#logic pro for windows

[moonsofnara]

i do think it’s a little funny how there’s still so much debate/belief that the next book is elain’s with azriel as the love interest … as if sjm herself didn’t say elain, azriel, and mor would be getting their own books & the next three books will feature a couple & their respective stories

[itsappleexpert]

Restore Mac Screens with Certified Apple Experts

Your Mac’s screen is more than just a display it’s a gateway to your digital life. Whether you use your Mac for work, design, entertainment, or communication, a cracked, flickering, or unresponsive screen can bring everything to a halt. When that happens, there’s only one smart move: restore your Mac screen with certified Apple experts.

Certified Apple technicians are trained to diagnose and repair Mac screen issues using official Apple methods and genuine parts. This ensures your display performs exactly as intended—sharp, vivid, and fully functional. If you're facing screen issues, don’t settle for guesswork. Let the experts restore your Mac with precision and peace of mind.

Why Mac Screen Repairs Need Certified Experts

Mac displays are known for their exceptional clarity, color accuracy, and advanced features like True Tone, Retina resolution, and ProMotion refresh rates. These aren’t your average laptop screens—and that means repairing them requires specialized knowledge and care.

Here’s why working with certified Apple experts matters:

Apple-trained technicians understand the internal architecture of every Mac model, from MacBook Air to iMac.

They use genuine Apple parts—not aftermarket displays that can degrade visual performance.

Certified professionals follow Apple’s repair guidelines and safety protocols, reducing the risk of further damage.

Choosing non-certified repairs might seem cheaper upfront, but it often results in reduced screen quality, software incompatibility, and even voided warranties.

Common Mac Screen Issues That Experts Can Fix

Mac screens can be damaged in many ways, whether it’s accidental or due to internal hardware failure. Certified Apple technicians are trained to repair or replace screens affected by:

Cracks, chips, or shattered glass

Flickering, flashing, or dim backlights

Lines across the screen or color bleeding

Dead pixels or ghosting images

Black screen while the system is running

Screen not detecting or turning on

Issues with True Tone or Night Shift features

Certified experts use Apple’s diagnostic tools to identify not just the surface problem but any hidden issues that may be contributing to screen failure.

The Certified Apple Repair Process

When you take your Mac to an Apple-certified expert—whether at an Apple Store or an Apple Authorized Service Provider (AASP)—you can expect a transparent, professional repair experience.

1. Initial Assessment

The technician inspects the screen for physical and functional damage. This includes visual checks and asking about how and when the issue started.

2. Diagnostic Testing

Using Apple’s proprietary diagnostic tools, they assess the screen and all related internal components, including the logic board, GPU, and cables.

3. Repair Estimate

If your device is under AppleCare+, you’ll usually pay only $99 for screen repairs. Without coverage, you'll get a detailed cost estimate based on your model and damage level.

4. Screen Restoration

The damaged screen is removed and replaced with a genuine Apple display. Certified technicians follow exact protocols to ensure a clean, safe repair.

5. Final Testing

After installation, the system is tested to confirm color accuracy, brightness, touch functionality (if applicable), and general display performance.

Most certified Apple repairs are completed in 1 to 3 business days, though some high-traffic Apple Stores and service providers may offer same-day screen replacement.

Benefits of Using Certified Apple Experts

Here’s why restoring your Mac screen with certified Apple professionals is the best option:

Genuine Apple displays – Preserve Retina quality and system compatibility

Trained and tested technicians – Professionals certified by Apple standards

Warranty-backed repairs – Your repair is protected by Apple’s limited warranty

AppleCare+ coverage – Reduced repair costs if enrolled

Reliable turnaround – Fast, accurate repairs with no corner-cutting

This level of service helps ensure your Mac performs at its best long after the repair is done.

Where to Get Certified Mac Screen Repairs

Certified Apple experts are available in several official channels:

Apple Stores (Genius Bar) – Schedule an in-person appointment for hands-on support.

Apple Authorized Service Providers (AASPs) – Trusted local technicians trained by Apple.

Apple’s Mail-In Service – Ideal if you prefer to ship your device for repair.

All of these options provide access to the same high-quality repair standards, genuine parts, and warranty protections you expect from Apple.

When your Mac’s screen is damaged, don’t take chances with unverified repair shops or third-party components. Instead, restore your Mac screen with certified Apple experts who deliver precision, performance, and reliability every time.

With their training, access to genuine Apple displays, and diagnostic tools, certified technicians will have your Mac looking and functioning like new in no time so you can get back to doing what you love, distraction-free.

