalty.

Want a content calendar made just for you? Hire a social media expert to create, schedule, and manage content tailored to your goals.

Step 4: Build Credibility Through Social Proof

No matter how great your message is, people want proof that you’re legit.

Ways to build social proof:

Testimonials from clients or peers

Screenshots of positive feedback or results

Interviews or podcast guest appearances

Case studies or before-after transformations

Press mentions or awards

Even if you're just starting out, document small wins and share your growth journey. It builds relatability and authenticity.

If you want your brand to be seen by media outlets or featured on popular platforms, collaborate with a PR and branding agency that can get you noticed.

Step 5: Network and Collaborate

Your brand doesn’t grow in a bubble. The fastest way to grow your audience and credibility is through collaborations and relationships.

Try this:

Engage daily with your niche community

Comment meaningfully on others’ posts

Join Twitter/X Spaces, Clubhouse rooms, or LinkedIn groups

Collaborate on content, giveaways, or interviews

The more you're seen associating with other credible people, the stronger your personal brand becomes.

Step 6: Offer Something of Value (Lead Magnet)

Want to grow an email list or attract leads? Give something away in exchange for contact info.

Ideas:

Free guide or checklist

Ebook or mini-course

Exclusive newsletter or training

Templates or tools

Place it on a landing page and promote it via your social content, website, and bio link.

Need a custom-designed funnel to capture leads? Let a conversion specialist help you design one that turns visitors into subscribers or clients.

Step 7: Stay Consistent and Evolve

Personal branding is a long-term game. It’s built brick by brick, one piece of content and connection at a time.

Stay consistent by:

Posting regularly (daily or at least 3x/week)

Keeping your tone and visuals uniform

Tracking your analytics and learning what works

Updating your message as you grow

Remember: You are the brand. People don’t buy logos—they buy people they trust, relate to, and believe in.

Bonus: Tools to Level Up Your Personal Brand in 2025

Here are some tools and platforms that can help you scale faster:

Canva – Design stunning visuals easily

Notion – Organize your content and planning

Buffer / Hootsuite – Schedule content across platforms

ConvertKit / Mailchimp – Manage and grow your email list

Linktree / Beacons.ai – Create bio links with multiple destinations

And if you’d prefer to outsource and focus on what you do best, a full-service branding agency can take care of everything from identity to execution.

Final Thoughts

In 2025, your online reputation is your resume, your storefront, and your personal marketing campaign—all rolled into one. Whether you want to attract freelance clients, grow a social following, or become a thought leader in your space, personal branding is the way forward.

Remember:

Be real, not perfect

Be helpful, not salesy

Be consistent, not occasional

When done right, your personal brand becomes your passport to opportunity, income, and impact.

If you're ready to craft a bold, unforgettable personal brand, visit Pradeep Digital Marketing and let the experts help you build it from the ground up.

[extrasteps]

30 and 74 - DNF

George scowled at the rude email he’d received the night before from his client. He’d been stewing over it all night, and it didn’t look any less annoying in the cold light of day. Not even the grande vanilla bean creme frappuccino that was currently sitting next to his mouse was enough to cool his ire.

He took a long drag of the sugary goodness and then set it down, cracking his fingers before resting them over the keys.

“Here is a list of all the ways you are wrong,” he typed in reply, ennunciating each word as he typed. “First of all…”

He wrote like a demon possessed, itemising every reason for why no, the code he’d sent this moron was not, in fact, incorrect, and did, in fact, do everything he’d promised. He included screenshots of the stupid fucking code working perfectly on his end, even going so far as to use photoshop to draw large, flashing arrows to the relevant places.

It was sarcastic and even utterly scathing in some parts, as he all but called the client an incompetent baboon for being unable to run such a simple code within his program.

With an evil smile, George reread his work and then, satisfied, clicked send.

“Suck on that, idiot,” he said, glancing over the e-mail address. What kind of a dumb name was Dream anyway?

The rest of his drink tasted like victory, and was all the more sweet for it.

***

“George,” Skeppy said, popping his head into his office. “You got a minute?”

He hummed an affirmative, fingers moving rapidly over the keys as his eyes tracked the code he was building for a different client.

