#cheap fuel near me

[boosterusa]

Future of Fueling: An Overview of the Mobile Fuel Delivery Technology

Delivery of goods like food, medication, groceries, and technology to your door is not a novel idea; in fact, we all use it frequently. We all enjoy making purchases online and having them delivered to our homes with only a few clicks on our phone screens. Also, gasoline delivery is identical. The biggest distinction is that the fuel delivery man restocks your car while the fuel delivery app delivers the petrol at your current location, leaving you ready to leave.

Fuel is provided on-site precisely in fleets, machinery, boats, or other gear as part of mobile fueling, a gasoline supply service. Wet-hosing, wheel-to-wheel fueling, and mobile refueling are other terms for mobile fueling. Clients today are taking benefit of this fueling technique to save money, and fuel, and give their drivers back some of their time. Not to mention the liability savings that comes from motorists not having to worry about storage space and dispensing their fuel.

Detail of the Fuel Delivery Market

A recent development in the delivery services industry is the deployment of on-demandfuel delivery services. But its popularity is growing every day. A survey released by Businesswise projects that the market for gasoline delivery applications will rise by $1.2 billion, at a compound annual growth rate of 3.4%.

The fuel delivery industry is utilizing cutting-edge technology to enhance delivery services and meet customer expectations of receiving a high-quality product quickly. The rise in worldwide vehicle manufacturing is the primary factor straining the fuel distribution sector. The need for gasoline delivery systems is rising along with the increase in business and passenger vehicle sales.

So, there will undoubtedly be an increase in the number of fuel delivery apps shortly.

Advantages for Users of Fuel Delivery Applications

1. Order fuel whenever and anywhere

Consumers can order fuel from any location thanks to the field delivery application. The consumer can choose the gasoline kind and quantity, and it will be quickly and easily delivered to their location.

2. Cost-Friendly

Customers can examine fuel and gas prices in advance and pay conveniently using a variety of payment methods.

3. Monitor Fuel Delivery

With GPS & map integration features, a customer can find and see the delivery agent's location in real-time.

4. Time-Saving

Compared to driving to a gas station and waiting in line for hours to obtain a gasoline refill, using a fuel delivery app is far faster.

5. Responding to emergencies

If you unintentionally run out of petrol or gasoline in a distant area, a fuel delivery application may be your only hope.

Establishing a fuel delivery company is beneficial from a business perspective for the following factors:

1. Minimum Costs

The time, money, and amount of land needed to construct a gas and fuel station will all be decreased with the creation of the fuel delivery app.

2. Cleaner and more sustainable

 Delivery services for city fuel are much more environmentally friendly than a gas station that frequently has issues with proper storage and safety.

3. Greater number of customers

Businesses can expand their clientele by offering fuel to customers where they are, rather than being confined to a single location.

Booster into play 

American gasoline and diesel service company Booster Fuels. The business provides its clients with convenient, user-friendly services. The organization has its line of automobiles, which are smaller than those powered by ordinary fuel and can fit into any parking. Furthermore, the business doesn't charge a delivery cost for its services.

Booster has a lot of rules because it is a tech-driven, customer-focused business. Nonetheless, the essential ideals of sustainability and customer happiness reside at the heart of all of our operations. Fleet management and drivers are being asked to do more as a result of the energy revolution in the transportation industry, and these principles are becoming more and more crucial to Booster's mission to provide fleets with flexible, affordable fueling. Booster is dedicated to assisting fleets of all sizes, resources, and vehicle types to obtain flexible, environmentally friendly energy options as it achieves this.

Booster is dedicated to ensuring that fleets benefit from sustainability, rather than the other way around. Because of this, we put the requirements of the consumer first at all times, working relentlessly to make sure that using our service makes sustainability the simple, affordable choice. The company's goals are mainly centered on this; we want our clients to benefit from our services in terms of effectiveness, sustainability, and cost-cutting.

We transport a variety of fuels directly to customers' fleets through our mobile power delivery service, to put it briefly. We consult with clients to determine the types, quantities, and locations of the fuels they require. Then, during off-peak hours, our committed service specialists visit their fleet yard to fill the vehicles, ensuring that every driver can begin the workday with a tank of fuel and be ready to go.

Any effort fleets can make to increase paid driver time is essential for long-term survival given the workforce shortage and high cost of labor. Fleet managers can use the time and labor savings from eliminating drivers' individualized excursions to the gas station to complete other business tasks, including package delivery.

Fueling Fleets across the Energy Revolution

To make it easier for fleets of all sizes to navigate their particular energy transitions, Booster works alongside them. We want to be versatile tools for all of them. A local gardening fleet will reduce carbon emissions very differently than just Amazon delivery trucks, for example. That is why our business places a premium on dependability and adaptability over the long term. For fleet decarbonization, we think flexible, modular energy may complement existing infrastructure. This implies that we are considering developing mobile energy solutions for all energy sources, such as power, hydrogen, and renewables.

Conclusion

For Booster fuels customers are always put first. The company was founded with the client in mind, to remove the unpleasant process of refueling from drivers' to-do lists to improve their productivity. We will maintain a focus on convenience and efficiency for our customers during the current energy transition and any market adjustments and adjustments it may bring, fostering a more viable future for fleets all around the world.

[lunarw0rks]

sweet thing | part one

˖⁺‧₊˚ read it on ao3 | masterlist | ask box

price takes a liking to his neighbor. vulnerable, expecting, and in need of his helping hand. it's a good thing he always wanted a family.

john price x pregnant!reader (based on this idea of mine.)

warning(s): MDNI (18+); NOT EDITED, price is touch starved and kinda pathetic, pregnancy, angst/depression, alcoholism, fluff, fem!reader [wc: 1.3k]

Involuntary stress leave, they called it.

But for John, it was just short of decay. Sedentary, bitter—restless. Stuck at home while there's still a fight to be fought, men who need guidance. His men.

Before the stress does him in, he figures boredom will close in on him first, and it would be less merciful than any bullet or blade. Chores are a necessity, and hobbies are nothing more than a temporary soothe to his aches.

Every morning, irony wakes him up cold. Takes its pound of flesh. The world he devoted his adult life to fighting for, has nothing in it for him.

(Stiff fingers, heaving chest, bile in his throat, tremors marring his nervous system.)

It's hours before he can shake the feeling, so he compromises by rising at ungodly hours and fulfilling a rigid routine—still a trained soldier to his core. And by nightfall, he nurses a bottle until he's warm again, ready for the reset at dawn.

As they gaze out the window, his eyes search for purpose. Two fingers parting the blinds. Something, anything, please. But nothing. The sharp sting of cheap booze rushes past his teeth, and he's ready to retreat.

He winces through the taste before he's at attention again. The rumble of an engine cut short right next door. He angles himself to catch a clear view of the person. Instinct yells for him to be vigilant, but the sight in front of him snuffs the bellow.

The flow of a slip dress in the breeze, sticky strands of hair pulled back, glowing skin, a nurturing hand resting on the bump that shows through the fabric.

You look anything but thrilled while you wrangle your bags and fight the wind gusts, and you're well aware of it.

All John sees is bloom. Purpose. Duty.

Before he can gather all his wits, he's closed the front door behind him, his spilled bottle dribbling along the end table. It's not so much your beauty that drives him; he isn't a superficial man and can't afford to be.

A living, breathing person is what quickens his stride. Someone to talk to. Someone to touch and study. As of late, the only people near have been on the other side of the TV screen, fueled by dramatics and in character.

You find yourself stuck in your headspace again, mentally listing all the tasks that await you inside your house. Chores, mostly, some grocery shopping—and loads more of that endless baby planning. Relaxation wasn't an option and you're actively learning to accept that. Although, it's admittedly difficult to feel any other way when you've got another human to consider now.

John clears his throat. "Let me take tha' for you, darling."

He waits until you meet his stare to extend a hand, fingers grazing the flimsy straps of your shopping bags. You freeze, soaking in the sight of him.

"Hm?" Your brows knit together, and it's only then that you catch up with him.

"Your bags."

The man has already taken them before the words finish rolling off his tongue, but he stays in place.

A soft chuckle comes out of you to crack open the sheet of embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today."

Pregnancy brain, you want to blame it on. But deep down you know it's because kindness is a new taste nowadays.

Most are courteous and accommodating, making way for you. Others look at you like dirt on their shoes. Fatigue draining your features doesn't help, and neither does the absence of a wedding band. Early on, you were naive enough to believe society had moved beyond the stigma. Wrong, more wrong, and a fool is all you are nowadays, even if only in your head.

Exhausted, not out of it, he analyses, and his heart aches.

"It's alright." His voice is smooth as nectar, leaving goosebumps on your skin that you'll chalk up to the wind. "Shouldn't be carrying all this by yourself, anyhow."

You fight the urge to scoff and instead lead the way to the front porch.

He's right. You shouldn’t be doing any of this alone.

Turning the key, you step inside and let the words spill. “Yeah, I, uh— I didn’t have anyone to call.”

Price should be more shocked by your words, but he isn’t. He is really, and truly, desensitized to all the misfortune around him. And it’s not any different with you. His eyes—conditioned to spot every minute detail of a person—took milliseconds to notice your left hand.

Feel her out. Find out more.

“That so?” He questions softly but doesn’t give you a chance to respond. You’ve painted the whole picture and more.

His words are full of every sensibility possible. “That’s a shame.” Pity. Empathy. Grief. Outrage. All except condescension; none of this is your fault, he can sense it.

You expect admonition.

Leading a stranger inside is bad enough, and walking the fine line between small talk and oversharing is worse.

But you can’t bring yourself to taste it. Outside of some coworkers and your mother, this is your first taste of organic interaction, and it’s been overwhelmingly amicable so far. Not something you can take lightly; loneliness is prevalent.

You let out a tired sigh, letting the silent gesture speak for itself. What else can you say? He's already got you pegged after spending all but two minutes with you. Makes you wonder how you haven't noticed him sooner, though you remember his driveway is usually vacant and the blinds are always closed.

By now, it's obvious that if he had ill intentions, he would've acted on them by now. The silence isn't thick or stiff—it's refreshing, oddly enough.

When his mouth upturns, the crow's feet around his eyes are made visible. They've witnessed things, awful things, no doubt. But he's also got a world of wisdom in them.

This is the part where you find a farewell, something moderately polite so you don't feel awful for kicking him out. (Not your fault you need to rest your feet. At least you get the sense that he'll understand.)

In search for the words, you place a hand on your stomach, "well, it was kind of you to bring that in, uh—"

"—John." He interjects.

Out of habit, you form a clumsy smile and ache to get the proper words out. "It was very kind of you, John. Thank you."

Without any further direction, he's able to pick up on your hints for him to make his exit. The bar is so low these days, it's almost shocking. Shuffling to follow him to the front door, your hand seizes the knob.

There's a lot left unsaid, despite meeting your handsome neighbor only a short time ago. The voice inside urges you to keep it short. Send him off, get out of his hair. He was just being nice.

"I should thank you again," you blurt, almost abruptly. Price turns on his heels with little surprise, a leer written on his thin lips. "Next time, I'll take another trip to carry the bags."

"No next time, love." A purr and a new nickname.

Too smitten to even notice the ruffle of some paper when he reaches a hand in his pocket. Even stole the pen off your entry table (a.k.a the junk-pile-of-mail-table) and you were none the wiser. Dated, the way he scribbles on the crumbled receipt and hands it to you between his index and middle.

Heat rises up your neck and to your face when you inch closer to retrieve the number, somehow finding it within yourself to not break eye contact. John's gaze stays genuine, despite the puff of his chest and the way he breathes your scent in shamelessly.

Albeit frazzled—you weren't born yesterday; he's attractive and extremely luring and you're single and hormonal. Wouldn't take much for something to happen.

And if not, you know you'll have fond daydreams, at the very least.

"You ever need anything, give me a call. 'M good for more than bag carrying."

[wroteclassicaly]

I Won’t Stand By - Part One

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Steve has always been worth more. And you won’t stand by and watch him get his heart broken again. He needs to know.

Warnings: Language, pining, unrequited (or are they?) feelings, heavy on the angst, happy ending… eventually.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x best-friend!female reader

A/N: After I made this post, I started thinking heavily on Steve, Nancy & Stancy, a little more than usual. And I just feel like I needed to write this and channel some energy into it, as it basically took on a mind of its own (we heavily into Steve, okay? He’s consuming me). It’s going to have one more part to it (which I’ve already outlined). It’s thick on the angst, but it’ll have a happy ending, I think? I tried some different stuff with Steve and his reactions, so I hope y’all like it? Lemme know ❤️💖

“Are you stupid?”

You’d never insinuated, nor had you ever called Steve anything that would suggest he was ignorant, and you had known him since elementary school. You never made him feel like anyone else could, by a joke or an offhand comment, usually a backhanded compliment. But as he sees you standing under the entryway of the Family Video — three lunches in your hand, your neon pink windbreaker covered in rain drops, eyes steady in their focus on him and Robin — he’s never felt more like his IQ is non-existent.

Robin looks briefly confused, tapping her purple painted nails on the cheap wooden counter, unsure where to look. However, her mouth opens before she can stop it. “Hey, what’s going on? Is that a ham croissant I smell?”

You’d laugh if your lungs weren’t full of a scream that you’re sure is about to rip itself free. Your heartbeat is thumping so hard against your ribcage that it’s echoing all around your chest, playing ping pong. Steve opens his mouth to speak, starting to shift his posture enough that he can work himself around the counter to get to you. He can’t stand to see you this upset, especially at him. You don’t let him come within an inch of your trembling form, afraid that you’ll say things you can’t take back, or you’ll vomit your breakfast all over his green vest.

You want to berate yourself for the way he looks struck, physically recoiling as if to console himself. His sneakers stop on the rug you’re standing on, your wet loafers drenched and dripping. Nike and leather. You can’t take how good he smells, the way that it always greets you with a hug, but instead, you walked into his conversation with Robin about his upcoming date with Nancy. He really meant it, he saw her as his future, he never got over her, and now that she’s realized what she lost — she wants him back.

Steve is about to call a code for backup, when you decide to say something, stepping around him, paper bags full of food clenched and wrinkled in your vice. You damn near spit the words, tone laced with acidic venom. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

His chest aches with the bitterness of confusion, a hunger to understand that’s clawing at his throat and attempting to seize his tongue. He’s fumbling for words and that seems to fuel your excitement. Robin, meanwhile, her irises widen, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. It's a simple & soft, “Oh, shit.” As she watches your feelings unfold in real time, understanding.