[birdylion]

Honestly so relieved to be back on linux where my biggest problem how to make my computer recognize my external hard drive, and I know how to solve that

[hana2750]

STRAY KIDS REACTION THEIR S/O STAYING OVERNIGHT FOR THE FIRST TIME

Pairing: stray kids x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Humor, Domestic Vibes, Established Relationship

Word Count: 3,600 words

Warnings: Mild language, kissing, implied cuddling, reader stays over innocently, domestic intimacy, light teasing

Disclaimer: this blog is a fanfiction haven, and everything posted here is purely a work of fiction. The characters, settings, and worlds belong to their respective creators unless otherwise stated. No copyright infringement is intended.

Bang chan

You hadn’t planned on staying the night. It was supposed to be a movie, some snacks, then heading home with one of Chan’s hoodies hanging off your frame. But it was 2:14AM, your bus had stopped running, and Chan looked at you like you were an idiot for even suggesting going back out.

“Are you kidding? You think I’m letting you walk out into the *streets of Seoul* at 2AM just ‘cause you didn’t bring a toothbrush?” he said, already tossing you one of his flannels like it was a blanket.

You blinked. “I mean… maybe?”

He just gave you a long-suffering sigh, then softened. “You're lucky you're cute.”

The sleepover takes place in his **studio apartment**—not his 3RACHA cave, but the one he barely uses except when he’s feeling too tired to go back to the dorm. It’s dim and warm, filled with scattered notebooks and a desk overloaded with cables. Somehow, it still feels like home.

Later, after you’ve changed into his oversized shirt (that falls to your mid-thigh), he watches you crawl into the bed like you’ve done it a hundred times.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs as he slides in next to you, hand searching for yours under the covers.

You nod, then lean your head on his chest. “I like it here.”

He kisses your forehead and hums, voice muffled into your hair. “Then stay whenever you want, alright?”

Lee know

It starts with a thunderstorm. You’ve always been a little skittish during storms, and Lee Know, of all people, somehow knew that.

The two of you were curled up on his **living room couch**, watching a dance competition on TV when the lightning cracked a little too close. You flinched, clutching the blanket a little tighter.

He didn’t say anything at first—just got up, walked away, then came back with his softest hoodie and a smug little look.

“You flinched,” he said. “Stay the night.”

You blinked. “That’s your logic?”

“No, my logic is: you’re scared of the storm, the rain’s too heavy to call a cab, and I like seeing you in my clothes. So, really, it’s all pros, no cons.”

The night passes with warm tea, cuddles, and the two of you buried under three layers of blankets as Lee Know softly talks to you about his cats like they’re royal guests.

“You can sleep in the bed,” he adds later. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You pout. “We can share.”

He smirks, walking over and flicking your forehead. “You’re bold when you’re sleepy, huh?”

But he does join you. And he lets you tangle your legs with his under the sheets without complaint.

Changbin

You’re both coming back from the gym, sweaty, exhausted, and high on post-workout endorphins. You’re at his **dorm**, and you were supposed to shower and leave—but the rain’s come out of nowhere, hard and aggressive against the windows.

“You’re not going out in that,” Changbin says, practically shoving a towel into your arms. “What if you catch a cold?”

“I’ll just run for it,” you say, half-joking.

“*Babe.*”

You pause. His tone is so serious you turn around, only to find him already pulling out a drawer with some clean clothes—his clothes—for you.

“Stay. Just for tonight. Please?”

You hesitate, then smile. “Only if I get to steal your protein pancakes tomorrow.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Deal.”

Later, you’re curled up in his hoodie, freshly showered, watching him carefully make you hot chocolate like it’s a high-stakes science experiment.

“You’re making it way too complicated.”

“This is *themed* cocoa,” he says, offended. “Romantic vibes cocoa. Respect the effort.”

Hyunjin

He’s the one who invites you.

You’re lounging at a late-night café downtown, your conversation stretching into the early hours. You’re in the middle of a sleepy rant about socks when he interrupts.

“Just come over. It’s late. I want to keep talking to you.”

You blink. “Is this your smooth way of asking me to stay the night?”

He shrugs, sipping his Americano with the ease of a romcom protagonist. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin’s place is an **art-filled, plant-infested apartment**, the kind that smells like paint and peppermint. The moment you walk in, you feel like you’ve entered a Pinterest board. He tosses you a pair of slippers and starts boiling water for tea.

“Where do I sleep?” you ask.

“With me. Unless you’re shy now.”

You flick his arm, and he laughs, holding the kettle like it’s his scepter.

When you finally lie down beside him on a futon scattered with mismatched pillows, he turns to face you, hair half tied and eyes glowing in the low light.

“I like this,” he whispers.

“What?”

