#event-driven processing

[rajaniesh]

Mastering Azure Container Apps: From Configuration to Deployment

Thank you for following our Azure Container Apps series! We hope you're gaining valuable insights to scale and secure your applications. Stay tuned for more tips, and feel free to share your thoughts or questions. Together, let's unlock the Azure's Power.

[seyamu]

it's been half a year since i read FSFK but i am still haunted by nol's past

[insurance-brokers-india]

What are the next steps after obtaining an insurance broker license, and how can you generate potential leads using Mzapp CRM software?

Congratulations on securing your insurance broker license! The journey doesn’t end here; it’s just the beginning of building a successful insurance brokerage. Here’s how you can proceed and leverage Mzapp CRM software to find potential leads:

Steps After Getting Your Insurance Broker License

Understand Your Market: Research your target audience (individuals, businesses, or specific sectors).

Develop a Business Plan: Set goals for client acquisition, revenue, and operational processes.

Build a Network: Partner with insurance providers and attend industry events to establish your presence.

Create an Online Presence: Build a professional website and maintain active profiles on social platforms.

Offer Value-Added Services: Educate customers on policies, claims management, and risk assessments.

Using Mzapp CRM Software to Generate Leads

Lead Capture: Utilize Mzapp’s integrated forms and web tracking tools to capture inquiries from your website or social media.

Automated Follow-Ups: Set up personalized email and SMS follow-ups to nurture leads effectively.

Lead Scoring: Prioritize leads based on their interaction history, ensuring you focus on high-potential prospects.

Data-Driven Campaigns: Use analytics to identify what works and launch targeted campaigns.

Seamless Policy Management: Impress leads by showcasing how smoothly you manage policies and claims through Mzapp.

Why Choose Mzapp CRM?

Mzapp CRM simplifies lead management, streamlines operations, and provides insights into customer behavior, making it easier to convert prospects into loyal clients.

Learn more about how Mzapp can transform your insurance business here.

[corporateintel]

Why We Focus

There’s a theme running through our workplace this year. It’s as simple as it is profound. It’s not revolutionary; it’s more of a reminder. It’s all about focus. Focus matters. Focus works. Focus wins. The “what” and “how” of focus are somewhat obvious. We need to set clear priorities, narrow our agenda to initiatives that significantly elevate performance, add resources to projects that will…

[technicalfika]

Event-Driven Design Demystified: Concepts and Examples

🚀 Discover how this cutting-edge architecture transforms software systems with real-world examples. From e-commerce efficiency to smart home automation, learn how to create responsive and scalable applications #EventDrivenDesign #SoftwareArchitecture

In the world of software architecture, event-driven design has emerged as a powerful paradigm that allows systems to react and respond to events in a flexible and efficient manner. Whether you’re building applications, microservices, or even IoT devices, understanding event-driven design can lead to more scalable, responsive, and adaptable systems. In this article, we’ll delve into the core…

[twstedpurple]

TWST characters getting jealous when you spend more time with Stitch than with them (Part 1)

✧ Inspired by the new Stitch's Tropical Turbulence event.

✧ You can read Part 2 here.

Ace Trappola

Initially, Ace enjoyed having Stitch join the two of you, having fun as you all laughed, played, and hung out together with the other students at the island. But as he watched you grow increasingly attached to Stitch, and the way the blue furball kept clinging to you in return, a sense of irritation began to gnaw at him.

Ace tried to brush it off at first. As one of your first and closest friends at school, he’d been around you long enough to know your kindness extended to everyone and that you had a soft spot for small creatures like Stitch. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing day. He'd always been confident in his ability to captivate you, to make you smile and laugh with his silly jokes and antics. But hearing your constant giggles caused by Stitch, seeing you completely captivated by the alien's boundless energy and goofy charm, caused jealousy to stir within him.

Despite his efforts to act nonchalant, he couldn't help but secretly glare, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you and Stitch engrossed in your own little world. He would constantly find himself making excuses to be near you two, subtly inserting himself into your interactions. Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he was jealous of the attention Stitch was receiving from you, jealous of the laughter that now echoed around you—a laughter that didn't include him. He was jealous of the little alien beside you who could effortlessly steal your attention and openly show his affection to you without getting embarrassed or teased by others.

Floyd Leech

Floyd didn't like it one bit. Sure, playing with the alien Stitch was fun and all, but seeing you constantly fawning over the little guy, ignoring Floyd in the process, sent a flicker of discontent across his face. Floyd got easily jealous when others stole your attention away from him. You were his precious shrimpy, after all.

Like Ace, he would try to wedge himself between you and Stitch to draw your attention. One moment he’d join in the fun with forced enthusiasm, only to get bored and withdraw the next due to his unpredictable mood swings. When his attempts to capture your attention failed and you remained engrossed with Stitch, Floyd’s mood darkened further.

He felt a suffocating sense of possessiveness, yearning for your undivided attention and affection. He wanted you all to himself. As he watched Stitch snuggle into your side, resting his head on your lap while you gently stroked his fur with a tender smile, his scowl deepened, his heart burning with jealousy. Unable to bear it any longer, he stormed over, yanking Stitch away. Then, grabbing you by the waist, he settled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you in a possessive embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, whining that you should play with him too. He snuggled even closer, ignoring the growling blue alien glaring daggers at him.

Riddle Rosehearts

From a distance, Riddle watched as Stitch playfully perched on your shoulder, nuzzling your cheek with his big, round nose, drawing a soft giggle from you. This playful interaction sparked an unfamiliar pang of jealousy within him. Though he tried to maintain a composed exterior, his eyes betrayed him, narrowing, and a faint frown would crease his face as he watched the cheerful duo.

Every now and then, Riddle would find an excuse to interject, gently scolding you for spoiling the little creature too much. His tone was stern, but deep down, he knew his disapproval was driven more by envy than genuine concern. He couldn't bear to watch you so happy together, knowing that he longed for that same closeness, though confessing such feelings wasn't easy for him.