“Earth to George?” Skeppy said.

He typed one last line and then sighed, letting his hands fall from the desk. He looked over at Skeppy. “What is it?”

Skeppy rolled his eyes. “Bad says he wants to see you in his office in five.”

George waved him off, mind already back on his current project. He did flick a glance down at the clock though. Bad was a good boss. He didn’t want to piss him off.

Four and a half minutes later, he sat up and stretched with a loud groan, locking his computer before getting up and making his way down the hall.

Bad’s office door was already cracked open, so George let himself in. There was a strange dude sitting across from Bad already, with a bunch of dumb curls twisting in every direction and shoulders that were more broad than they had any right being. George disliked him on sight, and ignored him as he turned towards George.

Instead, he dropped down into the other chair, giving Bad an expectant look.

“George,” Bad said. There was a hint of warning to his voice and George internally sighed, sitting up from his slouch and raising an eyebrow at Bad.

Satisfied, Bad turned towards the other man.

“Dream, this is George. You mentioned that you had some concerns with the coding he sent to you?”

George’s head whipped to the side. This was the incompetent baboon who had disparaged his work?

Dream had the grace to look a touch embarrassed as he turned to meet George’s icy glare.

“Um, yes. It’s very good code, of course, but it doesn’t seem to be compatible with our program,” Dream explained hesitantly. “I’ve passed it onto our IT guys, and, best they can tell, there was an update to our program only a few days ago that didn’t play well with George’s code.”

Bad nodded and hummed thoughtfully. “Did you raise this with George?” he asked.

Dream’s shoulders turned in slightly. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “That’s why I’m here, in person. I wanted to apologise.”

He turned to face George more fully, the earnest look on his face bringing to mind some big, dumb Golden Retriever. 

George was more of a cat person.

“For what?” he asked brusquely.

Dream brought a hand up and scratched at the scruff that covered the lower half of his face, looking sheepish. 

“Well, you see, I’ve been told in the past that my emails come across as really rude-”

“Understatement of the century,” George muttered.

“-so my company hired someone to uh, vet my emails, as it were,” he continued, either oblivious to George’s comment or deliberately ignoring it. “Well, they rewrite them, to be completely honest.”

George didn’t respond, just staring at him, silently urging him to get to the point. He loathed wasting time like this, even to talk to idiotic dog boys with big hands.

“I normally just write the email and schedule it to send, and the intern rewrites them before they’re due to go out at 5pm. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise until it was too late, and I’d received your reply, that she had left early yesterday.”

“Oh,” Bad said. “Well, that sounds like just a misunderstanding then. George has worked here for a long time, and I know his reply would have been understanding.”

George suppressed a wince. Understanding was definitely not a word that could be used to describe his response to Dream’s email.

Dream glanced at George, his lips thinning.

Oh God, George thought. He was totally going to rat him out.

“Of course,” Dream agreed.

Wait, what?

“But I still thought I should come and apologise in person. The error in the code wasn’t George’s fault, and I didn’t want him to feel responsible when I requested for it to be redone,” Dream explained.

“I’ll add it to the schedule,” Bad assured him, and the two of them rose, shaking hands across Bad’s desk.

George stood up as well, nodding at Bad before trailing after the ridiculous giant. Dream paused and turned to him, but George stone walled him, stalking past him to make his way back to his office. He didn’t realise until one of those ridiculous hands stopped him from closing his office door that Dream had followed.

“I am sorry, you know,” Dream said, giving a rueful smile as George continued to ignore him, flopping into his office chair.

“Whatever,” George said dismissively, unlocking his computer. “I’ll do you stupid code. Just get your people to send me the new version of your program.”

“Of course,” Dream agreed easily. He still hovered in the doorway, looking expectantly at George.

George turned to face him. They both looked. And looked. 

Reluctantly, George mentally noted that Dream’s body was built like a triangle and he wanted to climb him like a tree.

“There will be an extra fee included,” he said to Dream eventually.

Dream’s eyebrows rose. “A fee? For what?”

George turned away from him, fingers moving over the keys already. “To take me to dinner.”

Dream let out a hoarse bark of laughter. George ignored him, checking his emails. There was already one in his inbox from Dream’s company with the new program specs included.