“You. Here.”

Han

You accidentally fall asleep on his bed while waiting for him to finish a recording.

When he finds you, curled up with one of his hoodies as a pillow in his **bedroom at the dorm**, he freezes in the doorway, mouth parted like he’s seen a baby deer in his room.

“Holy sh—it’s happening,” he whispers to himself. “This is peak romcom.”

You stir awake, groggy. “Hmm?”

He immediately panics, flapping his hands. “NOPE go back to sleep I didn’t say anything—! You’re good! Perfect! The most beautiful sleeper I’ve ever seen!”

You laugh softly, patting the bed beside you. “Come sleep too, drama king.”

Later, as the two of you lie there under his EXO blanket, he gets uncharacteristically quiet. Then:

“Can I be gross for a sec?”

You raise an eyebrow. “When are you not?”

“Fair. But like… I like this. Having you here. Even if you drooled a little.”

You chuck a pillow at him.

Felix

It happens after baking.

He’d insisted on teaching you how to make brownies "the Aussie way,” which just meant more butter, according to him. You're both covered in flour and chocolate and giggles when the clock hits 1:30AM.

“Oh no,” you mumble, checking your phone. “I need to go—”

Felix frowns immediately. “Stay.”

You blink. “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, leaning against the **kitchen counter**. “You’re already wearing my shirt. Might as well complete the fantasy.”

You look down—you are, in fact, wearing a stolen Felix flannel.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

He grins, walking over and bumping his forehead to yours. “Do I have to be?”

You stay. You both clean up, brush your teeth side by side, and fall asleep with your legs tangled on the couch bed. In the middle of the night, you wake up to him whispering:

“I’m really happy you’re here.”

You smile against his chest. “Me too.”

Seungmin

He acts like it’s no big deal.

“Oh, you’re staying? Cool,” he says, casually tossing you a pillow in the **guest room** of his apartment.

You pause. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m a man of foresight,” he replies, already halfway through brushing his teeth. “I knew this day would come.”

But later, when he thinks you’re asleep, he lingers outside your door. You hear him shift his weight, then knock twice.

“You up?”

You turn over. “Yeah?”

He opens the door, peeking in. “Do you… want to watch that documentary you like? The whale one?”

Your heart melts a little. “It’s 1AM.”

“Exactly. Peak whale time.”

You both end up watching it under a blanket, his arm slowly sliding behind your back. Halfway through, he mumbles, “I like this version of us.”

“Hmm?”

“Quiet. Soft. Sleepy. Still us.”

You press your cheek to his shoulder. “Me too.”

Jeongin

It’s totally by accident.

He invites you over to hang out, not realizing how late it’s gotten. It’s only when you check the time—past 1:45AM—that he sheepishly looks at the door, then at you.

“Uh… do you… wanna just stay?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you allowed to do that?”

He flushes. “I mean, probably not, but who’s gonna know? Felix? He *ships* us.”

You both end up setting up a makeshift bed in the **living room** with every spare blanket you can find. It’s chaotic and full of laughter—until it’s not.

Because once the lights are out, and he’s lying beside you whispering jokes into your ear, the moment stills. He looks at you, eyes wide and open and unguarded.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits.

“Had someone stay over?”

“No. Wanted someone to.”

You reach over, take his hand. “Me neither.”

[guitarbomb]

IK Multimedia Amplitube SVX 2 Free for Halloween 2023

Two Days Left to Grab a Free Virtual Ampeg Bass Rig for your DAW! Free IK Multimedia Amplitube SVX 2 for Halloween.

IK Multimedia Amplitube SVX 2 ($99.99 value) bass amplification software is a free download until October 31st. With three great virtual Ampeg bass rigs for your DAW. IK Multimedia Amplitube SVX Until October 31st, you can grab Amplitube SVX 2 for free from IK Multimedia. Amplitube SVX 2 covers three amps, all based on classic Ampeg bass amps. Plus, you get the accompanying cabinets and free…

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

Wrestling lore is really funny to explain to non-wrestling people, mainly because you have to suspend your disbelief much more than you would do for stuff like anime or superhero fiction. Think of it like this; it’s normal for a shonen anime protagonist or a superhero to demonstrate they have superpowers usually because it’s established early on. That also goes for other parts of the lore, such as the world-building, the MacGuffins, and the history of that world.

But in wrestling, characters and storylines change all the time and are ongoing (I’ve seen the term “longform storytelling” used). So you end up with HUGE leaps in logic, such as:

1) There’s a supernatural being from hell who temporarily became a biker gang member, and then went back to being a supernatural being from hell

2) There’s a male model who gave out grooming tips who eventually evolved into Captain America/Homelander.