Under the pretense of keeping an eye on them, Riddle would stay close, claiming it was to prevent any potential trouble Stitch might cause. His true motive, however, was far more personal. He wanted to be near you too, to share in the moments of joy you experienced with Stitch. He would stand nearby, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering as he watched you and Stitch bond. As he watched, he would often tap his finger on his arm or his foot on the sandy beach in silent frustration, his jealousy growing. Yet,  he kept his emotions tightly in check, not wanting to make his feelings obvious to you or anyone else.

[horse-girl-anthy]

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Gender in Context

beneath the cut, I discuss the RGU's portrayal of gender in the context of 1990s Japan.

in Ikuhara's interview with Mari Kotani, he stated that in traditional Japanese society, "prince" meant "patriarch." the same is true in Western societies--there was a time when a prince would be an heir to a royal line. by 1997, this meaning had died out of large parts of the world. even the association between princes and traditional masculinity was fading. Saionji, the weakest, most pathetic man in the show, is a parody of historical Japanese masculinity, with his kendo and his blatantly regressive beliefs about women.

in RGU, prince may still mean patriarch, but in a far more subtle fashion. Ikuhara and Kotani discussed the changing expectations for men in the latter half of the 20th century--it became gauche to fight over a woman with one's brawn, so instead, power struggles were played out in the arena of looks and sex appeal. one can see this reflected in the character Akio, whose power as a prince arises from his ability to turn "easy sensual pleasure based on dependency" "into a selling point with which to control people."

Akio has his moments of showboating masculinity, but when preying on Utena, he operates by making himself seem non-threatening and soft.

not only that, but he purports to want to allow students to express their individuality and thus approves of Utena's masculine form of dress. this is a front--by the end of the show, he's telling Utena that girls shouldn't wield swords. thus, through Akio's character, the show argues that traditionalist patriarchy in Japan isn't gone, but instead has only been papered over with false progressivism.

with all that said, there seems to be more to the character. he's taken the family name of his fiance, Kanae, and whatever material power he has in the school is dependent upon her family. in Japanese society, this is considered a humiliating position to be in, something that only a shameless man would do. the show never gives the audience any insight into how Akio feels about this--is he unbothered entirely, or are his actions against the Ohtori family an expression of his repressed anger? does he harm the children under his care to compensate for his humiliation?

this aspect of Akio's character may seem irrelevant in light of the larger, immaterial social forces at work in the show. however, I would argue that it was included for a reason. Akio, despite his status as ultimate patriarch of Ohtori, is in fact a highly emasculated character, to the point where lead writer Enokido even said that he is driven by an infantile mother complex.

to explain why Akio was portrayed this way, we have to discuss Japanese history. the nation suffered a major defeat in WWII and was forced to accept whatever terms the United States laid out for it. for an examination of how the Japanese have never truly processed those events and have plunged into modernity with reckless abandon, I recommend Satoshi Kon's Paranoia Agent. to sum it up briefly, in a very short period, the nation regained its economic footing, and by the 1980s had the largest gross national product in the world. this economic boom may have allowed Japan to maintain a sense of sovereignty, dignity, and power, but it was inherently fragile.

the infamous "bubble economy" lasted from 1986 to 1991. during this time, anything seemed possible; financial struggles appeared to be a thing of the past, and capitalist excess reached new heights. the ghosts of this period can be felt across Japanese media; for instance, think of the final shot of Grave of the Fireflies (1998), where the two dead children look down on Kobe, glowing an eerie green to imply its impermanence. the abandoned theme park from Spirited Away (2001) is explicitly referred to as a leftover from the previous century, when many attractions were built and then tossed aside in a few short years.

the bubble popped in 1992, leaving an entire generation feeling cheated. the bright futures they'd been promised, which had actually materialized for their parents and older siblings, had been lost to them overnight. economic crises are often accompanied by gender panics. to quote from Masculinities in Japan, "The recession brought with itself worsening employment conditions, undermining the system of lifelong employment and men’s status of breadwinners in general. The unemployment rate was rising, and although it never reached crisis levels, men could no longer feel safe in their salaryman status. Their situation was further complicated by the rising number of (married) women entering the workforce."

with this in mind, Akio's character can be taken as a representation of masculinity in crisis in 90s Japan. he's forced to rely on women for his position in life and has failed to save his only relative, Anthy. he tries to escape his misery through hedonism, perhaps an allegorical representation of how men tried to maintain their old standard of living after the economic bubble burst.

but of course, Akio is not the main character of RGU--the story is about girls. mangaka Yamada Reiji discussed the series in the context of the 90s, stating the following:

while I opened this essay by discussing the prince, the same points could be made about the princess. despite the increasing irrelevance of royalty, princess is still an important concept. how does it relate to the socioeconomic landscape of the 90s?

in Yamada's view, RGU is full of relics of the 80s; for instance, the figure of the ojou-sama, an entitled young woman who never lifts a finger for herself. during the economic bubble, it was increasingly common for women to be entirely taken care of by the men in their lives. Yamada names Nanami as a clear ojou-sama type character: she weaponizes her femininity, demanding to be rescued, doted on, and served.

however, by 1997, the ojou-sama could no longer expect to get what she wanted. from the 80s to the 90s, the percentage of women in the workforce increased around 15%; it was no longer viable for most women to be "kept" by their families. as the men experienced the humiliation of not being able to provide for their wives and children, women were undergoing a disillusionment of their own.

Yamada blames Disney for creating the ideological structure which led women astray. obviously, the company is known for its films about princes rescuing princesses. in Yamada's recounting, during the 80s, the company was infiltrating Japan through its theme parks as well; across the country, Disneylands were opening up, and people were buying into the escapism the corporation offered. Japan, as America, became a country of eternal children. its people were waiting for a prince to appear and save them.

but fairy tales can't stave off reality forever. Yamada claims that RGU embodies the rage of young women who woke up one day and realized that they had been raised on a lie. this anger pervades the work from beginning to end.

though RGU was created in a particular social context, its lessons can be extrapolated to any time and place. as the first ending tells us:

I hope this essay helped provide more context for the series. thanks for reading!