George closed down his previous project, opening this one instead while Dream let himself out.

A smirk dancing on his lips, George started typing.

[ayliamc]

Italia

Day 7 - Heresy

Steps walked: 17,889

Flights climbed: 13

Vehicles ridden: 0!

Points of interest visited: 3

Leonardos spotted: only Michelangelos today

Early pink rays of the sun started to reflect off the Arno and into our bedroom this morning as we woke leisurely, having no train to catch and no hotel room to check out of. It felt so luxurious.

As to the mosquito, she may have been accidentally killed by Dan in his sleep when he scratched an itch on his nose, but I did not wake up unscathed. My arm is a tapestry of bug bites, with a few more scattered throughout the rest of my body. My last count was around a dozen.

We took our time waking up and having breakfast and around 10 I opened my email to look for the confirmation email to visit the Galleria dell’Academia to see the David at 1. I wanted to see if admission to the museum was at 1, or if it was a more specific time to see the David and we could go to the museum earlier.

Surprise surprise, our tickets were for… *drumroll please* 10 am. I naturally started to panic. We scarfed down a few more bites, got dressed, and were out the door just over five minutes later to start the short 15 minute trek to the Galleria. We were both 95% sure that they would let us in, but there’s always that 5% that says “They’re sold out, and they won’t let you in, and you came all the way to Firenze to see this sculpture and cross it off your bucket list and you fucked it up.”

There was a huge line wrapped around the Galleria and our admission was for between 10 and 10:15. So I said if they give us grief, we made it here by 10:15 (barely a fib, we really booked it) and have been in line ever since. Naturally it wasn’t a problem. They were monitoring ticket entry times, but they seemed to be turning away people who were early. I don’t know what would have happened had we been three hours late. No need to worry though! We strolled in with the masses clamoring to see the David.

I half expected a massive museum filled with other untold treasures, the David tucked away in its own room at the end, but it kind of leapt right out at us immediately off the bat. Sure there were other pieces, including a bunch of unfinished Michelangelos.

As you can see from these pieces, Michelangelo was as gay as the day is long. His pieces are all “tortured slave” or “dying slave” or “slave who just hit his head on a cabinet”** but they all seem to me to be contorted in semi-erotic poses. Tortured, sure, but sexualized. I think it adequately represents how the sculptor felt about his own sexuality.

I tried not to look at the David as we approached it, for some reason unbraced for the experience. It’s hard not to, tho. It’s so big. We circled it and marveled and cocked our heads (no pun intended) and admired and circled it a few more times. I could have stayed there for an hour. The thought of leaving made me sad. This has been a bucket list item for me for as long as I can remember, and the whole experience sort of caught me off guard. Not only did I think it would be in the afternoon, but I also didn’t expect it to be one of the first things on display at the Galleria. There was no build up to it. I was just suddenly in a room with the David. And I didn’t want to leave it.

But leave we must. The rest of the museum wasn’t speaking to us. In fact, we desperately wanted to get away from all the horrifying medieval baby paintings (all with the same face of a washed up mid-30s white male comedian). So we headed for the Basilica de Santa Croce, that cool church we happened upon yesterday. We got tickets to go inside, swallowing our discomfort at giving money to the church.

I was immediately put off when they requested I cover my shoulders. Apparently my tank top is too inappropriate for the institution that displays a tortured corpse above all their altars. They had plastic shawls for people to cover their shoulders or wrap around their waist if the clothes are deemed too revealing but fortunately I had a top to put on over my existing top. Here’s how I felt about it:

Lots of tombs, lots of monuments. The coolest:

* Galileo Galilei. This made me mad. How DARE the church claim his body, build a monument to him, after they exiled him for blasphemy and heresy? He changed the world for the better. Expanded our knowledge and understanding of the universe. The church banished him. And now they charge people €8 each to pay respects to his remains???

* Michelangelo. Ok yeah he was religious. But he was so gay and the church is a homophonic institution. Also audacious to have him here.

* Machiavelli. Hilarious that he’s so celebrated. Such a dick. No qualms with him being here.

* Tribute to Leonardo. He’s buried in France but they’re very proud of him so fine.