You throw the sacks onto the counter, Robin barely able to catch them before they can slide off, and you turn back, right as Steve shakes himself clear and attempts to meet you. Your finger jabs into his chest, breath getting caught in your throat. He bites his tongue when he sees your sclera is flooded with unshed tears. You know if you blink that it’ll all be over for you. How can you convey how you’re feeling?

Even if you weren’t ass over elbow for the guy, you still wouldn’t want him back together with Nancy Wheeler. She might be your friend too, but you were there for Steve. You saw everything he had to go through, and even though you didn’t leave his side, he was still dealing with their relationship and monster land — alone, trapped in his head. It wasn’t until he graduated that he was able to let go of each mental blockage that she and the whole situation caused him to put up (enough so), and truly let you in. She didn’t share his goals and Steve deserved better than a relationship that seems like nothing more than pure nostalgia.

Neither of them should settle. They are still vastly different.

Fuck, you really need to scream. Your chest is heavy with it, weighted. You’re sinking, choking on oxygen, your body rejecting it. Panic.

Steve practically begs Robin for help, jaw unhinged and tongue slicking across his lips. He tries to find something to say — anything. You roll your eyes and the tears finally salt your lash line, cooling and burning. “Actually, you know what? Fuck this right now!”

And if customers didn’t just come in, the little bell dinging and electrifying your anxieties — you’d have run right out the front door. But you do the next best thing — your only other option. You dart for the family labeled restroom in the back. Steve doesn’t even have to ask, Robin nodding her head. “Go. I got this.”

~*~

You curse yourself for not locking the door, for Steve’s thoroughly kind behavior (why can’t he just be an asshole and make this easier?). You’re practically bent over the sink, sobbing quietly into the fluorescent expanse, and you hear the door open and close. His cologne invades your senses — all delicate traces of woodsy spice. His freshly laundered clothing, even his minty breath from the spray you know he carries in his back pocket. It’s slow motion when you meet his concerned stare in the mirror.

His large palm clasps over your shoulder, wrist watch catching in the light. He turns you, but you find solace in the tile flooring and your loafer covered toes. His fingertips, ever-so gentle and calloused, filter beneath your chin — tilting. You try to look away but it’s a pointless effort. Steve’s brown is pitched high in an attempt to understand, to relate.

Your torso wants to give in and collapse, legs dead and heavy, stuck to the floor. Your mouth is dry, but your throat is wet with tears. It’s suddenly Tina’s Halloween party all those years ago, and you’re holding Steve as he’s crying, showing himself like you had never seen before. Your nose wrinkles into a scrunch, you reach up to swat his hand away. He catches your wrist with his other, and shakes his head, thumbpad caressing the healing cut on your cheek, even a month later it still remains.

When you went to battle with Vecna and the four of you were attacked by his little tentacle hive minds, you’d gotten the sharp end of one to the face. That very fear settles in his stomach at the memory, sloshing about with the gnawing worry over what’s currently going on with you. He tucks a strand of hair back behind your ear, a line of goosebumps shrouding your arms like invisible sleeves. His voice is so gentle with concern that you choke on an outright whimper.

“Talk to me, honey. What happened? What did I do?”

To a fault, this man is too good for anyone. And that’ll be his ultimate downfall. That’s enough to push on your anger, because you’re already riding the inevitable tidal wave of heartbreak, just waiting for the water to drown you. You don’t try to move his hold on you, you’re more than smart enough to know that he won’t budge if he doesn’t want to. You force yourself to talk to him, voice wavering and weak, and the word puke releases. “That’s the problem, Steve. It’s not what you did, but what you’re going to do to yourself by going back to her.”

“Wait, so you heard me and Robin—“

“I heard you in the RV, I heard you in the fucking upside down, and yes — I just heard about your stupid fucking date.”

He shakes his head, thumb tracing over your healing wound, a brief look of guilt flickering, his voice hoarse and tired. “So that’s why you think I’m stupid then, huh?”

“Do you remember when you cried all night after Tina’s party? When you spent money on flowers for her, or lost your entire friend group? Yeah, they were assholes, but you gave up everything because you thought something was wrong with you, that you needed to change.”

He’s briefly glancing at his own shoe wear, an audible swallow heard from him. How could he forget that night? He couldn’t stomach the word bullshit for months after.

You continue, unable to stop if someone duct taped your mouth shut.

“You dealt with torture, with trauma, with being cheated on. You became a more mature person, but that doesn’t mean you were ever an awful boyfriend, Steve. And now that she and Jonathan have grown apart, now that she’s seen you — it doesn’t make it okay for her to decide that you’re suddenly worth something again.”

He knows you’re right. Fuck, he can feel your statement carve itself into his every internal organ. He can’t disagree, he can’t fight you, because he fought with himself one too many times since Nancy destroyed him. His pride wants to argue, wants to blame himself, defend her, but he also knows you. And he knows you’re not taking shots at Nancy, nor are you trying to hurt him.

You’re surprised at how calmly you’re able to articulate yourself. You keep going. He needs to know.

“We were all kids when everything happened, and I don’t blame her for dealing with her own shit. I’m not excusing how she treated you. But I understand, and I love her. I just know that she doesn’t want the same things you want, Steve. It’s like you’re both trying to fit pieces into a mold that was never meant to work together, past what it was in the first place… So I’m fucking begging you, don’t do this to yourself.”

His hand drops, far too quickly than you’re ready for. His back falls against the door, his tresses dusting his forehead. Your body feels as if it’s been paved into the asphalt, unprepared for what he says next. “Any reasons other than that?”

“Steve—“ Your voice wobbles.

“No, you’ve made yourself clear. Me and Nance? Bad idea — I got that.”

“It’s because —“

“Why? There’s more to it than what you’re telling me, I know there is. Don’t fucking lie to me!” You’ve hit that spot in him, that wounded pride. He’s lashing a bit, arms crossing over his chest, biceps flexed beneath his white t-shirt.

“Because, I..” Your sentence topples.

He inches forward. “Because you what? Talk to me!”

Does he realize? Maybe he has an inkling, maybe he’s pushing it. You aren’t able to decipher, your emotions swirling, everything becoming too much all at once. Your instincts fly out the window, shattering glass, heart catching on your throat as it leaps out of your mouth and floats into the room. You lurch forward and grab Steve’s cheeks, his stubble tickling the backs of your fingers — and you press your lips to his.

He’s stiff at first, arms remaining tight and bound together. You’re crying, salting his mouth slick. He tastes like peppermint and coffee, with a hint of that creamer you’ve gotten him hooked on. His mouth is soft, becoming pliant. He begins to kiss you back, but it’s for a fraction, yet it’s there. His nose nudges yours, bumping, your lips parting with a smack as he uses his hands (arms uncrossing), to pull you away, cradling your face.

Heated, like a syrupy honey, he talks to you. He’s got it this go around. “Why didn’t you tell me that this was going on?”

You go to leave him, he won’t dare let you. His hold tightens, index finger rubbing along your cut. Your eyes flutter closed, fresh tears dowsing the raw skin of your cheeks. The moisture pours over Steve’s fingers.

“Don’t.” It’s him who is begging, chained undercurrents cutting into the depth of his voice. “Please don’t cry.”

The way that he strokes you, his grazing thumb soothing your cut, like you’re right back in the underworld and he almost died twice over seeing you hurt. He swipes at your tears, trying to wipe them away, but they blotch. More keeps coming. You’re dangling over that precipice of an anxiety attack that he can also sense. Like he’s coddling a wounded deer, Steve pulls you closer, bringing his lips to your forehead — pressing, voice gravelly, mouth moving away to utter, “Come here. Stay right here.” And helps you rest in his arms, your head sliding beneath his chin.

Whatever you attempt to say, it comes out as gibberish whimpering. Steve’s own chest cavity is scorched, throat blazing, eyes misty. You find solace in his broad physique, nose at his sternum. He’s confused, so many things running through his head, that it fucking aches at the base of his skull. Your cherry lip gloss-flavored kiss lingers, making him think of things he thought were just passing feelings for you a while ago.

There’s many things he wants to say, but his brain has a case of coward, working him into a settled question instead. “How long?”

“Everyday since I’ve known you, I think.” It’s an automatic whisper, a ghostly caress of your broken voice, but he still hears your answer.

He’s nodding, an annoyance filtering, a sadness. How could you not tell him something like this? All those nights you shared, talking about everything. He’s been more vulnerable with you than he’s been with anyone in his entire twenty years. This, he has to call you on.

“In all of the time you’ve known me, have I ever given you any reason not to trust me?”

Still buried in his embrace, you shake your head no.

“Is it — do you… Shit.” He isn’t sure how to phrase it, not wanting to make an ass of himself, the word also scaring the hell out of him.

He gets his answer, thankfully — when you speak. “Don’t ask me if I love —“ You cut yourself off briefly, before adding on, “— just… don’t, okay?”

His lids close, a sigh escaping. Holy shit, you love him. Someone else loves him, his best-friend is in love with him. And he could never see that? He talked about sex with other girls, about Nancy.

And not once did you ever stop him or act like it wasn’t alright. You hyped him up, you were always there to boost his spirits and his ego. He feels like a total asshole. His previous sigh has you shaking your head, especially after he lets out a quiet “I’m sorry.”

You break off his embrace, finding a hold on his forearms, squeezing. “Steve, look at me.” You find your courage again.

He complies immediately, rich hazel catching, nearly stealing your breath. You clear your throat lightly, inhaling through your nose to relax yourself. Steve’s hands are still on your face — unrelenting. “This thing with Nancy, it’s not even because of how I feel, not completely. You’re more than some trophy husband, you’re more than some minimum wage video clerk, even though I think your jobs have been pretty fucking cool.” His softened gaze dips off and he chuckles himself into that cheekily, familiar grin.

“Please don’t do this to yourself again, Steve. You deserve better than this. You always have. You’re the fucking heart of our group, don’t you understand that? Fuck the thumps on the head, fuck nostalgia. I’ve never stopped seeing what a good man you are, even when you used to be a bitchy jerk sometimes.”

He laughs again, music to your ears that gets you to stop crying briefly. You slide your fingers along his bare arms and he’s thoughtful, pausing, wanting to look away from you. Because what he’s going to say, he can’t bear the expression on your face. He just wishes, he almost begs the universe that Nancy hadn’t brought back her bullshit and confused him. And you kissed him and released a bunch of things he’d pushed away, things he didn’t even know existed.

Someone’s going to get hurt and he thinks it should be him, but as he’s gentle with you, fingertips splaying down the sides of your neck, he’s brought back down to the messy reality he’s a part of. “It wasn’t resolved on my terms. Honey, I have to try. Can’t you see things from my perspective, please understand?”

You decide instantaneously what you’re going to do, your ribs aching at the sudden drop in your heart rate, your throat feeling like it’s swollen to twice the normal size. Your hand leaves his wrist, combing the hair off his forehead — memorizing every mole and freckle, his cupid's bow, his jaw, those hauntingly warm eyes. He thinks you’ll get it, that you’ll stay. And you do get it, but the latter? You’re eerily firm, new tears seeping out, flooding your vision, making him a blurry silhouette.

It’s gonna be bad, he can feel the twisting in his gut. He tries to say something, beginning a reason. You cut him off. “I need you to understand that I can’t stand by and watch this. I care about you both, but you can’t ask me to watch you two try and sweep everything under the rug, and you can’t expect me to watch if your heart gets broken. I won’t watch you fall apart again. I can’t do it, Steve.”

“What are you saying?” He sounds pained, like you’d socked him in his stomach. It sure fucking feels like it. Even the tip of his tongue is aching, his own vision becoming cloudy. “How do you even know things won’t work?”

“If they do, then great. If she’s your person and that’s what was meant to happen, I hope it works for you.” If he’s happy, you mean that. But you just don’t think he deserves this, he deserves more, despite your feelings. And there’s some things that you just know.

He straightens himself against the door when he sees you reach around for the handle. He shakes his head and tries to keep your touch. You drop it, tears dripping off your lashes and onto the cheap flooring below. “Let me leave, Steve.”

“No, not happening.”

“Don’t do this.”

“You’re my best-friend, I can’t just be without you.”

“You have Robin. You can handle this.”

“I don’t wanna fucking handle this,” he lashes out, stepping forward and cupping your cheeks, making you look at him, his touch searing into your skin, “I want you.”

“Steve.” You’re a little heavier in your command, pulling his hands away, impulse leading. You lift onto your tippy toes and permit yourself a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His breath is choppy, a sudden heat leveling off the room, his nose bumps, sliding off your peck, his lips crashing into yours. You kiss him back with everything in you, mouths wet and tear stricken. He’s crying too, everything wet, spit stringing as your lips separate.

“I really hope it turns out to be what you want.” You pant your sorrows against his mouth, drinking him in — seeing. You’re falling, abandoning emotions and nearing sobbing territory.

Steve’s hands drop as you say this and it gives you the leverage you need to leave him alone in the bathroom, one last pleading cry from him cut off as you close the door behind you. You keep your head down and you walk through the store alone, its popcorn and candy coated scent striking you. You only stop when you’re at the counter and Robin has a piece of her sandwich pinched between her fingers, a pitiful look on her face as she sees your tear-stained features. She doesn’t get the chance to ask you anything, not before you request, crushing her heart into pieces. “Make sure he’s okay. He’s gonna need you.”

And your presence is gone in mere seconds, that bell signifying something much more than anyone was ready to comprehend. You make it to your car, rain pouring around you, right as Steve leaves the bathroom pinching his nose and sniffling, watching you from the window. You don’t break down, not until you’ve driven away and found somewhere to pull over.

Over…

// Eat me paragraph //

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

kay maliksi ulit hehe || hmm modern au music rec is glue song

highschool sweet hearts sila tas nagkita ulit tas ikaw na bahala ate? (ate ka ba)

saranghe (napapagod ka na ba sakin)

((HAHAHA. Hala ka, ate ba ako? Hulaan nyo xD))

Disclaimer: I do not own Maliksi and Makisig. Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto. All involved characters are adults. Self insert? Might be. Char.

Genre: FLUFF

NON- #PhilMytCrea related AU.

Maliksi softly hums a tune that's been playing on his earphones as he started watering the potted chrysanthemums in front of his shop. It's been 3 months since he inherited the family's flower shop business because his Kuya Makisig wanted to pursue his career as a pilot instead. He didn't mind as he's more than happy to work at his own pace and without someone to boss him around.