[irndad]

a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?” 

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with. 

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them. 

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks. 

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me. 

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response. 

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it. 

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office. 

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief. 

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share. 

He does not want to call Maeve. 

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess. 

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it. 

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now. 

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this. 

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him. 

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up. 

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount. 

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to  cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable. 

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life. 

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back. 

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits. 

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back. 

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything. 

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Developing your Story

Below are questions to consider while writing, and especially during the editing process, to create a more cohesive, rounded, and satisfying story for your readers.

There are 2 main types of writing styles: plot-driven or character-driven. Most writers naturally lean towards one writing style.

But the best writers understand that they must balance their preferred storytelling to create a satisfying tale.

By recognizing your writing preference, you will be able to identify the areas you need to balance.

Plot-Driven Stories

Often exciting and fast-paced.

Compel the reader to turn the page to find out how the characters will escape, evade, prevail, or overcome.

Focus on a set of choices that a character must make.

Meticulously tie together plot points to create a cohesive story.

Focus on ideas instead of people and their motivations.

Force your characters to make quick decisions that move the plot forwards. As a result, character development is secondary to plot development.

Character-Driven Story

Focused on studying the characters that make up your story.

Can deal with inner transformation or the relationships between the characters.

Focuses on how the character arrives at a particular choice.

When you zoom into the internal conflicts, you tend to focus less on the external conflicts.

The plot in a character-driven story is usually simple and often hyper-focused on the internal or interpersonal struggle of the character(s).

The plot is used to develop the character.

Many readers love character-driven stories because the author tends to put a premium on developing realistic, flawed, and human characters.

Readers can see themselves or someone they love in these characters and, as a result, connect emotionally.

When Writing a Plot Driven Story, Answer These Questions About Each of Your Main Characters:

What is the character’s back story?

What is the character’s personality?

How was the character’s personality shaped by his/her backstory?

How does each scene develop the character?

What is driving the character’s reaction within the scene (based on his/her back story)?

How does your character change within the course of the story?

What is the character’s internal conflict?

What is the character most afraid of?

How would he/she define happiness?

When Writing a Character Driven Story, Answer These Questions About Your Plot:

What does your character want to happen in each scene?

Is there tension or conflict within each scene?

What action does the character take within each scene?

How does this action move the story forward?

How does each scene contribute to the overall story?

What is the worst thing that can happen to your character(s)?

How does your character prevent it from happening?

What happens if your character cannot prevent it from happening?

What key events change the main characters in your story?

Source ⚜ Writing Notes ⚜ More: On Editing ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[zkaus]

At the back of my copy of The Vampire Armand, there's an old interview with Anne Rice talking about creating that novel. I've never forgotten her answer to one of the questions... It haunted me for years.

It gives incredible insight into how and why she wrote such beautiful, brutal and broken characters, and what she endured in the creation process.

BUT before you read this, I'm going to STRONGLY warn you, it goes to very very DARK places

Q: What are your work habits for a novel?

A: Once I truly begin to write, I work obsessively, in twelve-hour days, punctuated by days of long sleep and vivid dreaming. Starting time and ending time are no longer important. I might begin at 9 A.M., or after noon or at eight in the evening. I go from there. I turn on the computer and write, write, write.

My room is a mess. Notes are scribbled on the walls so that I can look up at them at the appropriate moments and insert the date, the name, whatever, when I need it. Books are stacked so high that people have to search for me when they come into the room. Opened books with marked-up pages are stacked on top of one another.

I become suicidal. I go through a horrid despair some time or other before the final page, during which everything seems meaningless—from the dawn of history to the very hour in which I am writing.

I’m intolerable to live with. But I spread myself thin over a number of loved ones and staff members so that no one person has to put up with how intense, hysterical, and miserable I am.

When I get elated and talk fast and furiously about wonderful aspects of history or the characters, or good developments in the story, people run away from me. I don’t blame them.

While the novel is being written, I try to avoid dressing for outdoors. No one can make you go out if you don’t have shoes on. Not even in the south. I wear long velvet robes and soft velvet slippers. I refuse to go out. All food is brought in. I eat hamburgers because they are easy to hold with one hand while reading and holding the book with the other hand.

In the middle of the night I read, sometimes on the carpeted floor of the bathroom, just because it’s warm. I am wretched. I don’t care anymore about being abnormal. Writing is everything. Everything. It seems impossible to write the book. It seems impossible to lift a hairbrush to brush my hair. But I do it. I put on mascara every day that I write.

This period of intense work lasts about six weeks. It’s best that way. My imagination is overheated, and my memory clogged with data of varying importance. If I go over six weeks, I begin to forget things; I feel the loss of intensity and information and I become all the more self-destructive and obsessed.

The end of the book is a big event for me. A big event. I start screaming. I put the hour and the date at the end of the last page. I expect everybody to understand, at least a little. It’s a triumph! The darkness of destiny has been driven back for a brief while. I celebrate. I scream, eat chocolate, and sleep.

Right near the end of writing The Vampire Armand, I realized I had to return to Italy, especially to Florence, and at once I began to make preparations for the trip. As soon as the novel was finished and off to the publisher’s, as soon as it could be accomplished, I flew to Italy. That gave me hope, a way out of a life threatening darkness that often follows the climax of a book. But I still ate chocolate and screamed.

While writing, I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep? It seems stupid, except when weariness overcomes me like a giant cloud of poisonous vapor. Then I sleep fifteen to twenty hours. I tell people to go in and out of the bedroom and ignore me lying there, as if I were dead. I won’t talk on the phone. I won’t open my eyes if I don’t have to. I dream terrible, upsetting dreams.