* Tribute to Dante. He’s buried in Ravenna. I accept this tribute. Makes total sense. Especially considering the nature of his most famous works.

* Florence Nightingale. Huh? What? Wasn’t she English? Is it just because her name is Florence? Well guess what my friends. Her name is Florence because she was born here! Her tribute was too small. We have her to thank in part for sterilization of medical equipment.

Lunch time. Despite my previous insistence on only going to vegan restaurants Dan talked me into going to a nearby vegetarian place that was half restaurant half cafe half bookshop dontquestionthemath. Turned out to be great. Gnocchi and tortellini and both phenomenally vegan.

We then discovered the Museo Galileo and looked it up and decided we had to go there. So our afternoon was spent looking at ancient sextants and astrolabes and thermometers and telescopes and microscopes. We even got to see Galileo’s literal telescopes. Like the ones he actually used to find the moons of Jupiter.

Then we stumbled upon a little glass display with a single digit inside: Galileo’s right middle finger.

This took me a moment to wrap my head around as you can see:

When his body was exhumed and moved to the Santa Croce where we saw it entombed, three fingers, a tooth, and a vertebrae were removed. One of the fingers is at this museum. No idea where the rest are. The gift shop was underwhelming. Sorry, dad. I wanted to get you a replica Galileo thingamabob for Yule but no such luck.

Our next stop was the museum next to the Duomo but it was sold out so we got our tickets for tomorrow. We meandered once more, saw a few dozen more incredible and ancient pieces of art, and went back to our apartment to have some wine before going out to dinner. We ended up setting chairs in our bedroom to look out over the Arno and our spectacular view as we enjoyed our wine, and at dusk a bunch of bats came out and started to feed so we watched them til dark. It was awesome.

Lunch was a 20 minute walk in a straight line to Il Vegano, a little hole in the wall that turned out to be outrageously flavorful and totally inexpensive. We got three entrées, one drink, and two desserts. <chef’s kiss>

On the way back to our apartment, night had fallen in earnest and we were serenaded by the outrageously talented buskers of Firenze, all thanks to the art mouth they live on no doubt.

Some thoughts about Firenze in no particular order:

* In the same way that the streets in Venezia were populated only by people, so too are these streets. The difference is that every once in a while everyone has to make space for a car fighting bravely against the pedestrian swarm. It’s hilarious.

* If I don’t have the river in sight, I lose all sense of direction. Put me next to the Arno and I know where I am. But once it’s out of my line of vision forget about it. I will lose myself among the winding, senseless paths and stare up at the 900 year old buildings and never find my way home.

* Oh yes, the apartment we’re staying in is in a 900 year old building. I wonder if the wifi was this bad back then. That also means it was here when Leonardo lived here.

* In Buffy, there’s a lot of demonic activity because Sunnydale is built on a hell mouth. Well I now have a theory that Firenze is built on an art mouth. It begets genius in art. It seeps out of the ground, the water, the trees. The buildings are imbued with an eternal wellspring of creativity.

* We had one set activity in mind for our visit to Firenze. Both of us wondered idly a few times “what will we do in Firenze? We have three days there!” Turns out it’s not enough time. We keep stumbling upon museums containing treasures and iconic artefacts and even historic corpses! (Or pieces thereof…) I could spend another week here and still not see everything I want to see. On the way to the tomb of Galileo we’ll discover the workshop where Michelangelo craved the David. How can we see it all?? We haven’t even left the historic district since arriving to our apartment.

**Dan named this one.

[predatorandoctupus]

Blogging and digital learning

Blogging refers to writing, photography, and other media that's self-published online. Blogging started as an opportunity for individuals to write diary-style entries, but it has since been incorporated into websites for many businesses. The hallmarks of blogging include frequent updates, informal language, and opportunities for readers to engage and start a conversation.

What Is Blogging?

The word blog is actually a shortened form of its original name, "weblog." These weblogs allowed early internet users to "log" the details of their day in diary-style entries. Blogs often allow readers to comment, so as they became more common, communities sprung up around popular blogs.