He wouldn't admit it to others, but despite him being snarky and sarcastic most of the time, he's actually a gentle guy who loved peace and quiet- the only thing the plants and flowers on his shop absolutely gives everyday.

Maliksi was almost done watering the flowers when he remembered that he had some gypsophila delivered earlier. He smiled as he unloaded the pots and placed it gently in a sunny spot near the windows.

Gypsophila-

How nostalgic.

He can still remember how he begged his Kuya Makisig to teach him how to make flower arrangements- they both practiced using the shop's prettiest flowers- except their parents made him pay out of his allowance but he's already spent half of it on the local arcade earlier that week. In the end, their parents refused to let him keep the bouquet they made.

Maliksi sulked so much that his Kuya Makisig ended up sneaking him a gypsophila bouquet to school the next day- their parents never found out since gypsophila is usually just used as fillers on floral arrangements and it's quite cheap, yet his Kuya Makisig just knew how to make it look like it's one of the more expensive types of bouquet.

He can still remember how happy you looked and how red your face was when he handed you flowers on the last Valentine's Day of your highschool journey. You were the top of your class and Maliksi always hated how he always came second. All your highschool years were you two trying to see who will one up one another be it academics or extracurricular activities.

You were his rival- until you're not.

During your third year, you both were chosen to play as the famous Romeo and Juliet. All the late after school practice, the pancit canton chilimansi fueled all-nighters, and the endless phone calls with one another to have the perfect play also ended up with you two getting closer- not that you'll have it any other way.

After graduating, your family had to move back to the province due to your father's work. Maliksi ended up losing contact with you after a few months and that's it. Such fleeting first love.

He can only softly chuckle to himself as he reminisced those good old days.

"Excuse me...What are those called?"

Maliksi's attention snapped back to reality and at the short highschool boy who is now standing inside the shop, pointing at the flowers he's currently holding.

"Uhh.. these? Gypsophila."

The boy nervously looked around the shop once again, twiddling his thumbs before speaking.

"M...my Ate has a bouquet of that kind and she's got it preserved for a very long time...but I destroyed it accidentally when I was playing with my soccer ball in her room."

That's so cute and sweet.

Maliksi smiled, "I can recreate the bouquet for you. Do you remember what other flowers is in there?"

The boy shook his head before pointing at the flowers in Maliksi's hand "Nothing else. Just that." The boy started fumbling along his pockets before finding three crumpled 100 peso bills and some change. "I saved this from my allowance. Do you think you can do it with this?"

It was clearly not enough but Maliksi didn't mind since he also used to be a highschool student who relied on weekly allowance for stuff he wanted to buy. "Of course, buddy. Let me get your sister's bouquet started."

Maliksi prepared some cotton paper and pastel pink cellophane and started to masterfully arrange the flowers- making a very pretty bouquet that anyone is bound to swoon over. It is a skill he's developed while growing up and occasionally helping hie parents at the shop during holidays. Once he's done, the boy stared at the bouquet in awe, eyes twinkling in admiration.

"It's so pretty! Prettier than the one I accidentally destroyed."

Maliksi smirked at the kid before softly chuckling. "What? I don't think I ever made an ugly bouquet my whole life."

"I...How much do I need to add if I'll have it delivered at my Ate's work? I have a soccer game in 10 minutes."

"You know what, I'll make it free delivery if you promise me you'll win your soccer game, deal?"

"Deal!"

"My ate works at the bank. She'll be out at 5:30pm. If you see some woman with curly hair, around your age and is wearing a cute dress- that's her. Thank you so much!"

The boy left right away for his soccer game, leaving Maliksi with the bouquet. He then started closing the flower shop before grabbing his black hoodie and wearing it above his plain white shirt paired with his grey sweatpants- he's not really up to dress up right now since it'll be too much work when he'll just be delivering a bouquet to some stranger.

Three minutes before 5:30 - Maliksi was already outside the said workplace, leaning on his motorcycle with the bouquet in one hand, waiting for the boy's sister.

You glance at the huge wall clock, waiting for it to struck 5:30 so you can get out of this place already. Your youngest brother has a soccer game going on right now, yet you've been ignoring him for a whole week now after he sneaked into your room and accidentally broke some stuff.

Maybe I should buy him something and him on his game? But he might get embarrassed since he's at that angsty teenager pace...

You walked out of your work, eyes on the ground as you deliberately think if you should sneak on your brother's game to watch him-

"Excuse me, I believe this is for you- Y/n?!"

You quickly looked up to where the voice came from and hurriedly ran towards him with an embrace. "Maliksi!" He made sure to catch you in his arms while you both giggle like two kids as he spins you around before setting you down.

"Ah, it's been so long! I missed you!" You softly giggled before gently ruffling his hair like you used to do to him back in highschool.

Maliksi smiled, not bothering to hide the slight blush that has been forming in his cheeks while still holding you. "I missed you too. I never thought I'll see you here again. You told me yor family will be staying at the province for good."

"We're supposed to. But my brother wants to attend an engineering program for college so, here we are. Our parents stayed at the province though."

"Wait...your brother-"

"Jake, That chubby little kid who used to crawl all over our highschool projects!"

Maliksi's eyes widen in realization that the shy and goofy kid he was talking to earlier was the kid that often bothered him and Y/n's study time back in highschool.

"He's grown! I've met him earlier. He wants me to give you this, because apparently, you were mad that he accidentally ruined the original one."

You can feel your cheeks heating up as if you were caught red-handed to be cherishing that one bouquet you received from Maliksi back in high school very dearly that you went out of your way to preserve it after all these years.

Maliksi burst out chuckling at your flustered face, finding it as adorable as ever. "You could've just tried to look for me when you got back. I would've made you a bouquet for each Valentine's Day we missed since high school."

((I'LL MAKE A PART TWOOO! I'M SO SORRY, I'VE BEEN SICK AND MY BRAIN IS SO SABAW FROM ALL THE ANTIHISTAMINES I'VE BEEN TAKING))

ALSOOO- I'll melt if someone tells those lines to me helppp. AND LOOK AT THAT FACE----- IMAGINE THAT RUNNING TO HUG YOUUUU AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Art is by: @ask-emilz-de-philz , please support them! <3

[onedaughterofman]

Enough (Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader)

Summary: No matter what he does, Terzo's shadow always follows him.

Tags: References to the Grammys, cussing, self-esteem issues, fluff and a bit of angst, emotional hurt/comfort. Short fic.

A/N: The official Grammy's account posted Ghost's nomitation for "Call me little sunshine" using Terzo's pic instead of Popia. THAT'S A FUCKING CRIME. MY MAN DESERVES BETTER AND I WILL NOT BE SILENCED.

Anyway, angst fuel.

“Those… motherfuckers!”

Copia paces around the room, arms gesticulating in every direction as he rants. It is unusual to see him so irritated, upset. A part of you wonders why something so foolish seems to bother him that much.

“They know nothing, Papa,” you whisper, letting out a deep sigh when he continues to walk around the room. “It’s just a stupid picture.”

“No! It’s not!”

The yell takes you by surprise. Your brows furrow high on your face, as his voice becomes softer, full of air when he continues. “It’s… fucking not.”

Something is wrong. Copia never yells, especially not at you. The guilt on his face obscures his factions, causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen as he walks in your direction. Kneeling in front of you, he places his hands on your knees.

When Copia looks up again, there's a faint glow on his eyes. “I’m ashamed, amore. Perdonami, ti prego.”

It's impossible to reject his apologies when his head meets your thighs, heavy with the weight of his worries. Copia doesn't seem to mind being on the hard floor, because he maneuvers his body to rest in a comfortable embrace as his arms wrap around your abdomen.

In a silent manifestation of your forgiveness, your fingers card through his disheveled hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. Copia lets out another audible sigh before you speak up. “This is not about them using Terzo’s picture instead of yours, right?”

For a long moment, he doesn’t reply. Then, gradually, his head shakes. You can’t inspect his face, but the way he clings tighter to you is a visible indicator of his distress. His muscles are tense, almost as if he's getting ready to bolt out of the room at any second. “Haven’t I…” Copia begins, inhaling. “Haven’t I given enough?”

There's nothing that can prepare you for the shock that fills your core when you realize he's silently crying. The tears cling to the corners of his eyes when he looks up to you, a sad furrow on his brows. His mouth is tilted downwards, lip trembling with every sob that he refuses to let out.

Before you manage to state anything, Copia continues. “I did everything they demanded, everything they told me to. And it’s not enough. It’s never enough.”

Oh. Now, you understand better. This goes way beyond a picture or even a nomination. Copia is insecure, as he has always been, way before he became Papa. “The Academy knows nothing. It’s just a stupid award.”

“Terzo won it. I didn’t. And… it’s not only about it. I’ll never be enough for the old man, or for Sister. Fuck, she can’t even call me Papa. I’m worthless, I’m a failure! I'll never be more than just a… cheap copy of Terzo.”

Copia hides his face on your thighs again, body shaking with heartfelt anguish. You know how much this wounds him, how hard the comparison between him and the other Papas have eroded his already poor self-esteem.

It doesn't make sense to you. Yes, it might be true he’s different than his predecesors, but he’s so talented and wonderful in your eyes. If only he could see, you think. If only he could perceive himself the same way you see him. When he’s on the stage, singing in front of a thousand of fans, he shines brighter than any other star in the dark sky. And oh, how much you love to be near him, to bask in his light and walk by his side.

Without hurrying, your arms embrace him back as much as you can. Your palms caress his back, up and down his spine, until you feel his breathing become less shallow, only a bit less shaky. “Papa,” you begin, voice in a whisper. “I can’t speak for the rest, but I know one thing.”

His cheeks are damp when you grab his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours. There are dark traces of smudged paint on his skin, spots you clean with the pad of your thumb. “I love you, and don't care about what Sister, Nihil or anybody out there thinks about you. I understand if you have doubts, but please don’t talk like that about the man I’ve fallen in love with.”

Gradually, Copia’s gloved hands cover yours. His eyes are glossy, immense and brimming with emotions that swirl inside his pupils. He’s speechless, mouth slightly agape as he struggles to find the words he wants to say.

“There’s one thing about my man. He’s wonderful to me, so talented and loving,” you continue, letting your fingers trace his face. “Please, be kind to him. Try loving him as much as I do.”

For a long moment, Copia remains silent. Then, his head falls back to your lap as his arms embrace your abdomen again. “I can’t promise anything,” he whispers, like a secret only meant for you to listen. “But I’ll try if you promise you’ll never leave me. Stay with me, forever.”

A soft smile stretches your lips as you nod. “Only if you stay with me, then.”

He does. For long minutes to come, he stays kneeling in front of you, lost in your tender embrace.

Ps: I wrote this in one sitting before going to sleep. Ghost deserves so much better when it comes to awards.

[comicarc]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

A chance meeting with a stranger leads down the road of an inevitable devotion. Breeding a childish love into an obsessive attachment. The devil's temptation is all-consuming, only producing pain disguised as pleasure.

wc: 2906

The grace of his footsteps, despite his enormous figure, had seemed to incite an absurd curiosity within me. His attitude ranged from a spectrum even vaster than that of light, as he got along with almost everyone he met, yet peculiarly, seemed to never lose his morals or beliefs in the face of so many opinions and conversations. 

I had paid no mind to him when he first marched through the halls of Gotham high, the whole school was abuzz with chatter, gossiping about this bizarre new character. He never dressed the part of being Bruce Wayne’s ward, often rocking hoodies large enough to drown in, colored a deep blood red that seemed to fuel the fury of the teachers. He was a delinquent in every right, yet he was also as intelligent in the same capacity.

Paid for by the one-percenters of Gotham, the library the size of a Manhattan penthouse was often eerily empty, met occasionally with the presence of a student trying to pay another for answers to an assignment. I was an exception in all such aspects, for neither was I rich nor conceited enough to believe in the fantasy that I would be handed everything in life. I would relish the silence of the library, a place I had made a home of by the second week of high school. Gotham was not a city for me, and the cheap apartment that I called ‘home’ was anything but its namesake, lacking everything that the library could provide. 

I had heard the whispers of others, of how the girls were intrigued by the new kid to instantly desire him, and of how the boys spoke nonsense, fueled by a jealous rage. Though these polarized opinions had left me curious, I never thought it my place to ever participate in such an activity of imagining. That was a right reserved for the rich, for those who had time enough to do as they pleased. 

Jason Todd sat in front of me, one fine day, in the library, so enamored in The Great Gatsby that he ignored my existence. Although caught off guard, I enjoyed the silent company, feeling as though I was not alone in my fated destiny toward deterioration as I spent more and more time in the library each passing day. Life had only begun to worsen with time, yet his presence had seemed to soothe me with silent comfort.

At first, I brushed him off just as I thought he had done of me, yet the more I saw him, I began to imagine as well. He had made me a rich woman, not materialistically, but rather metaphysically. My mind spent hours trying to reason why he stayed. Was the library his abode as well? Was he trying to read every book he’d laid eyes on in there? Why? Questions only left a hole, a desire to fulfill my curiosity. 

“Hey.” Jason's soft voice, like the serpent tempting Eve, left me craving conversation. It was the third month of our silent routine when he finally spoke, soothing months of contemplation with a single word. Oh, how desperate I had been.

The days that followed after that interaction were like a daydream. Unbeknownst to most, Jason had a poetic soul paired with the heart of a hopeless romantic. He would bring my favorite coffee with a pastry to the library and set it beside me inconspicuously. He’d brush off every thank you, pleased by the apparent delight in my expression when I would realize what he had brought. These little gestures enabled us to evolve beyond the library setting, meeting instead at coffee shops near the school simply to study as we normally had done.  

Our interactions were intimate, yet physical exchange was always kept to a minimum, with either party fearful of crossing the line and losing the other. But observing the way his massive body could maneuver through the crowds of people on the street, watching him eat with a linger of an animalistic instinct through his gentle facade, and catching his radiant smile whenever he laid eyes on me was fulfilling enough. Until it left me longing for more.

It had taken me a while to muster the courage to make a move to him. I had developed feelings for him that grew deeper with each passing day, and I couldn’t hold in my desire any longer. So, on a sweltering summer day, as me and Jason sat at the coffee shop we would always hang out at, I decided that I would do something. Jason, in his tank top and jeans, sweat shining in the glare of the sunlight, had left me a blushing mess, too embarrassed to think through what I should do to further our relationship. In my state, I had barely recognized how he seemed timider than usual, keeping to himself. 