3) Triple H committed burglary on camera. He invaded Randy Orton’s home, beat him up, destroyed some of his property, and then threw Orton out the window. But it’s all fine because he’s the good guy, so he’s still employed by the WWE.

4) Dominik Mysterio is beefing with his dad, who literally fought for child custody of him in a wrestling match. Keep that in mind anytime you see Dominik not getting along with Rey.

5) Edge got sent to hell, but is okay now.

6) CM Punk was once a cult leader, but stopped doing that after he lost his hair. Then he became the opposite, as in he turned into an anti-authority rebel.

7) A lot of wrestlers, such as Sheamus and Shawn Spears, apparently used to work at WWE as background staff/security guards.

8) Real life famous music artist Bad Bunny is part of the lore and he actually beat a world champion (Damian Priest) in a match. And I don’t mean Bad Bunny is playing a character. In the WWE lore, Bad Bunny is playing himself.

(Feel free to add on any other leaps in logic from pro-wrestling)

[ode2rin]

all my flaws

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. post-argument fluff | suggestive themes | established relationship | new boyfriend!rin 

content/warnings. 2k+ wc | characters are in their 20s ! | pro-athlete!rin | making out | narration heavy! | profanity | minimal proofread (me and my word vomit) | it’s like a new installment of this rin

in which: people say new relationships supposedly need a breakthrough fight to level up, but rin swears he would rather go through hell than do this again.

Your first fight as a couple freaked Rin out, even though he appeared stoic during the argument.

In the heat of the moment, Rin abruptly left your apartment, not uttering a word. Instead, he left you with a lingering glance filled with apathy—a look he'd never cast upon you before. His eyes turned void once again, when you were just getting used to it being bright and free.

What began as a simple disagreement, like any other couple's quarrel, escalated into rhetorical questions, accusing tones, and suddenly, it was him against you.

Silently, he rose from his seat, walked to the door, and vanished like a shadow that had never existed. To Rin, it felt like the right thing to do. You can't leave him if he does it first, he convinced himself. A twisted logic, fueled by emotions creeping from his past.

Yet apparently, his logic seems to be in total shambles when mixed and driven by emotions concerning you, because ten minutes later down the road, he wanted nothing more but to turn the car around.

Even so, in Rin’s true self-sabotaging fashion, he refrained. Because he’s awful, selfish, and couldn’t even fix insignificant arguments like a normal person would. Convinced of his own flaws, he believed you shouldn’t be with him— shouldn’t give him that chance after all.

The next thing he knew, the ten minutes he could’ve made to retreat back and apologize turned into 27 hours and 48 minutes of misery, spent in non-speaking terms with you.

It sucks. Everything sucks.

That night, he slept in his own bed. The next day, the in denial and emotionally constipated side of him made himself believe that the expensive yet seemingly useless mattress felt responsible for the raging tension in his shoulders and back. Of course it wasn't because of the absence of your messages or the unfamiliarity of his own bed. Of course, it’s the bed’s fault.

Life isn’t what it used to be. The sun didn't shine properly if it didn't come through the window of your room he spent the night in, his usual protein drink tasted like absolute shit because you didn’t make it for him, and not to mention the lack of cuddles before he gets up in the morning— it was bound to be the worst day of his life ever since you happened.

To make things even worse, he’s disassociating in practice, even missing a goal making everyone stop in their tracks. It was an unusual sight, Itoshi Rin doesn’t miss, after all. 

He was acting so gloomy that Bachira even pointed out how there’s a storm cloud looming over his head. A statement that earned a curt ‘fuck off, bobcut’ from the striker.

Meanwhile, Isagi took a more rational approach of expressing his concern toward his friend’s atypical behavior by taking out his phone and sending you a message.

Isagi: Did something happen between you and Rin? He's being tenfold more insufferable. [1:13 pm] Isagi: Please do something about this. - Chigiri [1:15 pm]

On the receiving end of these messages, you couldn't help but admit to yourself that you felt a peculiar sense of relief, knowing Rin was grappling with the same turmoil after he left.

You'd had your share of arguments before—petty disagreements that were easier to fix due to forced proximity. It was simpler when you were obligated to walk together on the way home from school; otherwise, he would stand in the same spot outside your classroom if you decided to be petty and ignore him. Annoyed but still caring, he insisted on confirming you got home safely, reasoning that your houses were next to each other.

Rin was still hard-headed, much like all these years. A testament to this was his silence over the past 24 hours.

Reading Isagi’s text messages once more, you let out a sigh and made up your mind – you will force him to fix things with you. You will express your displeasure at his abrupt departure, insist he not repeat it if he wants to do this right with you, and convey that it should always be the two of you against any problem.