If you want to create your online presence and share content you are passionate about, blogging can be a lucrative career choice. In this article, we answer, “What is blogging?”, explore its advantages, understand how you can start blogging and make money from it and share some tips for running a successful blog.

How Blogging Works

Blogging is as simple as obtaining a website and publishing original content on it. Tech-savvy bloggers can buy a domain name and build the website themselves. Those with less HTML knowledge can create an account with sites like WordPress that simplify the web design and publishing process.

Blogs are usually simple websites. Older pieces may be archived in separate sections of the site, and there may be a separate page with contact info or a bio, but the blog itself is usually just a single page that can be scrolled through—similar to the news feed on social media sites like Facebook. As with a Facebook news feed, a blog displays the newest content at the top of the page.

Pros and Cons of Blogging

Pros

Good for SEO

Maintains communication with customers

Builds rapport with customers

Generate alternate income

Cons

Time-consuming

Constantly requires fresh ideas

Payoff is delayed

Blogging in and of itself won't generate income

Requirements for a Blog

The good news is that starting a blog or adding a blog to your existing site is relativity easy and affordable. All you have to do is follow these four steps.

Set Up the Blog

There are free blog options such as WordPress and Blogger, but to retain control and a professional image, consider investing in a domain name and a hosting service. You can install WordPress or another content management system on your host if you don't want to create the whole site from scratch.

Add Content

Once your blog is up and running, you need to keep it active with new content to grow your business. Develop a set schedule for writing and posting blog articles. Create a content calendar so you always know what you're going to post.

Market

Like all other business ideas, your success comes from marketing and getting your message in front of your target market. Great ways to reach your market are through social media apps, email lists, and by reaching out to other bloggers, podcasters, and media outlets for publicity. Repurpose your blog content to promote your business across platforms, such as by using quotes on your Twitter or Instagram profiles, or by creating a video of your article to share on YouTube.

Add Income Streams

While your blog can complement an existing business, it's also a great way to add additional income streams to your home business. You can promote other companies' products and services in affiliate marketing. You can advertise or feed ad networks, such as AdSense, on to your blog. If you have a service business you're promoting with your blog, you can create your own information products to complement it. Or, if you have your own product, you can offer a service.

[nadeemansary]

How to Build an Email List from Scratch: 11 Incredibly Effective Strategies https://blog.hubspot.com/marketing/list-building

[jessicalightbody]

How to Build an Email List from Scratch

Building an email list from scratch may seem daunting, but it’s one of the most powerful tools you can have for growing your brand, business, or blog. Unlike social media platforms, your email list is something you own — and it allows you to communicate directly with people who want to hear from you. Here’s how to get started. Read More..

[easylaunchpad]

What Comes Prebuilt in EasyLaunchpad: A Deep Dive into Features & Architecture

If you’re a .NET developer or startup founder, you’ve likely spent countless hours just getting the basics of your web app in place: login, admin dashboards, email systems, user roles, payments��— the list goes on.

Now imagine you didn’t have to.

EasyLaunchpad is a complete .NET boilerplate designed to help you skip the time-consuming setup phase and go straight to building your core application logic. But unlike generic templates, it’s not just a UI skin or a half-done framework. It’s a full production-grade starter kit with everything you need seamlessly working together.

In this blog, we’ll break down what actually comes prebuilt in EasyLaunchpad and how the architecture helps you launch scalable, maintainable apps faster than ever before.

🔧 Why Boilerplate? Why Now?

Before diving into the tech, let’s align on the problem EasyLaunchpad solves:

Every time you start a new project, you repeat:

Configuring authentication

Setting up admin panels

Managing users and roles

Handling emails and templates

Integrating payments

Adding job scheduling and logs

EasyLaunchpad does all of this for you — so you don’t have to start from scratch again.

⚙️ Core Technologies Behind the Boilerplate

EasyLaunchpad is built with a modern and stable tech stack designed for production:

Layer and Techbology used:

Backend Framework — .NET Core 8.0 (latest LTS)

Language — C#

UI — Razor Pages + Tailwind CSS + DaisyUI

ORM — Entity Framework Core

Dependency Injection — Autofac

Background Tasks — Hangfire

Logging — Serilog

Templating Engine — DotLiquid (for email templates)

This foundation ensures that your app is fast, secure, scalable, and easy to maintain.