I want to kill myself. But I can’t. I can’t do it to other people, and I have work that must be done, novels that must be written. So I don’t kill myself. Besides, I don’t think it’s good to kill oneself. It’s a horrible idea. It has a horrible effect even on acquaintances.

I think a lot about people I loved who are dead. I think of how dead they are, year after year, ever more dead.

[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ PART THREE

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

Word Count ✦ 1.2K

Warnings ✦ overall story has a 18+ content warning, MDNI, mention of hospitals/emergency rooms, honestly pretty fluffy, cussing

A/N ✦ i've been on a writing streak the last few days, i'm already working on part four, hopefully should post it by tomorrow :)

PART TWO »»» Series Masterlist

I will update the series every 1-4 days depending on my schedule

You felt like absolute shit. Your whole body ached and waves of nausea flowed through you. Slowly you lifted your heavy eyelids and looked around. Nat, Clint, Thor, and Wanda all sat around you as you laid in a hospital bed. 

“Y/N’s awake.”, Wanda said to the others. 

Everyone looked towards you. 

“How you feeling?”, Clint asked.

“Awful.”, you groaned, “What the fuck even happened?”

Your memories of the previous night were a blur. The group looked around to each other silently debating who would fill you in.

“Do you remember anything?”, Nat questioned.

“I remember up to when we were on the dance floor but after that, nothing.”

Nat relayed the previous night's events to you, adding details of what happened after you blacked out. Like the fact that Bucky had personally driven you and Nat to the emergency room, and slipped one of the nurses a couple hundred to make sure you got the best treatment possible. 

“He also had me give him your phone number so he could check up on you.”

Internally you lit up, thrilled at the thought of the handsome man caring about your wellbeing. However, something cut through your mind, temporarily interrupting your joy.

“Did he get in trouble for fighting that guy?”

“There was no way in hell that guy was going to be calling the cops after what he tried to do to you so no trouble there and Bucky can’t get in trouble with the club seeing as he owns it.”, Nat said, “I found that out on our drive to the hospital because I had the same thought as you.”

Your brain was trying to process all of the information you had just been given, almost feeling overwhelmed by it.

A soft knock on the door turned all of your attention that way. A blonde nurse in baby blue scrubs was leaning her shoulder against the door as she opened it, a large vase of pink roses and tulips clutched in her hands.

“Miss (Y/L/N), these just got delivered for you.”, she smiled at you.

Thor stood and retrieved the flowers from her. Setting them down on the thick window ledge, he plucked the card from the stand it sat on, and handed it to you. You opened the envelope shakily, your body was still not fully recovered from last night. 

Hey Sweetheart, Let me know when you get out of the hospital, I sent you a text so you have my number. Hope you’re okay. I’m here if you need anything ━ Bucky

Your face blossomed with a blush.

“Who are they from?”, Clint asked.

With a wide grin you responded, “Bucky.”

A few hours later and the emergency room doctors finally cleared you to go home. Your friends helped you gather your belongings, Clint and Wanda telling you goodbye as you guys reached the parking lot. Thor kindly gave you and Nat a ride back home to your apartment.

After dropping you guys off he yelled from his car window, "Bye guys! Love you both!"

"Bye Thor, we love you too!", you and Nat yelled back to him as you continued up the sidewalk and into your apartment building.

After you crossed the threshold of your home, you immediately headed to your bedroom.

“I’m going to go shower and get this hospital smell off of me.”, you told Nat.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything, I’ll be out here watching TV.”

Entering your room, you immediately shed your dress from the previous night, tossing it into your dirty clothes hamper. You dug through your dresser selecting a pair of baggy grey sweats and one of your favorite oversized shirts.

After grabbing your clothes you head to your bathroom. Entering, you set your outfit and phone down on the sink, going to turn your shower on. You twist the hot water knob to the on position, the sound of trickling water filling the room.

You moved back to the counter grabbing your phone. As you unlocked it you saw a text from a number you didn’t have saved.

UNKOWN: Let me know when you’re back home, I’ve been worried about you. 

UNKOWN: This is Bucky btw. 

You smiled, saving his name in your phone, and shot him back a text.

Y/N: I’m back home, still not feeling amazing, but I’ll survive. Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.

Bucky quickly sent you a response. 

BUCKY: I hoped they might cheer you up a bit.  Y/N: They definitely did. Also thank you for last night, I appreciate it more than you know. 

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared several times. You closed out of your messages, opening your music streaming app and turning on your favorite playlist. Locking your phone you set it back down on the counter and stepped into the shower. 

You felt some of the tension in your back slowly fade as warm water trickled down your body. After relaxing in the hot water for what you deemed long enough, you began to wash yourself, scrubbing a little too hard, trying to get the smell of the hospital off of you as well as the metaphorical feeling of Caleb's hands.

Once you felt that you were sufficiently clean, you grabbed a light green towel off the wall, wrapping it around your body. 

You reached for your phone again.

BUCKY: I’m just glad you're safe.

You saw that several minutes had passed in between that text and the following ones he sent.

BUCKY: Go to dinner with me? BUCKY: Only if you want to of course. I don’t want you to think you have to say yes just because I helped you yesterday. 

‘Men that respect boundaries are so hot’, you thought to yourself.

Y/N: Of course, I would really like that. 

You set your phone down again. Drying your hair and doing your skincare. After you finished, you exited the bathroom and flopped down onto your fluffy pink comforter. Exhaustion started taking over you and you crawled under your blankets, snuggling into your pillows.

Your phone buzzed beside your head.

BUCKY: Let me know when you’re free next, I have the perfect place we can go. Y/N: I’m going to take a nap, but when I wake up I’ll check my schedule and see what days I’m not doing anything.  Bucky: Perfect, sleep well sweetheart, ttyl.

You smiled softly, butterflies forming in your stomach. 

You reached for your TV remote, turning on a show to play as background noise while you slept. Your eyes closed, feeling very heavy and within minutes you were asleep.

Nat eventually came into your room and woke you up, letting you get a five hour nap in. She had made the two of you dinner, spaghetti and garlic toast. Your stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of food. Laughing, you followed her into the kitchen.