It might be a blow to your pride to give in first, but it is what the two of you needed. It is what he needed. 

It just happened that you loved that man enough to provide what he needed, despite all flaws.

A day of missing you must have driven him to hallucinate, Rin concludes. You, perched on his couch, delicately peeling oranges and chuckling at a whimsical show on the screen, are just a hallucination.

“You’re home.”

And would you look at that, hallucinations even speak.

From your vantage point, Rin looks like he's seen a ghost greeting him with his unblinking teal orbs and brows slightly arching upwards. You notice the subtle tightening of his grip on the strap of his gym bag as he takes measured steps towards you, as though cautiously approaching a dream he fears might dissipate.

“Rin?” you whisper in confusion. It was meek, barely a whisper of his name, yet it was all that he needed to close the gap between you in mere seconds.

You gape at him from how determined his strides were. Surprise is instantly replaced by warmth as your lover basically throws himself over you for a well-sought embrace the moment you're within his arms’ reach.

You’re real, and you’re here.

And he can’t even begin to tell you how much tension finally left his body with that realization.

“I thought…” he trails off, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

As shallow as one might say, each passing hour of being away from you has fully convinced Rin that it might have been the end to what the two of you had.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper softly in his ear, your fingers finding solace in the familiar texture of Rin’s hair, tenderly tracing paths down to his nape. Rin responds with a gentle kiss along the side of your neck, a silent affirmation of his gratitude for the comforting gesture.

Unspoken sentiments hang in the air, but neither of you feels the need to verbalize them just yet. The minutes stretch, and you both savor each other’s warmth that has been sorely missed.

As minutes gracefully slipped away, you initiated the release from his embrace, much to his chagrin. Rin openly displayed his disapproval by gently yet firmly wrapping his arms around you. But you were resolute in your purpose and slightly pushed him back.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, holding his face to look at you.

“No.”

“I’ll make you some food, then. Stay here.”

Before your intentions could take you to the kitchen, Rin pulled you back making you fall back to his lap. “don’t want you to go,” he confessed.

“But dinner–”

“No.”

“No? You don’t want to eat?”

“No,” he firmly replied, “Later. I want to hold you first.”

You didn’t respond to Rin, and just took it upon yourself to make yourself more accessible for him to hold by facing him while still seated in his lap. The shift in position sent a shiver of anticipation through both of you, and Rin, consumed by the moment, reveled in the exquisite sensation of your body pressed closely against his.

Slowly, his fingers reached the side of your jaw, tracing and guiding you closer to meet him halfway. With closed eyes, you felt his lips approaching, delicately and purposefully, until his lips were a breath away from yours. The distance between your lips diminished as Rin closed in, capturing your mouth in a sweet, lingering surrender. 

Rin’s strong hands explored every inch of you it could reach. You felt his touch on your neck, shoulders, down to your thighs. The teasing fingers paid extra attention to your waist, their grip subtly teasing the hem of your shirt. You melt into him more when you feel said teasing hands slide inside.

He was everywhere— your mind, your body, your very soul. Rin had them well occupied with all of him.

A soft gasp escapes you when he nips the familiar spot on your neck just below your ear, each kiss that follows tracing a path to your collarbones. Another gasp, louder this time, as Rin gently sucked the skin beneath your collarbones, mending the sweet sting with his feather-light kisses.

It was getting harder to think when a feeling of desire ran from your chest down toward your inner thigh from how impossibly hot Rin’s lips were consuming you.

And just when you thought he had had enough of you, Rin’s hand once again cradled your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his. Shivers danced down your spine as you absorbed the sight of his half-lidded, glossy teal eyes.

“I need you, baby,” he breathed, “please.”

It seemed as though there was a lot to make up for in the past twenty-four hours that he couldn't hold you.

You stirred from your sleep to the sensation of lingering kisses scattered from your forehead down to your jaw.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you found your lover gazing at you with those bright and free teal eyes, and you swore you never had a better way to start the day than this.

A smile graced your lips as you prepared to reciprocate the affection, intending to reach for him and plant a kiss on his jaw. However, your gesture was momentarily halted by his unexpected outburst.

“I love you.”

Professing to you used to terrify Rin – it used to knock all the air from his lungs and make the room seem so small. Now, with a few years ahead to gather enough backbone to escape the misery of pining, professing to you— loving you, felt as easy and natural as breathing.

And he hoped, with every beat of his heart against yours, that he would be breathing just fine in the many years to come.

“I love you,” he tells you again. Just for good measure, to ensure you heard him right, and just to make sure you know he does love you.