Let’s explore what comes ready-to-use as soon as you start your EasyLaunchpad project.

✅ Authentication (Email + Google + Captcha)

EasyLaunchpad includes secure login flows with:

Email-password authentication

Google OAuth integration

CAPTCHA validation during login/registration

You don’t need to spend days integrating Identity manually — just plug and play.

✅ Admin Panel (Built with Tailwind CSS + DaisyUI)

The admin panel is clean, responsive, and fully functional. It’s built using Razor views and styled with TailwindCSS and DaisyUI, giving you a modern UI that’s easy to extend.

Pre-integrated modules in the admin panel include:

User Management: View, add, deactivate users

Role Management: Basic role assignment and user filtering

Package Plans: Define product plans for sale

SMTP & Email Settings: Easily configure mail servers

Feature Settings: Enable or disable system options without touching code

✅ Email System with Templates (DotLiquid)

Forget the hassle of writing email logic from scratch. EasyLaunchpad includes:

Prebuilt transactional email templates (e.g., registration, password reset)

SMTP integration

Templating via DotLiquid, making it easy to insert variables and personalize content

All email dispatches are logged and tracked, so you never lose sight of what’s been sent.

✅ Queued Emails & Background Tasks (Hangfire)

Want to schedule tasks like email reminders or data syncs?

EasyLaunchpad uses Hangfire for:

Background job processing

Scheduled cron jobs

Retry logic for email dispatch and failed tasks

You can manage jobs through the Hangfire dashboard or extend it into your app logic.

✅ Logging with Serilog

Every serious app needs structured, searchable logs. EasyLaunchpad integrates Serilog for:

Real-time activity tracking

Error logging

Request/response data logging

This gives you full visibility into what’s happening in your app, both during development and in production.

✅ Stripe & Paddle Payment Integration

Monetizing your app? EasyLaunchpad includes out-of-the-box integration for:

Stripe

Paddle

You can configure:

Payment plans

One-time purchases

Trial periods

And manage all of it through the admin panel without coding custom APIs.

✅ Packages & Licensing Management

You can create, manage, and connect subscription packages via the admin dashboard.

Each package can be tied to payment providers and synced to your external website or product gateway, making EasyLaunchpad ideal for:

SaaS products

License-based tools

Tiered services

✅ Notifications System

Built-in support for system alerts and user notifications includes:

Inline admin messages

Success/failure alerts on actions

Extendable for real-time or email notifications

🧱 Architectural Design That Supports Growth

Beyond just features, the architecture of EasyLaunchpad is designed for maintainability, extensibility, and scalability.

🧩 Modular Structure

Each module (e.g., Auth, Payments, Email, Jobs) is built to be independently extendable or replaceable. This lets you:

Swap Stripe for PayPal

Replace DotLiquid with Razor templates

Add new modules like CRM or Analytics

📁 Clean Codebase Layout

plaintext

CopyEdit

/Controllers

/Services

/Repositories

/Views

/Models

The code is separated by responsibility, making it easy to onboard new developers or modify any layer.

🔌 Plug-and-Play Capabilities

Need to build your own modules? The boilerplate is interface-driven and uses Autofac for dependency injection, so you can override or extend any logic without rewriting core code.

🌐 Real Use Cases

Here are a few real-world examples of how EasyLaunchpad can be used:

🧠 AI Tools: Launch OpenAI-based chat tools with user plans & payments

💼 B2B SaaS: Create dashboards with multi-user access, logs, and subscriptions

🛠 Admin Systems: Quickly build portals for internal staff or clients

💸 Subscription Services: Monetize features via built-in plans & licensing

🧠 Final Thoughts

Most boilerplates are either too basic or too bloated. EasyLaunchpad hits the sweet spot — it’s production-ready, focused, and elegant.

Everything you’d normally spend 3–4 weeks building? Already done.

With the structure and flexibility of a custom-built project — but without the hassle — you’re free to build what really matters: your product, your logic, your innovation.

👉 Ready to dive in? Get your copy of EasyLaunchpad and start building today:🔗 https://easylaunchpad.com

[jameshmayfield]

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