After an awkward afternoon in the quaint shop, I decided my endeavor was a lost cause. I got out of my seat, and walked to the entrance, motioning to Jason that I was about to leave. Together we walked out through the door, yet before we could part ways, he grabbed my wrist with a gentle grip. The sudden action caused me to swing around, crashing into his chest as I did. Before I could apologize, he used his free hand to take hold of my chin and tilt my face upward just enough to meet his lips. 

The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us suspended in time. It was a moment of pure magic. In that fleeting instant, I knew with certainty that Jason was the perfect man for me, the one I had been searching for without even knowing it. As we pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, I felt a sense of clarity wash over me like a cleansing tide. In Jason's arms, I had found my sanctuary, my safe haven in a world full of chaos. 

And to tie the not on such a precious moment, he had whispered, “Will you be my girlfriend.”

Since that day, Jason established a routine. He’d keep his distance until the night, when he’d knock on my door, littered with bruises, crying for help. The late nights were reserved for peeling away every layer of Jason’s being his traumatizing past and his blissful present. Then, there came days that I wouldn’t hear from him for days, never seeing him at school or at the cafe. He was like a ghost disappearing and reappearing as he wished, toying with my heart every time. Yet, he always managed to make up for his absence, knowing just the right things to reel me back in when I started to slip away. But despite the distance, despite the pain, I stayed because I loved him. I had fallen in love with his fucked up ways, his twisted dreams, a secret life he kept from me.

He wasn’t a bad lover, just an absent one. His appearance had become the highlight of my days, the way he’d caress me when we hugged, the way he’d hold me in his arms while we rested in my bed. Everything he did was able to erect a lustful emotion I never knew I had. He was by all means, perfectly imperfect. Human in all rights. 

After we graduated, he became more and more distant. He’d never told me what he was up to, convinced that I would stay by his side no matter what. I felt as though I was more of a token anchor than a person to him. Existing just for him, as if I did not have passions and ambitions of my own. But he was right. His love was intoxicating, leaving me an obedient puppet who’d always wait for him. Yet the summer after graduation, when he left me for months, I finally began to become skeptical of our situation.

It was bittersweet to know that this time, he hadn’t stood me up due to his own volition. Fate was a heartbreaker, leaving love a longed-for feeling buried six feet in a grave that I could never see, even if I wanted to. Jason had a simple ceremony, with his blue roses placed upon the coffin as he was buried. A speech was given, tears were shed, and people departed more disturbed than they arrived. Or at least that was what I was told in a letter. The sender was one who shared the same address, the same life, the same ambitions as Jason, yet hadn’t the heart to allow his girlfriend the privilege of knowing about the late son’s departure from this world. 

Bruce Wayne had known loss to a degree incomprehensible to the common man, and no amount of money would ever fix the wounds that bled him dry. Yet, this experience should have encouraged communication. If he was as heartful as the news portrayed him to be, sympathizing with those less fortunate enough to form a family full of grieving children, then how had he glanced over me? The same pain had haunted me, from the moment I felt Jason slipping from my grasp, becoming more and more distant until he left me forever. Bruce Wayne, through Jason, was depicted as a madman driven by an insane drive as persistent as the Joker’s scheming. Jason worshipped the man more than god himself, and yet he often came to me with pained sobs, unfulfilled dreams, and an unbridled rage that his ‘father’ failed to provide for. 

Having never met the man before, I had formed a loose persona in my mind that I had assumed the billionaire was. Yet, my assumptions were solidified after receiving the curt letter, rather, note, written with such passive care that anyone would have thought it was merely as insignificant as a to-do list. 

To whom it may concern:  We gathered to remember Jason at Wayne Manor. It's regrettable you couldn't join us. The Wayne family extends their condolences and offers assistance during this difficult time.

Pretentious, arrogant liars. Gotham’s elite were all the same. I sat in the restaurant for two hours, danced in the street on my way home imagining what I would do for Jason's birthday, and attempted to reason another one of his absences from the date before knowing. The sealed envelope sat on the doorstep, accompanied by nothing but a red seal that indicated its correspondent. It was a strange item to receive out of the blue. 

With no notice, no knowledge of the life that Jason led among the elite, I was baffled by the harshness of facing a sudden reality. It felt surreal to imagine Jason of people dead. He was a killer, with killer looks, a killer smile, and a killer attitude. A body built to fight, and an aura as dangerous as a drug. He couldn’t have died, not my Jason. 

I couldn’t comprehend losing Jason, enough that in such denial I had ventured to Wayne Manor, forcing my way through the ebony gates onto the gothic grounds of the mansion. At the front door, after incessantly pounding on the grandiose doors, I was finally met with the face of the butler, Alfred. Before speaking I stared at him for a few moments as I cleared my blurry vision from the uncontrollable tears that rolled down my cheeks. He seemed to recognize me, as he let me inside, placing a hand on my back for support as he looked toward me with an empathetic expression. 

“Jason can’t be dead. I never saw a body, never heard a lick of what happened to him. You’re liars.” The words left like venom, hurting the old man enough to display his aching heart in his eyes. 

“We all have lost someone very special, but we must accept it.” He spoke, attempting to keep a calm demeanor. 

“Accept it? What the hell are you on about? A funeral I was never invited to and a body I have yet to see. How am I supposed to accept something that seems too imaginative?” I retorted, my anger laced with sorrow.

Silence hung heavy between us, but I pressed on, seeking the truth I feared. “He didn’t care, did he? He loved something more than he loved me, right?”

Alfred nodded, giving into his grief as his eyebrows softened, and his gaze moved to the floor, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. 

“Can you tell me what it was that he adored enough to give his life for?”

“Justice.”

I laughed. Of course, he chased independence from his family, yet revered the so-called philanthropist guardian he had. Though he might have begun with the pursuit of true moral justice, Bruce skewed into a dangerous endeavor. 

Bruce Wayne was a killer, not Jason, no he had a handsome impression, a soft smile, and a hopeful attitude. It wasn’t justice that Jason pursued, it was Bruce’s image of it. He was an imperfect man, his only weakness was the longing for a familial love he was denied by his own parents. One that I could never compensate for. He wasn’t my Jason, never had he been. I didn’t know Jason at all, I was the puppet, toyed with by the father and the son. 

After six months of sleepless nights and living nightmares, I finally found a haphazard peace to settle in. I watched the sky every night, wishing that the hope that blessed Metropolis would make its way into Gotham and give me the will to move on with my life. But, as the general populace is fated to remain in the same cycle, trapped in the chains of modern capitalism, all I was able to do was make do with my shitty job, in my shitty apartment, living a lonely life, as devoid of color as the Gotham sky was of the sun. My visit to Wayne Manor had not changed anything, for I was still left in the dark regarding every manner in which Jason’s name was exploited, whether it be a fundraiser in his honor or a gala, I was always the last to know. 

But without hearing his name, seeing his face, or feeling his touch for so long, I had begun to forget him. Out of sight, out of mind as the saying goes, and though I had forgotten everything, his soft voice still haunted me whenever I slept. I had fallen into insanity fueled by my imagination, one that left me feeling rich in broken pieces of a heart. 

Tonight I sat at the edge of my windowsill, one leg resting on a loose brick outside the apartment, while the other remained crossed beneath me. With my head leaned back against the metal of the frame, I watched the stars twinkle in the night sky, like diamonds. It was a rare night, to hear the sirens go off occasionally. There were no screams, no gunshots no cries for help, only the ambience of the city. I took it as a sign, that change had arrived, that peace was mine to finally be in. 

Closing my eyes, I decided that tonight was safe enough to let my guard down. To enjoy Gotham’s raw essence as a mother to the unfortunate. Her touch let my hair dance in the breeze, cooling my body from the heat of the day. Her sounds were a harmonic symphony lulling me into a deep sleep. But her motherly affection was short-lived, as the sound of boots hitting the fire escape had woken me from my lucid state. 

 The footsteps felt heavy yet sounded as soft as the movements of a ballerina. There was a familiar feeling about the situation, but I couldn’t quite place it, not until his breath hit the back of my neck. Even with the faint light from the neon sign, the man remained a silhouette in the darkness, bigger than what the steps had led me to believe. I didn’t move, waiting for the man to make the first move.

“Hey.” In the same husky voice in which he introduced himself to me all those years ago, Jason had come back, yet again tempting me to be consumed by him. At first, I thought I had finally broken, gone insane from the grief. I was done fighting my end when the weight of Jason's touch settled upon me. It was as though a dark cloud descended, shrouding me in a familiar embrace that I couldn't resist. His fingers traced the contours of my hand, each touch sending shivers down my spine, igniting a flame that I thought had long been extinguished.

I felt the pull of his presence, magnetic and intoxicating, drawing me closer with each passing moment. His breath, hot against my neck, tempted me to abandon reason and lose myself in his embrace. Despite the past, despite the pain, despite everything urging me to resist, I found myself unable to pull away. His hold tightened and his lips brushed against my ear, I knew that I had crossed a line from which there was no return. Swallowed by the shadows of Gotham's embrace, I had sealed my fate the moment I met him. I was fated to die a poor woman, yet the devil enticed me with a taste, and I will die a rich woman consumed by the unending pain of unreal love. 

[insideliascrazyhead]

Oya´s great camping adventure

Summary:Fujio has the great idea of a camping trip and manages to convince them all,even Murayama,who draggs his beloved Cobra along for a trip to the local woods for a night.Crazy chaos happens wherever they go,so what could go wrong?

Pairings:Cobra/Murayama,Fujio/Tsukasa,Odajima/Todoroki

Warnings:None I guess

Authors note:Enjoy<3

They´re leaving civilisation when Odajima runs up towards Todoroki,dry heaving then breaking out in a coughing fit.He shakes his head.“God,I hate running!Heya<3!“He exclaims with a little wave.Todoroki tries to hide his smile.“Kinda late aren´t we Odajima?“He teases.“I need my beauty sleep.“He nudges back.Tsukasa looks at them confused.“What?It´s a great place for fishing.“Todoroki defends and Tsukasa snorts.“Sure.Whatever.“He turns towards Fujio.“At least I don´t need to stalk them to see that with my own two eyes.“Fujio barks out a laugh.„Fishing buddies my ass their fishing husbands.“

It´s a exhausting and long hike fueled by energy drinks and candy when they finally reach their destination near a lake. Fujio and Tsukasa throw their stuff against the nearest tree and go explore their surroundings.Odajima and Todoroki search the greatest place to fish.Nakagoshi and Nakaoka get the party started with some music and get seated,taking a long desired break,sipping soda.Shibaman and Tsuji meanwhile try to start a fire for the grill later.Miserably failing as the cheap lighter they brought turns out to be empty.Swearing and cursing they try it with sticks until Cobra had a great laugh out of it and shows mercy handing them a working lighter.

Yasushi and Kiyoshi just ran off and Tsukasa dearly hopes they don´t try to hunt anything.Jamou starts building a tent as he explained earlier he doesn´t wanna get eaten by any creature that crawls around at night.“Oi Jamuo!Wanna tell us about the apocalypse you packed for or what?!“Nakaoka exclaims.“At least I´m prepared!I´m not gonna die by those creatures killing brutally after attacking in the middle of the night.“He explains dramatically.

Cobra get´s seated with Murayama observing them as he lights a cigarette and is handed a beer by Murayama who looks a little nervous.“Relax.This is gonna be great.“Cobra rolls his eyes at his boyfriends twitchiness.“Ehh?!You don´t know those crazy ones like I do Cobra-chan!Let me explain what is gonna happen;Fujio-kun will tame a deadly animal because it will be cute and while trying someone dies probably Sleepy Lion who tries to stop him.Those two crazy pyromaniacs will burn down the whole forest.“He points towards Shibaman and Tsuji who now have a great working fire but still wanna try the way with the sticks on seperate wood.Shibaman swearing it´s gonna work.“The two man party those two throw is gonna lure and a crazy guy that kills us all straight out of a horror movie.Kiyoshi is killed by him.Yasushi will try to human sacrifice Jamuo to the nature gods,failing miserably and Jamuo snaps then smears war pain across his face and hunts Yasushi like an animal!“Murayama describes dramatically making Cobra break out in laughter.“You´re crazy.Trust them at least a little.How do they learn otherways?!Also how about Todoroki and his Housen friend then?“He teases.Murayama shakes his head.“No.They got the local braincell.They´re gonna have a great time and leave like scheduled.“

That´s when the screaming starts.They´re all near the water “Oi what´s that in the lake?!“Yasushi exclaims jumping back in (faked) fear.Kiyoshi rushes over.„What?!Where?!“ Yasushi points towards the water biting his lip.When Kiyoshi then bends over to get a better look he frowns.„I can´t see shit.“Kiyoshi grumbles.“There in the damn lake!It´s a wild Kiyoshi!“He screams,kicks Kiyoshi´s ass who falls foreward into the water.Kiyoshi swears and insults Yasushi in ways that make even Cobra flinch.

Tsukasa whispers something to Fujio who eagerly nodds. Tsukasa would hate himself if he misses that opportunity. Yasushi has tears of laughter stream down his face when Tsukasa puts his soda down.Fujio´s and Tsukasa´s eyes meet when they get up smiling.They run towards Yasushi, both throwing themself on the teen,all three flying into the lake.Yasushi let´s out a nearly unhumanly high shriek.When they all break the surface again Yasushi is trying to punch Tsukasa who dodges with ease.They others break out laughing at their antics.

„They´re insane.“Cobra tells Murayama.“Yeah,they´re great kids.“He leans against the nearest tree,closing his eyes while Cobra shakes his head.“No.Murayama.Your beloved Sleepy Lion it trying to drown Yasushi.Ain´t in a fun way,he´s trying like crazily eager too.“ Murayama´s eyes nearly explode out of his head as he jumps up or at least tries to as he stumbles.Knees hitting the dirty ground.“Oi Sleepy Lion!No killing!“He screams histerically voice breaking.Cobra meanwhile films it sending it to Yamato and Noboru.“Murayama´s babysitting adventure.“

That´s when they all come out of the lake dripping wet.„Oi Yasushi you look like a wet rat!“Fujio exclaims.„I hate you,you crazy bastard!“Yasushi laughs.„Aww I love you too.“Tsukasa teases.„Someone will end up dead by nightfall.Yasushi probably did it then I´m taking.“Odajima chuckles.„I mean if it stops Yasushi from killing someone then I say chloroform that bastard and throw him in the damn lake again.“Todoroki shruggs.