You heard him well. His words were clear enough, and the rapid beating of his heart against yours was loud enough to attest.

“Say it back, please,” he pleaded against the soft skin of your neck.

“I love you, Rin.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

He offered no verbal response, but a palpable sigh of relief emanated from him. For a man of few words, he sure does need a lot to feel better.

His warm breath lingered on your skin as a brief silence enveloped you both. Then, with a deliberate yet gentle gesture, he gathered both your arms, placing them above his shoulders, and pulled you closer by your thigh, guiding it above his own.

He loved holding you this way. He wasn’t a big believer, but he wondered if this, right here, was the closest he would ever come to heaven.

“But we have to unlearn those bad habits, Rin,” you asserted, your voice carrying a firm resolve, “No more leaving. We will sit through it, and we will talk, baby.”

Rin’s arms around your waist tightened, as if silently acknowledging your words. You knew he was listening— Rin could be hard headed and all, but he always listened. To you, and only you, that is. 

Minutes passed in silent communion, the world outside fading away as you and Rin held each other. Eventually, drowsiness began to cast its gentle veil over your senses. You couldn't tell if Rin had fallen asleep because his face was buried in the curve of your neck, hiding away in your scent. Yet, the soft and steady rhythm of his breath made you think so.

As you closed your eyes, allowing the realm of dreams to envelop you, Rin’s voice, muffled and quiet, broke the silence.

“Are we going to be fine?”

Barely audible, his question carried a hint of hesitation. And perhaps, if you listen a little closer, you could almost hear the 11-year-old Rin behind his lucid words.

Lucky for him, you had known that little boy throughout your life, enough to love him just as he needed, despite all flaws.

“We will be.”

note. hi, my life ain't life-ing lately soooo here !! i hope all of you are fine and having a blast. but if you aren’t, i’m sending you all of my love. we’ll have better days ahead, trust 🤞🏻

[thatlotuscookie]

Hihi!! I got a silly lil request if u wanna write it =3

Soooo since Kenma from Haikyuu is prob very rich in timeskip, would u consider writing something where y/n is like “Hey honey I want Burger King” and Kenma misunderstands and buys the whole BK company and y/n has to make Kenma return it XD(bonus if the internet finds out and memes it or something)

✧･ﾟ: a/n: : Kenma’s lowkey chaos energy combined with his wealth and your grounded perspective made this such a fun dynamic to write. I hope you enjoy<3 thank you for the req

✧ Title: ✧ Burger King of My Heart ✧ ✧ Characters: Kenma Kozume x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship ✧ Rating: G ✧ Summary: When you casually ask Kenma for Burger King, you never imagined he’d take it literally—and buy the entire franchise. ✧ Content/Tags: Kenma Being Kenma, Rich Boy Hijinks, Social Media Memes, Established Relationship, Reader in Disbelief, Humor with a Dash of Fluff ✧ WC: 713 words // 4.1k chars

Life with Kenma Kozume was anything but ordinary. Between his highly successful gaming company and the residual fame from his pro volleyball days, he had wealth, influence, and a surprisingly practical approach to everything—well, usually.

Today, however, was shaping up to be one for the books.

You were lounging on the couch in Kenma’s sleek, minimalist apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a perfect view of the city skyline, but your attention was squarely on your grumbling stomach.

Kenma was stationed at his gaming setup nearby, wearing noise-canceling headphones and entirely focused on whatever strategy game he was playing. You admired how cute he looked when he was concentrating, but hunger had made you restless.

“Kenmaaaa,” you called, dragging his name out dramatically.

“Hm?” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“I want BK,” you said, your words tumbling out lazily.

Kenma finally glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes meeting yours. “BK?”

“Yeah, Burger King,” you clarified. “I’m starving. I need greasy fries and a Whopper, stat.”

He nodded once, a small, thoughtful “hm” escaping his lips before he turned back to his game. You figured he’d order delivery or suggest driving out to grab food later.

But Kenma Kozume, former volleyball star turned tech genius, never did things the way anyone else would.

About two hours later, Kenma wandered back into the living room, phone in hand. You’d half-dozed off in your hunger-induced haze, but his calm voice brought you back to reality.

“So, it’s done,” he said.

“Huh?” You blinked, sitting up. “What’s done?”

“I bought it.”

Your brain, still foggy from your nap, struggled to catch up. “Bought what?”

“BK,” he said matter-of-factly.

It took a solid five seconds for his words to register. “Wait. You mean... like the food? Where’s the food?”

Kenma tilted his head slightly, confused by your confusion. “No, the company. Burger King. You said you wanted it.”

The room went silent as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Kenma.”