You pulled up your calendar on your phone, seeing when your next day off was, and texting the information to Bucky.  

Y/N: Just looked and my next day off is Tuesday. BUCKY: I’ll pick you up at 7? Y/N: That works for me :) I’ll send you my address.

After texting him your address you put your phone away, enjoying your dinner with your roommate as you guys watched TV. The two of you made it through several episodes of your show, before Nat started yawning, saying she was going to head to bed. You both went to the kitchen, rising your dishes and headed down the hall into your respective rooms.

You fell asleep, bubbling with excitement over your upcoming date with Bucky.

PART FOUR

I AM OPENING A TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

[formulaonecrumbs]

Would you be okay with a lando x male!reader where they meet at a kids’ karting event, where lando was invited for a special appearance or something like that? The little girl who wins the race gets to take a picture with him and get his autograph, and that’s how Lando meets the reader, who is her dad. They start talking, going out, and eventually start dating?

unexpected laps 🏁

Lando Norris x single-dad!reader

summary: lando goes to a kids’ karting event for a quick pr appearance and unexpectedly meets a single dad who changes everything.

warnings: PURE fluff, meet-cute, use of y/n

A/N: thanks for request anon!!! i never write fics where it’s y/n but for this one i felt it was necessary cuz i wanted to make sure that during the fic u could tell that ‘reader’ was a guy so 🤷‍♀️ also i don’t typically write in third person, lemme know if it’s not too cringe. but other than that i loved this req, it was too cute. sorry i’m posting it so late, i rewrote it like 50 fucking times. ENJOY, MY LOVES ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

the last thing lando expected when he got roped into making a surprise appearance at a local kids’ karting event was to meet someone who made him want to stick around for more than just the photo ops.

it had started out like any other pr thing. a few hours in his mclaren gear, smiling for pictures, signing miniature helmets, crouching beside kids with wide eyes and dreams bigger than their bodies. lando didn’t mind it, not really. he loved seeing that spark—the one he remembered having when he was their age. but by the time the final race came around, he was already checking his watch.

and then she came flying across the finish line.

this tiny blur of pink and orange, with wild curls sticking out from her helmet and arms raised in victory like she’d just won monaco. she practically leapt out of the kart before it had even come to a full stop, bouncing on her toes as she pulled her helmet off and ran to her dad.

and that was when lando saw him.

he was kneeling beside her, beaming like she’d just won the championship. she flung herself into his arms and he caught her like it was the easiest thing in the world, spinning her once before setting her down and ruffling her hair.

“you were so fast!” he laughed. “i think you might’ve scared the rest of the grid.”

she grinned, proud and breathless. “i was pretending i was you!”

he chuckled. “i wish i was that cool.”

and then, like some cosmic joke, the announcer’s voice echoed across the track: “and the winner gets a signed photo and a picture with lando norris!”

his daughter screamed.

lando blinked. and before he could really process it, she was dragging her dad by the hand toward him, practically vibrating with excitement.

“hi!” she beamed up at him, cheeks still flushed from racing. “i’m mia! you’re lando! i won!”

“hi mia,” he smiled, crouching to her level. “you were flying out there! nice moves on turn four.”

she gasped. “you saw that?!”

“of course i did. couldn’t miss it.”

and that’s when lando met his eyes. he looked a little apologetic, a little amused, and—a little shy.

“sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s a big fan. we both are, actually.”

lando stood, brushing his palms on his jeans. “don’t apologize. she’s got talent. you’re her coach?”

he laughed. “more like her chauffeur and snack provider. she tells me what to do, really.”

he had a nice voice. warm, steady, playful.

“i’m lando,” he said, even though that was obvious.

“yeah, i got that part,” he teased, then offered his hand. “i’m y/n.”

when lando shook his hand, he noticed the way his fingers were calloused but gentle, like he worked with his hands but still knew how to hold something carefully. it did something weird to his chest.

he stuck around longer than he was supposed to. took a picture with mia, signed her helmet, even let her sit in the demo kart he’d driven in earlier. but every time he looked up, he found y/n watching him. not in a creepy way. in a curious, thoughtful way, like he was trying to figure lando out.

lando liked it more than he should’ve.

at some point, while mia was showing another kid her medal, lando found himself standing beside y/n again, both of them watching her from the edge of the track.

“she’s got a good teacher,” lando said.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “i told you, i just buy the juice boxes.”

lando smiled. “still. she’s lucky.”

he glanced at him. “and what about you? lucky day?”

lando looked at him. “wasn’t expecting to meet someone interesting at a karting track today, so yeah. lucky.”

y/n laughed. “mm… smooth.”

“you like it?”

“maybe.”

lando hesitated for half a second before blurting, “can i get your number?”

y/n blinked, then smiled. “you’re asking for mine before i can ask for yours?”

“beat you to the finish line,” lando grinned.

he gave him his number.

the first few texts were casual. jokes about mia being faster than him, memes about go-karts and juice boxes, the occasional photo of her holding up her latest karting trophy with a look that could kill. lando sent a selfie once, hair a mess and tongue sticking out, with the caption: think i can beat her now?

y/n replied: not a chance.

and then lando asked him out.

nothing crazy. just coffee after one of mia’s saturday races. she was busy running laps around the parking lot with her new karting friends while they sat on the curb with two paper cups between them, knees bumping sometimes, smiles lingering a little longer than they used to.

“you sure about this?” y/n asked quietly, eyes on his daughter across the lot.

lando looked at him. “about what?”

“me. the dad. the kid. the juice boxes.”

he nudged y/n’s arm. “i’m in it for the juice boxes, honestly.”

y/n gave him a look.