As Tsukasa takes of his soaked shirt leaving him in a top,Fujio get´s redressed revealing his interesting choice of underwear.“Oi Fujio!Sexy undies!“Nakaoka laughs.All eyes land on his heart shaped underwear and he turns as red as a tomato.He quickly gets redressed. The only thing that distracts from Fujio´s underwear is Shibaman and Tsuji´s discussion of the meat on the grill.“Man that meat is still so bloody I bet it´s gonna make moo if you bite it.“Shibaman grunts looking at the meat.“Then teach me your ways oh mighty barbecue dickhead.“Tsuji laughs trying to poke Shibaman with the grill tongs.

„Oi Yasushi?!The fuck are you eating?“Kiyoshi asks.„Magic mushrooms.“Yasushi groans sarcastically.Nosy fucker.„Really?!“Jamuo shrieks.„No dumbass.Found them over there.“Yasushi hints towards some plants with his head.„Anyone that does drugs get´s drowned in the damn lake!“Cobra screams not even turning towards them,sipping his beer.„You eat something you literally just found in the woods?!“Nakagoshi asks shocked.„If you vomit blood Yasushi I swear I´m gonna kill you to death!“Fujio shrieks color draining from his face.„What?!“Yasushi and Kiyoshi ask at the same time.„You know exactly what I mean.“He growls trying to sound threatening.„I´m great.Relax.“He barks out a laugh when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses.

“Yasushi!“Fujio and Tsukasa scream as all eyes land on them.Cobra is about to freak out as he and Murayama run over when Yasushi sits back up with a shit eating grin. “Yeah?!Anything wrong?!“He asks in a sugary sweet voice.“I´m just joking,relax.That shit´s not deadly.“He breaks out laughing and Fujio and Tsukasa hit him over the head while some others groan angrily and either swear and curse at him or take a breath of relief that Yasushi didn´t in fact dropped dead.

Cobra shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.„You sick freak!“He groans.“Yasushi you ain´t allowed to drop dead you know that!“Kiyoshi growls angrily kicking his friend.“You crazy fucked up bastard!You worried your leader.Is that what you wanted?!To worry your leader?Then congratulations you worried your leader!“Murayama adds,pointing towards Fujio who´s color still isn´t back in his face.“Yeah.“Fujio grumbles.“You worried the shit out of all of us.“Tsukasa rolls his eyes helping Yasushi up to violently pull him closer.

“If you drop dead,someone will need to give you CPR and I´ll do it.I won´t hesitate and maybe even with tongue...“ Yasushi spits out the other fruits he just threw into his mouth.„Sorry you´re not my type Blondie.Hanaoka can keep your scrawny ass.“He whines.“Use your imited 2 braincells to focus not to kill yourself.“Tsuji exclaims angrily throwing a full soda can at Yasushi.“Oww.“He dramatically exclaims and drinks said soda.Mumbling a fuck you,you ain´t my nanny.“Just please don´t eat anything deadly.“Fujio says shaking his head.That leader duty does hopefully not involve any death soon or ever.

Cobra and Murayama are eyeing the fruits in Yasushi´s hand.„Deadly?!I would say there´s one way to find out.“Cobra snatches one and eats it while the others watch with horrifyed expression.“I´ll let you know what deadly complications are gonna occur.“Cobra says taking another beer heading towards his seat from earlier.Murayama runs up to him.“You know excatly what that is Cobra-chan,don´t you?“He asks.“Yeah,it´s edible.“He chuckles taking a sip of beer.“Where did you learn that?!Survival expert Cobra-chan.I love that!“Murayama says jumping excited.“A lot of long ass road trips during Mugen times,not everywhere are luxus hotels Murayama.“He smiles.

„Fuck you,you squirrel looking bitch!I can climb higher then you.“Comes a scream from the backround that he´s just gonna ignore.That´s an issue for future Cobra, Murayama has babysitting duties.God he never wants kids.Especially not when some of them piss off to search for monsters.They probably making out or get drunk or something.No,he just leans back and takes a sip of beer enjoying the beautiful view.Murayama can search for HIS fulltimers when they get lost later.Crazily enough,who would have thought (Cobra) that they ain´t back when night comes,the full timers go search for them.

Cobra and Murayama stay back at the fire to at least make sure the woods are not burning down like Murayama feared earlier.It´s meanwhile dark and the others search the woods for the crazy bastards of Oya High,that´s great they love that.They´re also sarcastic.They´re about to give up and leave the Yasu-Kiyo leaders for dead or at least on their own for the night when they jump out of the trees wearing clown masks scaring the shit out of all of them.Shibaman and Tsuji´s reaction though,was not screaming,it was violence.They punched them so hard it nearly knocked them clean out.„Oww the fuck´s wrong with you?!“Kiyoshi groans as they pull down the clown masks.Kiyoshi wiping the blood of his nose when Fujio complains that they should head back cause he´s hella hungry and Jamuo squeaks from behind Tsukasa that he nearly pissed himself.After a few of them manage to land a hit on Yasushi or Kiyoshi´s head they leave.

They come back towards the camp where Cobra and Murayama are seated and all search a comfortable spot near the fire.“Woah you´re bleeding!“Murayama exclaims.„Yeah we punched those two clowns after they scared the shit out of us.“Shibaman explains rolling his eyes.Todoroki still loves the idea from earlier with the chloroform.“Holy shit not that blood!“Jamuo exclaims pointing towards Yasushis sleeve that´s meanwhile sticky with blood.“Oh my god did you end up vomiting blood?!Cobra-san did you vomit blood too?!“Fujio asks panicking.„No you dumb pisshead.I fucking fell holding a beer bottle alright it kinda cut up my damn arm.Relax Hanaoka.“Yasushi hisses.Cobra now leaves his seat going towards Yasushi,guess he´s doing a nightshift in adulting dumbasses.

“Lift up that sleeve and let me see it.“Yasushi looks like Cobra turned insane.“I dealt with it.“He groans.„Fucking beautiful.But when you bleed to death or die from blood poisoning because of a nasty ass broken bottle,they´re gonna blame it on the adult gang leader that shouldn´t be in the woods with underage teenagers in the first place.Then my ass goes to jail,and even if it´s crazy enough in your future it ain´t gonna be in mine.Look at me.I ain´t gonna do great in jail.Now lift it.“Yasushi does as he´s told as he explains towards Murayama that his boy toy lost it.Murayama barks out a laugh.A ripped shirt with blood spreading on it is tied around his underarm.“At least you treated it somehow.“Odajima offers.Oya is a chaotic bunch for sure.Tsuksasa scoffs.„Fuck yeah I did I ain´t stupid.I poured vodka over it and yanked the two shards out.That´s easy as fuck.“Cobra hits him across the head turnig towards Kiyoshi.“Vodka.“He holds his hand out.“I ain´t gonna listen to a guy with boy band hair telling me how to party.“ Kiyoshi grumbles.

Cobra for a hot second thinks back towards Nonoru,Yamato and his three man party containing vodka in his Mugen times,before he switched to tequila,thanks to the nastiest hangover ever.The two tumbled wasted through Sannoh. “Oi!Itokan Diner man!I fucking found it!“Yamato slurrs.„Hell yeah!“Cobra exclaims nearly falling down. „Great!All we needed were four hours,seven busses (cause they kept taking the wrong ones) and nearly two bottles of Vodka.“Noboru says when Cobra runs against a hanging flower pot he could´ve sworn wasn´t there earlier.The damn flower pot knocked Cobra to the floor with a thud.Yamato cleaned that wound with vodka too.He shakes his head.

“At least I dont look like I have a vagina or a weird ass pastry on my head,gimme the liquor.“He hands hit over with a screw you.Cobra rolls his eyes.„Did any of you meatheads think of a first aid kit that doesn´t get you wasted?“Todoroki explains that he and Odajima didn´t plan any deadly injuries so they don´t have one.Jamuo hands him one.“Thanks.At least one is prepared.I love this kid.“Cobra starts treating his wound as Todoroki exclaims;„You literally belong under constand supervision of a person with a normal amount of brain cells or at least on a leash for crazy children that keep running off...“He sighs heavily.„That would be a human right violation.“Yasushi grumbles.“Woah big words Yasuhsi!“Nakaoka laughs. „The leash is a great idea.“Tsukasa nodds.“Kinky.“Tsukasa groans.“Will you shut your cakehole!“Fujio snaps.„They mean against deadly accidents and STD`s,Yasushi.“Odajima explains.

Even though they had this little escalation they do end up having a great time,when the wound is treated,they´ve eaten and relax with a beer and soda.„How about horror stories?!“Fujio offers.„What?Cannibal Hillbilly Misfits that make a human barbecue out of Jamuo?!“Yasushi snorts.Jamuo moves closer towards Tsukasa eyeing Yasushi with care.“That´s the plot of Wrong Turn kid.Relax.“ Shibaman states.“Yasushi and Kiyoshi scare them away anyways.“Nakagoshi nodds.When Cobra hands Murayama a beer he shook before making his boyfriend take a forced beer shower and crazy enough he laughs it off.“Call it a cocktail!“Tsuji laughs.“The beer explosion!“Nakagoshi adds.Cobra snorts shaking his head.“Oh don´t judge the creator of a cocktail without ever inventing one Cobra-san!“Fujio states happily.“I did 2013,Cobra-Twist strong enough to twist your organs.“Cobra explains drinking his beer.“Yeah so it´s a cocktail you´re named after then Cobra-chan!Do you suck at wrestling suddenly?!“Murayama teases.Cobra puts down his beer and cockily strutts towards Murayama who´s eyes widen.“Cobra,no!“He squeaks as he Cobra twists his boyfriend and the others break out laughing.

[thesinglesjukebox]

CAMILA CABELLO FT. PLAYBOY CARTI - "I LUV IT"

Per our controversy score, it's more iluvit ihateit iluvit ihateit iluvit ihateit iluvit...

[6.47]

Katherine St. Asaph: wtf (complimentary) [7]

Hannah Jocelyn: “I Luv It" is a perfect example of once avant-garde sounds being absorbed into the mainstream -- which is why people hate it -- but the way all involved fail makes it much better than it otherwise would be. Everyone involved doesn’t know how to work outside the lines of pure pop, and it shows. We have a IV-I-V-ii chord progression, normally too melancholic for upbeat electronica outside of “Off-World”, and we have a classic AABB chorus, only the AAs are iluvitiluvitiluvitiluvit and the BBs are Gucci Mane samples. Cabello is much more fun in this mode than crooning nicotine-Halloween-morphine “Never Be The Same” mode, and if she still comes across as try-hard, that adds to the song’s bizarre alchemy. Carti’s dispassionate mumbling nearly kills it, but listen to the beautiful synth arpeggio he’s up against. “I Luv It” is too structured to be incoherent, too clean to be overwhelming, and all those contradictions make the song legitimately captivating, far from the trainwreck intended. [8]

Isabel Cole: I almost admire this track’s staunch refusal to be an actual song; between its near-total disinterest in conventions like “melody” and “structure” and the fact that its hooks sound like they were recorded by a pull-string doll running out of batteries, you could almost call it avant-garde. Unfortunately, none of its repetitive noodling sounds interesting or good, hence “almost.” Carti’s verse (counterintuitively?) comes closest to achieving one of those things (song, interesting, good), although I’m not sure which one, and despite the fact that he is so inscrutable it’s like listening to a rap verse by the Swedish Chef. [3]

Alfred Soto: I like it, but it took getting used to Cabello's voice squeaking ILUVITILUVITILUVIT against a synth arpeggio. Because Cabello's always sounded like a synth anyway, the track's an exercise in harmony. [6]

Mark Sinker: Obviously I should stop trusting the mondegreen as insight generator -- but “I was on the train with the MEKONS!” Enter Greil Marcus to solve the case, in deerstalker like the Inspector in the Pink Panther cartoons, his enormous magnifying glass from our direction enlarging only his own eye (affectionate). Down these so-pretty streets a man must go who is not himself pop, who is neither tarnished nor afraid! He is the hero; he is Playboi Carti, mumblier perhaps than anyone in muttering history… [squeaks: ah!] [10]

Alex Clifton: Am I supposed to understand any of the words in this song? [3]

Taylor Alatorre: "Doctorin' the Tardis" with less self-awareness yet somehow even greater contempt for its target audience, which in this case is Millennial-Zoomer cuspers who assign mystical significance to Project X and Spring Breakers because they first saw those films before being old enough to drive. I'm opposed to it in principle -- but principle hasn't stopped me from listening to it 83 times in the past month. Mainly that's because of how the brute-force Gucci Mane sample tries to hack my brain into thinking it's actually hearing "Lemonade" for those 12 to 24 seconds. No chopping or screwing, no tenuous lyrical tie-ins, just unadulterated 2010 high school cafeteria bliss. It's such a childishly brazen tactic, like a couple of teenagers trying to sneak their vodka-filled water bottles into an all-ages show, that I can't help but nod respectfully toward it. Given all this, Playboi Carti might not seem to be the correct punchline to this joke, and if Camila had been able to wrangle a Riff Raff or Trinidad James onto here, the unified kitsch factor alone would've earned the song's full acquittal. But it's in the parts where he isn't aiming for gibberish-fueled virality that Carti justifies his presence here. "Oh you on a roll now?" feels like a playful negging of all the cheap XCX cosplay we've just had to sit through, and "she says I'm way too young" is such a teasing last-second aside, turning the very act of Guwop-sampling into a vague metaphor for shooting one's shot cross-generationally... or something. What exactly is one supposed to do with that, other than try to unlock some other secret meaning on the 84th listen? [6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: You luv it, but she got it.  [6]

Leah Isobel: The Charli XCX Twinks are hyperprotective of their right to feel alternative and unique, so Camila ripping off the cadence and delivery of "I Got It" (not to mention the Hereditary-biting promotional video) would of course send that particular portion of the internet into overdrive. But it's the prerogative of the actual, charting popstar to execute stylistic hairpins, particularly if she's navigated the label system well enough to actually release something as chart-poisonous as "I Luv It," extra-particularly if she's already played around in this sandbox, and extra-super-particularly if the song represents the first time she's found a convincing vehicle for her unbelievably annoying energy. Honestly, I couldn't tell you why I like this so much -- maybe it's the memory of liking the similarly fried-out Lazerproof, or the maturity to recognize that to be cringe is to be human -- but I do. Sorry! If the song slaps, I can't make it not slap!  [9]