“Yes?”

“You bought the entire company?”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “It wasn’t that expensive, all things considered.”

You gawked at him, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “I meant I wanted a burger and fries, not to own Burger King!”

Kenma blinked. “Oh. I thought you meant you wanted BK, as in... all of it.”

Your hands flew to your head. “Kenma, do you know how insane that is? You can’t just—wait, does the internet know about this?”

Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzed with a series of notifications. Grabbing it, you saw that #KenmaBuysBK was trending. Social media was already ablaze with memes and commentary.

One post read: “Imagine being rich enough to solve hunger by buying an entire fast-food chain. Kenma Kozume, everybody.”

Another had a photo of Kenma with the caption: “Me: I want fries. Kenma: Here’s your kingdom, Burger Queen.”

You groaned, scrolling through the chaos. “Kenma, this is everywhere!”

He shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. “People were going to find out eventually.”

“Kenma, you have to return it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need to own Burger King! I just wanted food!”

Kenma sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine. I’ll call my financial advisor.”

By the next day, Kenma had quietly backed out of the purchase, but the internet wasn’t ready to let the incident go. Memes flooded every platform, and even major news outlets picked up the story.

When you arrived at Kenma’s office later to bring him lunch, his coworkers couldn’t resist teasing you. One of them grinned and said, “So, Burger Queen, what’s for lunch today?”

You rolled your eyes, but even you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Kenma, as unbothered as ever, simply handed you a small bag when you walked into his office.

“What’s this?” you asked, peeking inside.

“Burger King,” he said with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Kenma leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. Because in his own unique, overly extravagant way, Kenma always found a way to show you just how much he cared.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ oliver is an insatiable man, so much so he’s willing to yank any girl he sees into his hotel room with only one intention in mind. tonight, you became a lucky one . . .

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

cw — rough sex. size kink. big dick oliver aiku. overstimulation. marathon sex(?). breeding. spitting. tiddy slapping. oliver is fucking disgusting in this.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : wrote this rather spontaneously after a conversation with a friend of mine, you know exactly who you are 🫵🏼

what man could be so shameless in his sexual desires that he basically fucks every girl who dares to look his way? Oliver Aiku wears it like a badge of honor.

he practically lost count how many girlfriends he dated, some all at once without the others knowing thier boyfriend’s multiple affairs. those that did would leave in a heartbeat, but not without the pro player suggesting a damn threesome in order for his side hoes to “get along” as he puts it.

but even as infuriating as he is, he sure knows how to get woman crawling onto his hotel bed and pumped full until the sun rises or he passes out. it was simple really, the dick was simply too good to be true. a truth you’d find out quickly enough the moment you hear the door’s lock click! behind you.

Oliver was too impatient for foreplay, immediately tearing off your skimpy dress and panties to be discarded somewhere on the floor. the two of you messily made out, tongue and teeth clashing against each other while you undid his belt until the damn thing finally came off, allowing your hookup to show you why so many girls are willing to sleep with him in a heartbeat.

huge, a massive understatement, even more so after your fourth round. the burning stretch of his girth could still be felt as your cunny swallowed his length full, filling you to the brim. the blinding pleasure of his cock dragging against your velvety walls made you go completely stupid. you couldn’t string two words together as your date quickened his pace. you lifted your head up to see the view below you, it could’ve easily been a scene straight out of some porno. a fucking mess.

the words that came out of his mouth weren’t any better. degrading names laced with praises of how pretty you looked to how perfect your cunt feels were whispered in your ear, each phrase followed up with a bite to your neck that was now shades of purple and red.

“you’re lucky we even made it back here. ‘would’ve fucked your throat raw and filled ya up right there in the bar..”

he rasped, landing a harsh slap on your sore breasts before sitting back up and snaking his hands onto the back of your knees. one push and you were bent in half, exposed and vulnerable as he fucked another load into you.

“o-oliver..’s too much..!”

you whined, only to be met with his large hand squishing your cheeks until your jaw unhinged. Oliver forced your face towards his, a gob of spit landing on your tongue.

“Swallow.”

despite the shock, you did as he said. admittedly, you enjoyed it more then you’d imagine, something your date picked up pretty quickly. the pro player chuckled, closing the gap between the both of you in a sloppy kiss. if you could even call it that.

Oliver stuffed your mouth with his tongue, practically down your throat. you couldn’t sync your lips with his as the both of you started eating each other’s faces while he continued to fuck you stupid. spit ran down your chin, mixing with tears that soaked your flushed face.

“so good f’me girl, might fuck a baby in ya..”

it sounded too tempting. way too tempting.