“i’m sure,” lando said. “about all of it.”

dating lando was easy in ways y/n didn’t expect. sure, there were complications—paparazzi, travel, the occasional insecurity about being the guy he chose in a world that expected him to date models. but there was also his laugh in y/n’s kitchen, his fingers brushing his when he helped with dishes, the way he always carried an extra hoodie for mia in his bag “just in case.”

she adored him. and lando adored her back.

he never overstepped. never tried to be more than y/n was comfortable with. he just showed up—cheering from the sidelines at her races, offering advice when she asked, helping her untangle her hair when it got caught in her helmet strap.

and when the three of them curled up on the couch at the end of the day, mia fast asleep on y/n’s chest, lando would wrap an arm around him and whisper, “this… this feels right.”

and somehow, it always did.

y/n didn’t expect to fall for him so fast. but maybe it was how lando looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered, even when he had the whole world watching. maybe it was how he made his daughter laugh louder than he’d ever heard. or maybe it was just him—the way he stayed, showed up, chose them.

again and again.

and when he kissed y/n in the quiet of his kitchen one night, soft and slow, like he’d been waiting for the right moment, he knew this wasn’t just a lucky day.

this was the start of something real.

THE END :>

[moonmaiden1996]

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part Four

The day started like any other.

You clocked in, greeted your colleagues, and settled into the rhythmic hum of the office. The air buzzed with the usual symphony of monotony—keyboards clacking in uneven rhythms, the soft rustle of paper as reports shuffled from desk to desk, the occasional ring of a phone slicing through the background noise. The fluorescent lights flickered with a faint buzz, casting a sterile glow over the workspace, draining everything of warmth. There was a steady hum to it all, a constant reminder of the predictable grind that you’d grown so used to. You could almost hear the collective sigh of resignation in the air.

But something felt... off.

For once, it didn’t feel suffocating. There were no passive-aggressive emails lurking in your inbox, no last-minute assignments dumped on your desk like an avalanche, no looming sense of dread clinging to your shoulders like a phantom. If anything, the office felt... calm. Too calm.

People worked efficiently, their movements smooth, their interactions void of the usual tension. No whispered complaints in the break room. No lingering glares exchanged across cubicles. The unspoken power struggles that usually brewed beneath the surface had vanished overnight. It was unnerving. There was no edge, no undercurrent of stress. Just... quiet.

It was unnatural.

But you weren’t about to question it. For the first time in ages, you weren’t drowning under an unbearable workload. The constant, crushing weight had lifted, leaving you with an alien sense of ease. You even found yourself enjoying the silence, savoring the rare sensation of peace that filled the office. The work felt manageable, the day stretched out before you, almost idyllic. And for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter just trying to survive.

Then, without warning, your boss called an emergency meeting.

The office gathered hesitantly, confusion thick in the air. Your boss stood at the front, gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His normally composed demeanor had cracked. His face was pale, his jaw clenched, and his eyes darted to unseen corners of the room, as though something lurked just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to strike. A chill settled in your gut. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again.

“I’m resigning. Effective immediately.”

The words landed like a thunderclap. The room went deathly quiet. The fluorescent lights above flickered, the buzz now almost oppressive as your colleagues exchanged confused glances. You barely had time to process what was happening before your boss’s shaky hands wiped across his brow, his eyes wide, as though he’d seen something none of you could. “I—I can’t do this anymore,” he stammered. “The stress, the atmosphere... it’s too much. I need to put my health first.”

A murmur rippled through the room, unease creeping into everyone’s expressions. People whispered, but no one dared challenge him. The atmosphere?

Sure, work had its fair share of stress, but lately, things had been running almost too smoothly. No disasters. No major conflicts. Nothing that should have driven a man to the brink. Yet here he was, pale, trembling, abandoning his position as if something had hunted him out of it.

Your stomach twisted. A prickle of unease slithered down your spine, slow and insidious, worming its way into your thoughts. There was something you were missing.

Before you could fully process what had happened, your colleagues turned to you.

“Congratulations,” they said. “You’re in charge now.”

The words barely registered. Your mind reeled from the surrealness of the situation, processing the events in fragmented moments. You didn’t know what to feel. Was this some kind of joke? You blinked, trying to reconcile the surrealness of the situation with the new reality settling over you.

But as the reality settled in, something unexpected flickered through the unease.

Pride.

You had worked hard. You deserved this. You were officially in charge now. The promotion was yours, whether or not it made sense. Whatever had happened to your boss—whatever unseen force had rattled him to his core—wasn’t your problem anymore. It was your moment.

The rest of the day passed in a strange blur. People were still cooperative, still unnervingly respectful, but there was something else now. Something just beneath the surface. A silent shift in the air, like an unspoken rule had settled over the office. No one questioned your authority. No one challenged you.

It should have felt like a victory.

And in some ways, it did.

By the time your shift ended, you felt something dangerously close to happiness. A rare thing. A feeling you hadn’t had in a long time. The weight of the day, the stress, the worry—it had all melted away, leaving you with a sense of lightness you couldn’t remember ever feeling. You decided to stop by Sakamoto’s convenience store on the way home—a small indulgence to celebrate. Wine, something sweet, maybe your usual coffee. You didn’t even care about the weird vibe from that odd guy you’d seen there before. Nothing would ruin this perfect day.

The store’s bell chimed softly as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of warm bread and instant ramen greeting you. For the first time in a long while, you felt light. The rhythmic hum of the store was like a balm, washing away the tension still clinging to you from the office.

And then—

“Ah, my love, you’re back again.”

The voice was smooth, teasing—dripping with amusement. It hit your ears like a faint, unwelcomed melody.

You turned towards the counter.

And there he was.

Nagumo.

Leaning against the counter like he owned the place, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped in. His smirk widened, like he had been expecting this moment, like he knew you’d walk in at just the right time. The same sense of confidence that both irked and intrigued you.

And—

For the first time—

You smiled at him.

Just a small thing. Barely there. But real. A flicker of amusement in your expression. Maybe it was the pleasant mood of the day, or maybe you were just too tired to argue with him. Either way, there it was—a smile that you hadn’t realized you were even capable of.