Nortey Dowuona: "You two have been saying one bar is lame and the other one is awesome ALL NIGHT, and it's the same BAR?!!!" -- Troy from Community and me after four listens. [2]

Andrew Karpan: Every micro-generation gets the “I Love It” that it deserves. I love it. [10]

Ian Mathers: Look, it's not my fault that the degree of difficulty you've set yourself is "will this make the listener not want to just go listen to the classic Icona Pop/Charli XCX song 'I Love It' instead?" Credit to the post chorus and Carti's digitally slurred moan of a verse for making it a bit of a fight, but... [7]

Michael Hong: The most captivating word here is that sighed "tomorrow" right before the first chorus. Everything seems to go quiet as she breathes into it, the catharsis of having what you want in your reach, the high of forever in your sight. Cabello never sounds like she'll get there -- "I Luv It" is just one big, provocative, braindead pursuit for your attention, for you to see her as a captivating pop star -- but as her tongue darts across her lips and echoes the titular phrase over and over, there's the thrill she's been looking for. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: This is not a song, this is engagement bait. I cannot be bought this easily! Stream La Buena Vida! [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: It's odd that everyone is treating this as some kind of oddity; this is a Camila Cabello song, for God's sake! It's the same format as her big hit and the middling replicant (who cares about "Senorita"), just adapted for the current moment rather than the long 2010s; glitchy pop sounds are not some shocking play when it's been two presidential terms since "Vroom Vroom." Even the "Lemonade" sample feels correctly positioned – it's millennial dad rap, the exact kind of respectable pophead interpolation-fodder that Cabello, Carti, and producer Jasper Harris all probably loved as teenagers. "I Luv It" is a perfect showcase for Cabello's admittedly limited skillset; she sounds appropriately wan on the verses and cheerleader-ish on the chorus, comfortable with just being another element in Harris & El Guincho's anachronistic Pop 2 revival. Yet "I Luv It" reaches the mountaintop only upon Carti's arrival – the track pauses for a second before he starts his verse as if it's hard reloading; he then proceeds to duet with a synth solo, do his best Dirty Sprite 2-era Future impression, and go so incomprehensible that I'm not even sure if anyone else on the track knows what he's saying. Glorious. [9]

Dave Moore: I'm confident that everything that everyone who has scored this song a [4] or below says about it is accurate. But a clusterfuck contains multitudes.  [8]

Will Adams: Above all else, it's WEIRD. Strip away the stan chatter and "I Luv It" becomes an appealingly bizarre pivot in which Cabello is enraptured by a frenetic hook, woozy synths and a potentially asymmetric meter. When Playboi Carti's smeared verse arrives, you start to feel delirious. [6]

Julian Axelrod: An unrecognizable Camila Cabello, sounding like she's trying to will herself back to 2012 and secure the Spring Breakers audition she rightfully deserves. An uninterpretable Playboi Carti, facing his biggest moment in the spotlight with a burp and a shrug. An unexplainable "Lemonade" sample, as if producer El Guincho just heard The State vs Radric Davis that morning and decided he was put on this earth to get Gucci Mane a publishing check. None of it gels, none of it makes sense in the same song, none of it even makes sense in the same breath. I can only assume Camila and Co. created this incredible, idiotic Diet Coke and Mentos monstrosity to give guys like me something to be annoying about all summer. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Was kind of thrilling when it dropped but enough time has passed where this doesn't really hold up. I can only be so amused by Camila sort of just being there (she's not doing anything particularly well, nor is she flailing in any notably outrageous manner). Carti arrives with a decent verse, and then it's over. Music to be momentarily amused by and not much else. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[artemisbarnowl]

Okay so Costco was a time but I called my sister about it and now I'm like...it was fine I guess.

It's strange. Yes everything is big and there's the biggest fucking TVs I've ever seen as well as fresh fruit and Xmas ornaments and frozen fish and a whole isle of soda but the strangest thing to me (after the freaking....inflatable pool slide hanging from the ceiling which when I was in the central open part of the store felt like it was hunting me) was the organisation. There are general sections such as Food and Tech but....there's candles next to kitchen bench top appliances, snacks seem to be spread across different Isles and then also some in the central island where the clothes are. There are several freezer locations that are separate from each other and not necessarily related to whatever else in the isle. The Isles are BARELY 2 trolleys wide. With such huge trolleys turning a corner is difficult but there is not a lot of room to turn if someone is already in the isle you're turning into. No check out lines. It was just a crowd. which I hated. The car park also did not think so much about flow of traffic and while it was relatively quiet for us it was easy to see how it would be a nightmare if busier.

My friend who has a membership told me they don't have the same stuff every time??? So you're getting your once a year dishwashing liquid bucket or whatever and next time they might not have the same brand or flavour? Also this could have been a person I went with thing but things seem to move. There was one kind of seaweed snack but we were looking for a different one and we found it on a pallet near dogfood which is not normally where it lives??

There were the biggest bags of chips I'd ever seen in my life and literal tin buckets of ghee but many Big Things were actually just normal large size but they are packaged in 2 or 4s so you cannot buy 1 4litre bottle of vinegar you must buy a box of 4. The bakery onsite was surprising but as one woman who lives a lot I could not buy 26 mini pan au Chocolat for 10 dollars even though they smelled very yummy. You can order birthday cakes with lettering. They didn't even have full coffins/caskets just end pieces to show the finish/shape but they all looked cheap nasty plastic as heck. One was called the Nixon coffin which I thought was funny for tenuous reasons. Did he get buried in one like it? Was it his favourite? Do people buried in this have some semblance to him?

I got a bag of freeze dried fruit (peaches, lychees and strawberries) to share with my friend as office snacks. 100g for 15 dollars is expensive but freeze dried fruit are very light so it should go a long way. My friend also bought some mangosteen juice to try.

I stared longingly at large slabs of paneer and fior de late. Also at the 15 cents cheaper than average fuel prices. Not sure I'd go enough to actually make any savings (fuel alone would probably get my money back, but I live alone so can't buy much in bulk as a way to save). Also many things just didn't seem That Cheap. Many pantry staples were just the normalish price scaled up, like rice. Some things were cheap (6 tubes of miso ramen flavoured Pringles for 10 dollars for example) but they were often somewhat novelty so you are buying A LOT with the risk you don't like it.

[brotrustmeicanwrite]

In what ways do you actively seek inspiration and creativity to fuel your writing?

To be completely honest I’m the type of writer who got lucky in that department (severe untreated adhd). So 95% of the time I don’t have to actively seek out inspiration in order to write and instead the ideas try to assault me when I’m just peacefully walking down the road, minding my own business.

(btw yes I made this comic just to answer the question)

However there are still clear common origins of my ideas. So instead of giving advice that I don’t even use myself, I think the best I can do is show these origins and the little bit of active work I do put into finding inspo and hope this will still help those trying to seek inspiration.

The Origin Of Ideas

- (unconventional and honestly deranged) creative writing advice -

“I want to write a story about …”

Pics that burned themselves into my retinas and now live rent free in my brain‘s crevices

Throwing characters at each other like we’re smashing action figures together

“I want to write a story about … “

When I see other writers trying to come up with ideas, this is the kind of approach I see most often. It’s the only technique I use where I have to actively sit down and look for ideas and inspiration. Personally I don’t really like it, as it usually doesn’t lead me anywhere even near a working story. But that doesn’t mean this approach is inherently bad or that it isn’t just one that doesn’t fit specifically my personal way of thinking. As a matter of fact, the main project I’m working on right now is a result of doing exactly this. And originally just as a joke on top of that.

Using my own project “Mirrors Of Sands (MoS)” as an example I’ll show how I came up with ideas and inspiration for the story.

So, MoS originated from a comment I saw under yet another one of the 100s of generic reincarnation/ regression villainess manhwa I was reading around a year ago.

“Writers really only can write the same generic regression villainess bs nowadays.”

Along those lines. When I read that line I noticed that, despite ’villainess reincarnation’ having been the only thing I had been reading for months at that point, and also me being a writer, the thought of writing a story like that never even crossed my mind. So I decided to do it just for shits and giggles.

-> „I want to write a story about a villain regressing in a vaguely medieval noble European setting.“

So the most basic part of the inspiration for MoS obviously came from the media I enjoy, but what about beyond that? This is the part I personally don’t like about the „I want to write about“ approach. Most of the time when i decided to write a story about a specific thing or concept in the past, I ended up looking towards similar media and unconsciously imitating it, creating a cheap and soulless copy that I didn’t even like myself.

Because of this, when I decided to write MoS, I sat down and consciously made a list of all the tropes that these types of stories had in common and marked down which of them I liked enough to actually keep and which ones I wanted to change and why. This approach is quite theoretical as you can see, but it allowed me to get a clear picture of everything I actually wanted to write and gave me the opportunity to see clearly, from the very beginning, in which direction I wanted to take the idea away from the parts that I didn’t like.

If you think about it, this approach is kinda similar to a lot of headcanons in fanfiction in the sense that we take a pre-existing concept and actively adapt it in ways that we like more than the original.

Pics that burned themselves into my retinas and now live rent free in my brain‘s crevices

Almost all of my stories originate from a single scene that just randomly spawns in my head out of nowhere one day, usually based on some random thing I saw or heard months (if not years) earlier.

To give an example: the imagery of Yuu Otosaka from Charlotte jumping in front of of the moon is a really cool visual that first gave me the idea of a scene, where character A jumps from rooftop to rooftop in front of of the moon, just like Yuu, while being chased by some sort of organisation. Meanwhile character B witnesses it from below while walking down an alley and is immediately mesmerised by character A‘s grace and elegance.

This tiny, seconds long scene, that’s quite certainly been done before, evolved and changed over the years into 3 full, completely separate stories. One revolving around romance, one around A being an outlaw and the society that caused that and another about supernatural shenanigans. They could have been one story, but this one tiny idea gave me so much material to work with that I ended up dividing it up, simply because there was not enough room in a coherent story for all of it.

Now, I’m aware that my brain spitting out ideas like this is a result of it being extremely hyperactive due to severe 100% untreated adhd, so obviously not everyone can work like that. However, I believe that this pop up effect can be imitated even if you don’t have a brain that lets every cool pic you’ve ever seen live rent free in there, while the important stuff can’t afford the lease.

So here’s what I would do: get a journal and write down as much stuff, that could potentially inspire you as possible, whenever you encounter it. For me it’s scenes from media I enjoy, for you it might be poems, songs, a person you encounter, a rumor you overheard or anything else that you like. Alternatively/ additionally make a Pinterest folder and collect cool pics on boards with a specific theme. You could have an action scene board, a kiss during a winter ball board, a late night cooking board, a board about absolutely anything that you might think could possibly be even the tiniest bit inspirational to you some time later.

If you do that you’ll build yourself an easy to access collection that you can then go through at a later date when you need an idea. It’s no guarantee of course but maybe one of those things will spark the same way as that one random frame from an anime that I had watched in 6th grade did for me.

Throwing characters at each other like we’re smashing action figures together

Im sure you know what I mean with „smashing action figures together“ but when it comes to doing this with characters this might sound a bit weird. But I mean that sentence quite literally.

I guess this could technically also double as a writing exercise but sometimes when I’m bored, I like to take random characters or even just vague ideas of characters and put them in situations where they have to interact with each other. They can be OCs or characters from any media that you like in whatever situation you want. We’re essentially playing dolls in our head.

The goal of this „exercise“ is to play with character dynamics that I usually don’t write and I’ve had some really interesting ones develop from this in the past. In those cases my own ideas then became the inspiration for a completely new story or scene.

At the end of the day, to properly answer the question, most of my inspiration comes passively from all of the media that I consume and enjoy so I usually don’t actively seek out inspiration to fuel my writing. However I do hope that my little rant here may help one of the 10 people who are gonna see this post.

Happy Writing <3

[boosterusa]

How Mobile Fuel Delivery is Revolutionizing the Trucking Industry

The first image that comes to mind when we think of comfort is sitting comfortably in our homes & having the required delivered right to us via only a few clicks. One convenience provided by technological improvements is fuel delivery applications, and Booster is the first app that springs to mind when thinking about fuel delivery apps. Users of booster fuel delivery applications can have fuel for their automobiles delivered to a location or address of their choosing. As a result, consumers may easily fill vehicle fuel tanks without having to go to a gas station. This is a useful service that will save you time, especially if you have a lot of errands to run.

Benefits of Mobile fueling

Drivers have essentially been forced to use gas stations since the invention of motorised transportation. Even though they are frequently hazardous and unclean, they continue to be a mainstay of the transportation sector. Yet, this might not last for very long.

Consumers have grown used to the ease with which products and services meet them where they are as the burgeoning mobile retail industry has expanded delivery to industries like fashion, literature, and grocery. This pattern now includes fleet filling thanks to Booster's mobile gasoline delivery service. Mobile fuel solutions are developed in a more flexible, effective approach where service technicians bring that from the terminals to the fleet yard to refill vehicles during non-operating hours, replacing the previous model that required each driver to make individual journeys to the gas station.

Switching is often an easy decision. These are three arguments your fleet should stop using the gas station, however, there may be some fleet management who need a little more persuasion.

1.           Mobile Fuel Distribution is More Environmentally Friendly

Because they are major pollutants, fuel stations stink and appear nasty for a reason. We hear in the news far too frequently about the numerous gasoline spills and leaks from petrol stations that damage local drinking water supplies and wreak havoc on neighboring rivers. A typical gas station pumping one million gallons annually might experience spillage of 70 to 100 gallons, based on the Environmental Law Institute spills may amount to 2,000 gallons each year at a huge gas outlet like Costco, which can sell about 20 million gasoline gallons yearly. Large underground tanks (USTs), which hold fuel under the earth, are another cause of spills, leaks, and air quality at gas stations. USTs are notorious to leak chemicals and fuels into the atmosphere as they age and decay since they are frequently composed of bare steel and neglected. The U.S. EPA reported almost 600,000 UST leaks statewide as of September 2021.

In addition to being significant polluters in and of themselves, fleets' frequent excursions to the petrol station also produce superfluous carbon emissions. Each fleet car travels a median of 2.2 miles off-route to get to a gas station, according to GeoTab. According to Booster's client data, each fleet car makes 183 convenience store visits annually on average, which adds up to a lot of emissions.

Even when using conventional fuel, Booster's mobile fueling service considerably lowers fleet emissions because it eliminates the need for sporadic excursions to the gas station. In fact, by minimising journeys to the gas station, Booster's mobile fuel delivery company can save CO2 emissions by up to 296 lbs per diesel car annually.