Nagumo’s eyes gleamed. His smirk twitched, curling into something smug and undeniably pleased.

“Well, now,” he mused, pushing off the counter with an easy, lazy confidence. “Look at you. Practically glowing.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “It’s been a good day.”

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “A promotion, was it?”

You blinked at him, startled. “How did you—”

He grinned. “I pay attention to my darling’s life, of course.”

Something stirred at the back of your mind. A shadow of a thought, a fleeting recognition of something you should have been piecing together. But before you could grasp it, Nagumo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a light, playful lilt.

“Well, my dear,” he purred, “since you’re in such high spirits, why not let me take you out on a proper date?”

The teasing lilt was expected. The casual arrogance. The confidence.

What wasn’t expected was your reaction.

Because you—

Didn’t immediately refuse.

You hesitated. Just for a second. A moment too long.

Nagumo noticed. Of course, he did. His eyes gleamed, the satisfaction in them unmistakable. He had won. You were a step closer to whatever game he was playing.

And then—

“…Sure,” you said, smiling no less.

Nagumo actually blinked. Like he hadn’t expected you to say yes. But the shock was fleeting, vanishing almost as soon as it came. His grin stretched wider, delight dancing across his expression.

“My, my,” he practically purred. “Finally coming to your senses, are we?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you still didn’t take it back. Maybe it was just the good mood. Maybe you were too tired to argue. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t entirely hate the idea.

Then—

“OH, HELL NO.”

The moment shattered.

You turned just in time to see Shin Asakura pointing an accusatory finger directly at Nagumo.

“You—you did WHAT?!” Shin shouted. “I thought Aoi said not to start threatening peopleeee!” Shin was practically vibrating with disbelief. “You scared off her boss, I am pretty sure that was on the list of things not to do!”

The store fell into a stunned silence.

Your breath hitched. The words didn’t make sense at first.

Scared off…?

Your boss. His pale face. His shaking hands. His darting eyes, like something was hunting him.

The eerily cooperative colleagues. The unspoken wariness. The unnatural smoothness of your day.

Realization crashed over you, ice-cold and suffocating.

Before you could respond, Sakamoto sighed heavily, grabbing Shin by the collar and dragging him toward the back.

Shin flailed. “WAIT—I’M RIGHT! I’M RIGHT, DAMN IT!” His voice echoed in the shop, but Sakamoto was already pulling him further into the back.

Sakamoto ignored him, muttering under his breath. “Great. Now I’ll never get rid of him.”

And just like that, they disappeared into the back room, leaving you with him.

You snapped your gaze towards Nagumo, searching his face for some kind of denial.

But Nagumo—

Didn’t even bother lying.

He just smirked, utterly unbothered, slipping his hands into his pockets. Nagumo chuckled softly. “Whatever you say, my love. Shall we go? I know a good noodle place with amazing coffee. You will love it.”

SOOOOOOO? What you think?

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Before I end up making that post I want to talk about briefly with the release of IS5 again, the concept of each IS havin a fundamental theme of unreality to them. I really like this, because it feels like in a pretty unsubtle way a solid way to ground the structure of a roguelike setting into what is normally a pretty grounded storyline.

IS1, Ceobe's Fungimist (please Hypergryph let it return), is a hallucination caused be Ceobe eating weird forest mushrooms. Nothing that happens in IS1 is real, explicitly. However, IS1 is fundamentally drawing from something, and in Ceobe's case, it seems to be drawing from her memories of traveling abroad Terra looking for the origins of her axe (and food, of course). What are things Ceobe's remembers happening to her, what are hallucinations filing in the gaps, and what are Ceobe catching glimpses of fundamental truths of the world (the Black Procession and the Feranmut skeleton that is Maybe? Lifebone for instance) is left extremely vague. Characters such as the Frozen Monstrosity do seem to genuinely exist, but there was no Frozen Monstrosity in Lungmen. Was Ceobe using something she herself experienced in place of Frostnova, or is Ceobe hallucinating the entire thing regardless? Who knows. Ceobe probably doesn't have the answers for you.

IS2 has explicit themes of madness and deception, and although I do not find him a particularly compelling character or plot device, a playwright who can literally warp reality with his plays. Much of the stage design recycles echoes the stage design from IS1, almost as if the Troupe is welcoming you, the player, onto their stage. You aren't here to discern the truth behind the Troupe, you're here to save one man, and while you are able to peel back the curtains somewhat, you never really do learn what the Troupe is. There are puppets who come to life and whose music damages your souls, there are actors driven so fully into their roles that they end up traveling to Sami to carry out their destined end, there's a Troupe Leader whose defining imagery is puppets and strings, and yet, you're no closer to finding out how this all happened than you are trying to explain why the Knights' Duel node exists.

IS3 asks the question "What if time is like evolution?" and presents its unreality in the form of a sprawling, massive bundle of alternative timelines to your own. It feels almost impossible to line up most of the events and memory mappings and endings on top of each other, and even the endings seemingly branch off into several versions of themselves. While, for example, the Irene encounter maps onto her own memory mapping story, we never see the timeline involving Lumen's memory mapping in the game at all. There is no Seaborn version of Gladiia in-game for you to fight. This is made seemingly all the more uncanny by the fact that there is actually a canon timeline going on, and the implication through the Bosky event that you are only seeing these alternative timelines because curiosity got the better of you. You came into contact with technology alien and yet familiar, and as a result, your good little timeline where you just save a girl who tries to commit identity death turns into you having to watch from the third person a version of the world where you and Mizuki are potentially the only intelligent life left on Terra for all eternity.

(No seriously, this ending is fucked up, what the fuck.)

IS4, on the other hand, gives us a reality that is unraveling, so fragile and malleable that you can cause things to manifest out of sheer force of will, something there are explicit warnings about not doing. It's a land where the living become the shambling, almost mechanical dead, and the mechanical being living creatures. It's a world where the abyss looks back at you, and finds you to be worth destroying. Gravity isn't right, time isn't right, language isn't right, snow falls black and the dead rise once again to beckon you home. There's nightmares in the shadows, and they're eating away at everything.