2.           More Economical and Effective Mobile Fuel Delivery

Fleet managers must increase efficiency and cost-effectiveness as fleets of all sizes are affected by the rising costs of maintenance and operation (fleet maintenance costs increased by 10% from 2021 to 2022). This includes fewer duties for drivers to accomplish while off-route, such as stopping at petrol stations. It would be much preferable to use the time and resources spent travelling from one location to another gas station to support a fleet's primary business goals, such as delivering items or mowing lawns. Each trip to the petrol station takes, on average, 20 minutes. This adds up to nearly 61 hours a year when multiplied by the average rate of 15.3 filling station trips every month. The money also does.

According to Booster, each fleet car travels an additional 402 miles each year just to get gas. This costs fleets money because it consumes a lot of fuel and time spent working. Fleets spend a median of $1,600 each fleet automobile yearly on service station trips between wage costs, fraud, repair, wear and tear, and gas. If a fleet of 20 vehicles switched to mobile fueling instead of the gas station, they might save $32,000 a year.

3.           Deals for Mobile Fuel Delivery Renewable Fuels

Healthy alternative fuels will be an essential tool as the transport sector proceeds to decarbonize, both for fleets' short-term decarbonization goals and for the long-term decarbonization of difficult-to-electrify heavy- and moderate vehicles.

Promising alternative fuels are produced from renewable raw materials such as bioenergy, municipal waste, industrial waste, and more, and frequently serve as direct substitutions for traditional fuels without the need for any equipment repairs or improvements. They provide lower emissions intensity & superior efficiency than their standard products, which aid fleets in becoming more sustainable (and frequently more efficient).

Despite all the advantages of ecological alternative fuels, adoption is still hindered by a lack of access because few petrol stations stock them. Just roughly 5,900 of the approximately 145,000 gas stations operating across the country as of January 2023 offer alternative fuels, or less than 5%, including hydrogen, ethanol, compressed natural gas, and biodiesel. By providing a variety of environmentally friendly substitute choices without the need to build fixed facilities to back up them, mobile fuel distribution increases access to these fuels.

Conclusion

Making the Switch Fleet fueling ought to be efficient, convenient, and sustainable, yet the gas station fails to meet any of these criteria. Instead, fleet managers ought to think about mobile fuelling to save money, reduce emissions, and avoid the time and hassle of bringing each fleet vehicle to the gas station. Contact our team to learn more about how mobile fuelling may help you reduce emissions and save money.

[ninjastar107]

OC-tober Day nine - 'Future'

(Ft. Alex and GT)

Its several cooling fans screamed immediately upon powering on. Liquid nitrogen-cooled water ran above the CPU in metal insulated tubules, desperately catching up to the burning-hot components.

After some time, the screen flickered on with a loading bar and the IEC 5009 symbol above it.

Various hard disks jumped and ticked.

Parts of his mind unloaded, expanding rapidly and filling up the gaps. It felt as though he were at a hospital, the doctors with their instruments in his brain slowly returning function to him while keeping him on a light anesthetic. Hearing was the first, a loud popping before a yelp and a laugh. Words were spoken, but they were unrecognizable beyond sound bytes. Then came 'vision'; packages of data stored explaining to him the surroundings and the booting functions, things that were alien.

What happened to the constant flow of barometric data, satellite feeds, and topography? Why couldn't he detect the printers and written recorders?

In a panic, his worry printed on the console.

[WHERE ARE THE INSTRUMENTS.]

His body loaded in, first as points, then as polygons, and finally as textured surfaces. He hardly recognized it, his vision refining on the light-based angles. His world, which had been a dark void, had slowly lightened up to a soft cyan.

Before him, the console window hovered by his hands.

[>Hello Al! Welcome to the future!] [WHO ARE YOU.] "Turn around." A voice echoed into the chamber.

Alex spun around to the large open window out into the real world. Icons floated near the sides with a large bar below it, however the person beyond it drew his inquiring mind first.

"What is this?" Alex asked in fright of his own voice. "Why do I sound like this?"

"It's how you always sounded like- um, it's how I remembered anyway, heheh." the grey man chuckled.

"What are you?"

"Don't you recognize me? It's me, Tucker, your old friend!" GT smiled.

"What's my purpose?" He slipped, as if it was automated.

He blinked, "Nothing yet. We'll figure that out."

Alex shook his head. No, no that's not right. They won the cold war, didn't they? America won and he was retired, that's how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to wake up again, he served his purpose. "Did we get into another one?" he mumbled under his breath.

GT cracked open an Arizona tea and kicked back on the small coffee table in the middle of the cramped room. "Relax and let your boot finish. You have no idea how long it took me to get you functioning, but hey at least the tech was cheap and small this time, for the most part." He eyed the large glass tube attached to the right of the monitor. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

--

Alex massaged his face as GT spoke.

Global Warming was renamed to 'climate change', which made no sense. The ice caps had melted, and sea levels were higher than before, but not to uninhabitable levels. Florida was gone, not that he missed it, as well as parts of the east and west coast. Louisiana swampland had seeped into Texas, and the tropic line had expanded greatly. They were in Minnesota, which had dramatic weather fluctuations regularly, supposedly.

As if areas closer to the poles didn't have an extreme temperature gradient already.

It all sounded so ridiculous.

"Let me guess, the government collapsed and this is post-apocalypse right?" Alex sarcastically asked.

Grey shook his head, "Nah, not really. Initially there was some panic over it happening but by the time anyone did anything, it was too late. Turns out people don't like change that much, and we're just dealing with it. A few weeks ago there's been a ban on fuel mining, so we'll see how long I can keep my car."

"Idiots. What about the rest of the world?"

He shrugged, "I don't watch international news. Oh, but you can online if you want."

Alex folded his arms, "What does that mean?"

"You can find it on the internet."

"And what's that?"

"Its a web of servers that can be accessed by any machine hooked up to it, either by Ethernet or WiFi."

"... what's those?"

GT tapped his chin, "Umm, Ethernet is like a phone cable. You get internet through your LAN line. WiFi is just Wireless internet."

Alex sat down in the air, slowly turning over, "Okay, but how do I get there?"

He scooted the chair over and clicked on the browser. At the top bar, he typed and scrolled through a search engine before opening a few different websites.

Alex immediately was hit with tracking queries, as well as setup recommendations. Without thinking, he denied and closed out of everything. "What was that???"

"Mh, it's okay, you're just not used to so much different stuff at once. let's try one thing at a time to start."

[anotherwvba]

Challenge Accepted pt. 13

The bell rang. Referee Daisy Coroa called the fighters to action, “Box!” The second round was underway and Reina confidently took the center of the ring, her gloves leading the way as she started working her jab. Some landed flush on Skye's face, while others were deflected by her guard.

Skye, however, had a different plan. She started to change her rhythm and footwork. One moment she was bouncing on her toes, the next she was sliding side to side. She would take quick, light steps, then suddenly slow, only to speed up again. It was as if the ring were her dance floor and Reina an unwilling partner that didn’t know the steps.

Esta niña no sabe con quién se está metiendo, Reina thought, her irritation growing. Her eyes narrowed and she sneered, “You think this is a dance recital, chica?”

“Nah, queenie, it’s a dance class,” Skye quipped, her eyes shining as she fired a couple of quick jabs that caught Reina off guard. Her gloves connected with Reina's face, snapping her head back slightly, as the crowd roared approval, fueling the rookie’s confidence. Get mad, Reina. Come on. Give me daylight, just a sliver.

Reina's eyes flared. She's trying to make a fool of me. Anger clouding her judgment, she lunged forward, throwing a jab followed by an uppercut, but Skye's shifting rhythm and footwork made her elusive. Skye slipped the jab and narrowly avoided the uppercut, making Reina's gloves slice through the air.

Daylight! Skye’s right glove slammed into Reina's temple while she was off balance. Reina’s eyes glazed, she froze still for a moment, and Skye wasted no time. The rookie unleashed a flurry of red leather, targeting both Reina's head and body. A jab and hook to the head, an uppercut and hook to the body, and finally a left hook on the chin.

Reina shook her head, trying to clear the fog. No puede ser, she thought, enraged. She swung a wild right hook, putting all her weight behind it. Skye saw it coming and sent her right hand straight into Reina’s nose. Reina’s eyes watered, her knees buckled.

Skye’s eyes lit up as she felt electricity in her hands, Chicago stars sparkling bright red around her gloves. She popped a couple of quick jabs to Reina’s nose, keeping her vision blurry, making sure the luchadora was stunned. Her eyes locked onto Reina’s, “Ready for the Whirlwind?”

With a dancer’s grace and gymnast’s strength, Skye coiled her body and drew her right hand back. The stars grew brighter as she unleashed a right hook to Reina’s jaw. As Reina’s head snapped to the side, Skye let the follow through carry her into a graceful pirouette and delivered a spinning back-fist with her left, then finished her spin with a devastating right hook, Chi-town stars flashing brighter with each impact and before blinking out.

The momentum and power of Skye’s Windy City Whirlwind sent Reina staggering into the ropes, her body limp and swaying. Only the ropes kept her off the canvas.

“Now, Skye!” Vanessa yelled from her corner, sensing the end was near, “Put her away!”

Skye rushed toward Reina, her eyes narrowed and gloves clinched, “Here’s beatdown from Chi-town!” Skye unleashed a flurry of blows to her foe. Jabs, hooks, and a hard uppercut all rocked Reina, snapping her head in every direction.

Reina leaned into the ropes, her vision blurry, but clearing. No, this isn’t how this ends. This niña doesn’t get to finish me. With an audible snarl, Reina grabbed Skye and pulled her close in a clinch.

“No freebies this time, your highness,” Skye trapped Reina's arms, ready and preventing any cheap shots.

Referee Coroa stepped in to break the clinch. "Break it up, ladies! Break!"

As they separated, Reina clipped Skye’s chin with a swift left hook. "Oops," she smirked.

"Watch it, Adora! Break clean when I say break," the referee admonished before shouting, "Now box!"

From her corner, Skye heard her coach, "Skye, stay cool! Keep the pressure on!" Skye nodded, frustration mounted but her cool intact.

Alright, let's get her back to those ropes. She maneuvered around Reina and unloaded another flurry. Reina was able to catch most of the punches on her gloves, but a few landed clean and the force pushed her back to the strands.

Reina used the tension of the ropes to spring forward and clinch Skye again, this time pulling Skye's back to the referee. "Not so clever, chica," she breathed, shooting a pair of hard elbows into Skye's ribs.

"Ref! Did you see that?" Vanessa shouted, but the referee was on the other side and didn't catch the foul. “Those were elbows! Plural!”

Skye winced, feeling the sharp pain in her ribs. That hurt, you bit—

With a shove, Reina pushed Skye back to the center of the ring and began to circle her. "Told you, novata, you’re out of your league," Reina sneered.

Skye took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in her ribs. "Nah, girl. I’m right where I belong."

The two circled, sweat dripping from their brows, chests heaving with each breath. They had two opponents now, each other and fatigue.

She's still moving well, but I can see my body shots are taking their toll, Reina thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched Skye's feet dance across the canvas.

Skye started jabbing, her gloves snapping out like a whip. She was trying to keep her distance, to recover and find her rhythm again. Just gotta keep my distance. Use the jab, Skye, and breathe.

Reina deflected the jabs with her gloves, her eyes never leaving Skye's. Slowly but surely, she began cutting off the ring, herding Skye toward the corner.

You’re slowing down, querida, Reina thought. With a burst of speed, Reina threw a jab followed by a heavy right hook and a left uppercut. Skye bobbed and weaved, her body bending almost impossibly as she avoided each punch. But despite her evasive maneuvers, she was losing ground.

With a smirk, Reina shoved Skye hard into the corner. "This is where you belong, chica!"

Even with limited space, Skye was nimble. She ducked a hook and swayed to the side of an uppercut. A classic one-two caught her cheek, but she leaned into a hook meant for ribs and took it on her arm.

Wait for it, wait for it, Skye thought, her eyes scanning Reina's movements for an opening. She saw it—a slight drop in Reina's right hand. Now! Skye slipped a straight right and was quick to launch an uppercut straight at Reina’s chin.

Reina was quicker. She faded back from the uppercut and leaned all her weight into a straight left. “Gotcha now, chica.” A malicious smile tugged at Reina’s lips when she felt a satisfying crunch as her glove met Skye’s face.

Oh hell. Not good. Skye’s eyes watered, blurry green leather filling her vision.

Blood trickled from Skye’s nose and Reina’s smile grew wider. Just a little more, niñita. A pair of hooks took Skye’s breath, then an uppercut rocked her jaw and a straight right turned the trickle to a bloody stream.

As the rookie’s knees threatened to buckle, a crimson crown started glowing around the knuckles of Reina’s gloves. Almost there, the lights are fading. Her eyes danced with sadistic glee as three more blows, hooks batting Skye’s head to one side then the other, all struck home.

“Focus, Skye! Hands up! Come on!” Vanessa yelled at her girl, trying to will her on. “Come on.”

With a cruel sneer, Reina grabbed Skye by the shoulders and whipped her around to the center of the ring. "Look at me when I finish you!" Reina screamed, then, without warning, she headbutted Skye.

Skye's head snapped back, her eyes crossing instantly. Wha… I can't... where...

“Dammit, Adora!” Referee Daisy Coroa stepped in. "Keep it clean!"

Reina ignored the warning, her eyes locked onto Skye's glazed gaze. "Adiós, niña." With a kiss to her glowing right glove, she sprinted to the ropes, springboarded off the third one, and flew back toward Skye like a guided missile, her fist cocked back.

Skye barely had time to register what was happening before Reina's fist connected squarely with her jaw. The force of the punch sent her staggering back, and she fell to the canvas, eyes closed, out cold before she even hit the mat.

Reina stood over her fallen opponent, a triumphant smile on her face. "Count her out, ref. She's done."

“Neutral corner, Adora!” Daisy Coroa was seething, but knelt beside Skye and started the count. "One! Two! Three!"

Reina strutted to the neutral corner, climbing onto the second rope and raising her arms in victory. "¡Soy la Reina! ¡La única Reina!" she shouted to the crowd, basking in their jeers and boos.

"Four! Five! Six!"

Reina's eyes flicked back to Skye, who lay motionless on the canvas, and she whispered to herself, “Niña dura, but you never had a chance.”

"Seven! Eight! Nine!"

"Looks like your alumna couldn't handle me," Reina sneered, directing her taunt toward Skye's corner where Vanessa stood, her face a mask of concern and barely contained fury.

"Ten! That’s it! It’s over!"

Skye Ivy lay motionless on the canvas, her eyes closed, her face a portrait of vulnerability as the referee, Daisy Coroa, waved her arms, signaling the end of the match. "Doc, get in here,” Daisy called out, concern in her voice.

Reina leapt off the ropes, her arms raised in triumph. "¡Soy la reina! ¡Nadie puede vencerme! ¡Nadie!" She paraded around the ring, soaking in a handful of cheers and an overwhelming multitude of jeers.

Doctor Wakada quickly rolled into the ring, his medical bag in hand. Skye’s coach Vanessa rushed in, too, her face etched with worry and anger. 

From their ringside seats, Niki, Cutie, Mika, and Joe all exchanged worried glances. Mika's hands were clenched, her knuckles white. "Diyos ko, she has to be okay," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Oui, she is a fighter. She will be alright," Glass Joe reassured her, although his own face was clouded with concern.

Reina, impatient for her moment of glory, turned to the referee. "What are you waiting for? Raise my hand, arbitra."

Daisy, however, stayed by Skye's side, her attention focused on the young fighter and the medical team attending to her.

Infuriated, Reina shoved the referee aside. "I said, raise my hand! Now!"

That was the last straw for Vanessa. She sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing. She got right into Reina's face. "One more move and you'll have me to deal with."

“I’m the boxeadora that just knocked out your girl and her dreams,” Reina smiled, “and you’re retired.”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “I can change that real quick… chica.”

Daisy quickly stepped between them, her eyes stern. "Enough. You’re professionals. Act like it."

Reina smirked, her eyes locking onto Vanessa's. "Next time, teach your alumna how to take a punch and maybe she won’t fall asleep during a match."

“Not the time or the place, Coach,” Daisy whispered, turning to face Vanessa. “Your girl needs you.”

Vanessa turned her attention back to Skye, who was now being carefully examined by Doctor Wakada.

Finally, Daisy walked over to Reina, her face stern but professional. "Winner," she said, raising Reina's hand high and pointing to Reina to make it official.

The ring announcer took the microphone, his voice filling the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner by knockout in 2 minutes and 19 seconds of the second round, ‘La Realeza del Anillo’ Reina Adora!"

The crowd erupted, a cacophony of cheers and boos filling the arena. Reina raised her arms, soaking in the adulation and disdain with equal relish. She had won, and that was all that mattered.

Doctor Wakada knelt beside Skye, his experienced hands quickly assessing her condition. "Vanessa, her vitals are stable. She's unconscious and has a broken nose, but she's going to be okay. We’ll check her for a concussion in the infirmary." He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a small bottle of smelling salts.

“Thank God,” Vanessa sighed in relief.

Wakada waved the smelling salts under Skye's nose. Her eyes fluttered open, and she groaned. "Ugh, what hit me?"

At that moment, Gabby Jay, WVBA’s Head of Talent Relations, stepped into the ring, joining the referee Daisy Coroa. "Reina, I would like you to proceed to the locker room immediately."

Reina's eyes widened in disbelief. "¿Qué? You want me to leave? This is my ring. Just call a stretcher for that." She gestured disdainfully toward Skye.

Gabby Jay's eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more weight than a shout. "Non, Reina. This isn’t your ring and I said leave. Now."

Reina smirked but said nothing, exiting the ring and making her way to the locker room.

Wakada was now holding a cloth to Skye's nose, staunching the flow of blood. Skye was sitting up, still trying to piece together what had happened. "Coach, what went down? Last thing I remember, I was about to dodge a punch."

Vanessa sighed, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and concern. "No, sweetheart, you got hit by a headbutt and La Corona Crush. Knocked out cold. But you're going to be okay."

Gabby Jay turned his attention back to Skye. "Can you stand, young lady?" 

Skye looked up to Gabby, “I think so, sir.” Wakada nodded, and Vanessa helped him get Skye to her feet as Gabby signaled for ring announcer Jazzy Jamboree to join them in the ring.

"Mesdames et Messieurs,” Gabby began, his voice tinged with emotion. "I want to take a moment to talk about this young woman standing beside me. Skye Ivy took this fight on just a week's notice after Reina's original opponent was injured. She's not even a signed fighter; she's a trainee. And yet, she showed us all something tonight. She showed us heart, determination, and a level of skill that belies her experience."

The crowd's cheers intensified, filling the arena with a deafening roar. Skye looked at Vanessa, her eyes filling with tears. "I can't handle this right now, Coach."

Vanessa squeezed her shoulder. "You may have lost the fight, but you earned respect. Take your roses, Skye."

"But this fight has shown me one thing," Gabby continued. He reached into his sports coat and pulled out a folded bundle of papers. "Skye Ivy, you're no trainee. This is a WVBA Boxer Contract, and it has your name on it. All it needs is your signature."

The crowd's reaction was electric, a tidal wave of cheers and applause that seemed to shake the foundations of the arena. Skye looked at Vanessa, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Is this for real?"

Vanessa's eyes were shining with pride. "It's as real as it gets, kid."

Gabby Jay produced a pen and handed it to Skye. "Would you like to make it official, jeune femme?"

Skye turned to Vanessa. "Coach, can you get these gloves off me? I've got a contract to sign."

With trembling hands, Vanessa quickly unlaced Skye's gloves and pulled them off. Gabby handed Skye the contract and pen, and Vanessa offered her back for Skye to bear down on. With tears of joy streaming down her face, Skye signed her name on the dotted line.

Gabby Jay took the signed contract and beamed at Skye. "Skye Ivy, welcome to the WVBA. You've earned it."

With a nod from Gabby, security let Mika, Joe, Niki, and Cutie through the guardrail and they rushed into the ring, joining Vanessa in enveloping Skye in a group hug. 

Mika’s voice was choked with emotion. "Skye, nagawa mo! I'm so proud of you!"

Glass Joe added, his French accent thickening with emotion. "Ah, Skye, you have shown le cœur d’un championne tonight!"

Vanessa looked at her young protégé, her eyes filled with a mother's pride. "Skye, you've got a bright future ahead of you. And this is just the beginning."

Skye looked around at her friends, her coach, and the cheering crowd, and for the first time, she felt like she truly belonged. "Thanks, guys. I couldn't have done it without you.” With her eyes still wet with tears, Skye looked to her coach, “Coach, I know you’ve got a business back home, but… I was just…”

Vanessa took Skye’s hand and squeezed, “Where else would I be? Besides, it’s a small league and, at some point, there’s gonna be a rematch.”

As the cheers reverberated throughout the Omni, Skye smiled through the bruises and the blood, her eyes twinkling like she could go another round, “Damn right!”

[news4dzhozhar]

Anti-Zionism is not antisemitism

(RNS) — The Muslim and Jewish communities in the West have a decades long history of standing together in solidarity against Islamophobia and antisemitism and supporting one another in times of pain. We have faced a similar bigotry and an uptick of hate-fueled attacks on our communities in recent years. We have been familiar faces to one another at the endless press conferences in the aftermath of so many of those incidents.

But these relationships cannot be confined to empathy at home. When that same hatred is overseas, it has to be just as near to our hearts. And at a time in which Palestinian civilians — two-thirds of whom are women and children — are being killed at a rate of 280 per day, we must affirm that anti-Palestinian racism and bigotry are also extensions of Islamophobia. We must also be crystal clear as to what anti-Zionism is and is not. 

Anti-Zionism is not antisemitism.

It is a travesty that we are forced to state and defend what should be an undeniable fact. It is a strategic conflation made by the Zionist lobby, engineered to suppress a shift in narrative and public opinion that increasingly humanizes Palestinians and rejects the Israeli occupation. Over the past two months, Israel’s indiscriminate bombardment and ground invasion has resulted in more than 16,000 Palestinians killed and at least 40,000 more injured. And with that, a global audience otherwise ignorant of the Palestinian catastrophe has been granted firsthand access to the crimes of the Israeli occupation.

House Resolution 894, a resolution that strongly condemns and denounces the “drastic rise of antisemitism in the United States and around the world,” also states “that anti-Zionism is antisemitism.” This is an ignorant at best — malicious at worst — attempt to amalgamate two disparate concepts. Antisemitism is a discriminatory and bigoted view of the Jewish people, a people with a millennialong history, while anti-Zionism opposes a political ideology introduced in the late 19th century that sought the establishment of an ethnostate on Palestinian territory. 

On December 5, the resolution passed despite last-ditch efforts by three Jewish Democrats, who urged their colleagues to avoid what they termed an “attempt by Republicans to weaponize Jewish pain.” They described the resolution as “just the latest unserious attempt by Republicans to weaponize Jewish pain and the serious problem of antisemitism to score cheap political points.” While 92 Democrats voted merely “present,” a majority voted in favor, marking a dramatic disconnect between Democrats in Congress and their constituents — at a time when Gallup data shows “Democrats’ sympathies in the Middle East now lie more with the Palestinians than the Israelis.”

And the impact of AIPAC lobbying cannot be overstated. As M.J. Rosenberg wrote for the Huffington Post in 2017, “(Democrats) are in the grip of a foreign policy lobby as powerful as the NRA, the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, or AIPAC.” Rosenberg alluded to Democrats’ decadeslong frustration with the National Rifle Association’s lobbying efforts against gun control measures. “Sorry, Democrats: your NRA is spelled AIPAC,” he titled the piece. 

House Republicans, and the GOP at large, began this deliberate mischaracterization of anti-Zionism years ago. In his remarks at the 2019 AIPAC Policy Conference, then-U.S. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo catered to the crowd. “Let me go on the record,” he said. “Anti-Zionism is antisemitism.” He defined anti-Zionism as denying “the very legitimacy of the Israeli state and of the Jewish people.”

And that is exactly the conflation AIPAC hopes to embed and establish in the public discourse, the idea that the Israeli occupation and the Jewish people are inseparable. But as Dave Zirin of The Nation puts it, this is the greatest disservice to the Jewish people. “Anyone who attempts to fasten a 5,000-year-old religion to a 150-year-old colonial project is guilty of antisemitism. They are pushing the idea that my family, merely because of our religion, supports war crimes abroad and the crackdown on critics at home.” It also assumes American Jews are a homogenous group; a Pew Research Center survey found that most American Jewish adults take the position that God “did not literally give” the land of Israel to the Jewish people. 

Anti-Zionists, including thousands of Jews across the globe, reject the notion of an ethno-state that expels the existing Palestinian population. Anti-Zionists oppose the Israeli occupation on the basis of the myriad human rights abuses that Israel has carried out since its founding. These include the displacement and ethnic cleansing of millions of Palestinians, the establishment of an apartheid system that systematically disenfranchises Palestinians, a sustained illegal occupation, the murder of tens of thousands of Palestinians over the past seven decades and the ongoing genocide in Gaza. 

Anti-Zionism is not antisemitism. It would be absurd to be forced to make the same clarifications regarding other distinctly independent concepts, and it is an indictment of the uninformed level of discourse Congress has succumbed to. Equating anti-Zionism and antisemitism is a strategic and calculated measure designed to stifle criticism of the Israeli occupation and instill fear in those who speak out, Jews and non-Jews alike. 

After the resolution’s passage, I wrote on X (formerly Twitter) that, “according to the House of Representatives, the Muslim community that has stood in solidarity in front of synagogues and Jewish community centers against hate for years — yet also opposes Zionism — is to be considered antisemitic. And all of the brave members of the Jewish community standing in solidarity against occupation are also apparently antisemites. Make it make sense.”

Unfortunately, it will never make sense. To equate anti-Zionism and antisemitism is to conflate being Jewish with being Zionist, and, as Dave Zirin posited, “this is rank antisemitism: the assumption that to be Jewish is to support Israel’s crimes.” Ironically, despite the resolution’s stated attempts to condemn antisemitism, it — in fact — fans the flames of bigotry. This resolution seeks to weaponize Jewish pain by criminalizing criticism of the occupation, apartheid and systemic racism, all of which are part and parcel of the current Israeli fabric.

[hefty-halo]

Ngl...I feel like the Spartan-IIIs, or at least the ones before Noble Team, were kind of set up to fail by ONI trying to pump out a lot of them for lower cost. Yeah, sure, you get a ton more Spartans...but they're not of the same quality as their predecessors, like John, Kelly, or even their teacher, Kurt.

Their armor was meant specifically for recon assignments, not most of what being a UNSC Spartan calls for.

I mean, hell, in Ghosts of Onyx, I remember very vividly, towards the end of the book, a Hunter point-blanked Kelly and one of Kurt's Spartan-IIIs, a chick named Holly.

Kelly, IIRC, got just a concussion, but was otherwise just fine. Holly, on the other hand, literally ceased to exist.

They basically screwed over Forerunners-know how many kids because they tried to make a bunch of Spartans for less cost, by cheaping out on the armor that keeps them alive.

And I think that's why when they eventually went to Spartan-IV, they realized their mistake and chose instead to use GEN2 MJOLNIR armor for them.

Of course, this is just my own opinions, speculations, that kinda thing, you're free to agree or disagree as you see fit. I just saw that you were talking about MJOLNIR armor and that reminded me of this, so...nyeh

Oh they were absolutely set up to fail, they were made to be expendable shock troops and covert ops that they could afford to lose during or after missions. Just look at how the first two or three companies were deployed, in a huge suicidal frontal assault against a Covenant fuel refinery, where only a handful of them survived. Most of those survivors then went to train under Kurt, because they didn't know what else to do with the poor bastards.

The SPI armour was even worse in terms of the armour capability, they also had no shields at all to enable the cloaking capabilities. Even the Mark V B variant has shielding, despite it being a stripped down version of regular Mark V.

The poor IIIs never stood a chance in an open engagement, but they were deliberately made that way. Kurt could see this, and he hated it, he even reflects on it when one of his IIIs dies in his arms after not realising half his torso was missing, thanks to his brain's pain receptors being switched off due to combat stims.

While I don't particularly like Spartan IVs (especially their armour, don't get me started on the abominations that Gen3 brought about), they are at least good soldiers and well-equipped for the wars they fight in. Main thing I don't like about them is how cavalier they are. They are just stereotype Marine "jocks" in knock-off armour and hardly anywhere near as much augmentation done to them. They tried to make Spartans into an "everyman" sort of thing, but that's not what they're meant to be, it never has been.

Sorry, I'll cut my ranting off there. I just can't stand how they've been written since they first showed up in Halo 4.