Sorry shit I got dark there. IS5 is Nymph's happy little storytime where she explores future and alternative versions of Kazdel through the imagination of her and her compatriots. What if Theresis and Theresa worked together and Nasti completed her designs (and maybe committed a genocide????) and Kazdel was a flying utopia city? What if the Teekaz all walked in a different direction and became the Sankta, or all became the Anasa? You know, sometimes you lose your sense of reality and become dependent on the visions you see from the Revenants, sometimes you need a little bunny to pull you out, and sometimes those Revenants might have actually caused a new reality to exist but haha, don't worry about that.

What if, hahaha, just saying what if, there was a version of Amiya in a world where the Sarkaz barely exist, where she was given the crown by a dying Theresa with no guidance on how to use it ethically? Haha I mean, what if Kal'tsit wasn't around? What if, just theoretically, there was a version of Amiya for whom the most formative person in her life was the decaying mind of a man stuck as an AI program who kept his people alive for 10,000 years? What if, hehehehe you know, what if, there were special endings you got for each of the stories you told where you went onto fight her, showing up closing up those stories, those worlds, to eternally protect them until she can find the answer to all troubles? What if the Sarkaz prophecy from Chapter 7 kept coming up, over and over again, the prophecy of an Amiya who would melt millions of lives into memories over and over again? What if this was an Amiya so immediately dangerous that the Sankta version of Buldrokkas'tee doesn't hesitate in trying to kill her?

I mean that would be a really scary story if it was true. Really it's Nymph's special storytime with the revenants. Don't worry about it.

Anyways I love pretty much each of these takes (IS2 is definitely the weakest though) and it shows a lot of thought from the storywriters about how they wanted to integrate a roguelike mode into their game.

[vivmaek]

MARS SIGN OBSERVATIONS

♂ Pisces Mars - I think Lennie Small from “Of Mice and Men,” would have this placement. This is a person who is seemingly harmless, and yet they still managed to cause harm and destruction through indirect action. When looking at someone with a Pisces Mars, their innocence and an assumed lack of strength is noticed first. These are kind people. They would rather harm themselves over another person. Their first instinct isn’t to attack, but to defend. When angry, they appear to be caught up within a panic. A Pisces Mars is driven by their big dreams. They might not always know what they want out of life, and their goals and ambitions may change frequently. This does not mean that they are incapable of finding success. If anything, their unwavering belief in themselves and their ability to achieve the impossible is what takes them to great heights. Hope is everything for someone with this placement, it’s what gets them out of bed in the morning. 

♂ Aquarius Mars - It's hard to pin someone with this placement down. Their actions don’t make sense to other people. Aquarius does a good job showing its eccentricity through Mars. The rules of society and the opinions of others do not dictate their actions. These types are constantly surprising people, and they like this. The public will often speculate about those with an Aquarius Mars. Theories are formed about them, no one can guess what they’re going to do next. In my opinion, this is the most rebellious Aquarius placement. They live their life in a manner that is truly unconventional. People with this placement are not aggressive, but they are clever. They like outsmarting people. A sense of superiority can sometimes act as a driving force. They go out of their way to make the people around them feel stupid if they’re in a foul mood. Their need for independence will never be forsaken. 

♂ Capricorn Mars - Hard work doesn’t scare these people off. They’ll put in whatever energy is needed to complete a project or endeavor. A strong sense of ambition and an excellent sense of focus are traits commonly seen with this placement. They’re quite secure in themselves and exercise self control through all their actions. Discipline motivates them. They take their responsibilities seriously and expect others to do the same. A Capricorn Mars goes above and beyond what is expected of them. They do this through a step-by-step process and practical planning. Cutting corners or taking the easy way out is something you’d never catch them doing. These types want to maintain control over every aspect of their life. They become angry when plans are thrown into a disarray through unexpected events. “Going with the flow,” is not a strong suit of theirs. Their need for security is what motivates them. 

♂ Sagittarius Mars - People with this placement are incredibly restless. They lack patience and need many different outlets to pour their energy into. They are easy going but are also quickly overtaken by passion. Crossing their moral beliefs is a good way to get them riled up. They like to believe that their opinions are more intellectual than they are emotional. When angry they like to get up on a soap box to lecture people. When people don’t agree with them, it can sometimes feel like criticism. They also don’t consider how their tendency to dish out brutal honesty may actually be more hurtful than it is impactful. They often act as a spark that ignites fire, in both a positive and a negative way.

♂ Scorpio Mars - The definition of “moving in silence.” Lots of people claim to do this, but a Scorpio Mars wouldn’t be caught making such a claim. They’re smarter than that. They know that hardship and struggle are inevitable. This does not scare them, but they also don’t fight against the natural currents of life. During certain points, their sense of ambition is so relentless that it becomes obsessive. But, this can only last so long. Rest and recuperation is a process they embrace. After acting on an immense level of concentration for a long period of time, they will need to take a step back to reassess goals. Rather than just accepting things for the way they are, a Scorpio Mars would rather make changes. If they feel that a path is ill-suited for them, they’re not afraid to change directions. Starting from zero is not discouraging and it is something that motivates these types. They have the power to turn nothing into something great. 

♂ Libra Mars - Mars is uncomfortable being in Libra. People with this placement often struggle with taking action and are as indecisive as they come. They get caught up in what's fair and what isn’t. They have a strong need to strike equality and want every situation to be as balanced as possible. Some might be surprised to know that the ultimate desire for these types is to garner a sense of peace. They might unintentionally stir the pot through their inability to take a strong stance on something. They want to weigh all the options possible and can become stressed trying to do so. Being passive-aggressive is also something that's frequently seen with this placement. These types think they’re being nice when in reality they’re making people uncomfortable through their fear of being direct. They’re sneaky when faced with conflict but also good at leading people into a resolution.