“don’t s-say that!—“

“or what? gonna cum?”

son of a bitch, he knew exactly what he was doing. your brain was mush at this point, and with what seemed like your tenth orgasm inching closer to the edge, all logic flew out the window.

a frantic nod was all he needed, his thrusts became more erratic and sloppy. full on hitting your cervix numb as Oliver chased his own orgasm. the bed frame knocked against the wall, making banging noises that almost drowned out your sobs and mewls, the both of you were definitely getting a noise complaint in the morning.

“c’mon girl, make a mess on my cock..”

he wore a smirk as the knot in your stomach finally snapped in two, a silent scream forced your back into an arch as he watched another white ring form around the base. that seemingly was his final push as he came and came hard. you couldn’t make another sound as he filled your cunny for the umpteenth time tonight, sitting there in blissful silence as he pulls himself out.

you weren’t even gonna bother trying to go home after this, and neither was he. Oliver plopped down next to you and gave you one final stupid grin before you passed out. safe to say, you don’t plan on walking tomorrow.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[fayelero]

— BIRTHDAY BOY ! atsumu miya

➥ pr : timeskip!atsumu x fem!reader

➥ syn : getting him a car for his birthday, THE car the mr wanted!

➥ tw : make out session, fluff

➥ a/n : idk why but I really see hq boys (the volleyball pros) in the timeskip rich, like they are volleyball pros : they’re rich. (that’s my logic lmao but that’s why their often rich on my fics and I won’t change that!!) :) It was supposed to be a smut at the end but I screwed up the ending sooo it’s fluffy ;)

"Just a few more steps," you guided Atsumu, your hands firmly placed over his eyes as you led him through the private parking garage of your luxury apartment building. Your heart was racing with anticipation, months of careful planning finally coming to fruition.

"Ya know, if ya wanted to get handsy with me, ya could've just asked," he teased, that characteristic smugness evident in his voice despite being temporarily blinded.

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see it. "It's your birthday, can you behave for five minutes?"

"Nope!" he chirped, but obediently kept walking under your guidance. "Though I gotta say, this is some build-up. What're ya plannin'?"

"You'll see in a moment," you replied, carefully positioning him in front of his surprise. The sleek Ferrari F8 Tributo gleamed under the parking garage lights, its rosso corsa red paint job as striking as Atsumu's MSBY jersey. You'd specifically chosen this color, knowing it would remind him of his volleyball career while still being classically Ferrari.

Taking a deep breath, you removed your hands from his eyes. "Okay... open them!"

Atsumu blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Then his eyes widened comically as they landed on the car in front of him. His jaw dropped, and for once in his life, the always-chatty Miya Atsumu was completely speechless.

"Babe..." he finally managed to whisper, taking a stumbling step forward. "Babe... is that... BABE!"

You couldn't help but giggle at his reaction. The usually composed professional athlete was practically bouncing on his feet like an excited child. "Happy birthday, Tsum."

"BABEEEEE!" He spun around to face you, his brown eyes wide with disbelief. "Ya didn't... ya actually... BABE!"

"Are you capable of saying anything else right now?" you teased, pulling the keys from your pocket and dangling them in front of him.

Atsumu's eyes followed the keys like he was tracking a volleyball, but he seemed almost afraid to take them. "This is... this is the exact model I've been droolin' over in those magazines..."

"I know," you smiled softly. "You've only been leaving them open on that page for months now."

"But this is... this is too much!" he protested weakly, even as his fingers twitched toward the keys. "Ya always tell me not to spend too much on ya, and then ya go and do this?"

You stepped closer, pressing the keys into his palm. "Well, maybe you're rubbing off on me. Besides, you've worked so hard this season. MVP, best server award, leading MSBY to nationals... you deserve something special."

His fingers closed around the keys, but instead of rushing to the car as you expected, he pulled you into a crushing embrace. "I love ya," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I love ya so much it's stupid."

"I love you too," you murmured against his chest, feeling his heart racing with excitement.

He pulled back suddenly, his face lit up with that boyish grin you adored. "Can we take it for a spin? Right now?"

"It's your car, birthday boy."

"BABE!" And there he went again, circling the Ferrari like an overexcited puppy. His fingers trailed reverently over the smooth paint job, and he kept making little sounds of disbelief. "Look at these lines! And the interior! BABE, IT'S GOT THE SPORTS SEATS I WANTED!"

You leaned against a pillar, watching him with amusement. The feared server of the V-League, known for his deadly precision and intimidating presence on the court, was currently pressing his face against the driver's window like a kid at a candy store.

Finally, he clicked the unlock button, and the car's lights flashed in response. The sound he made was practically inhuman. "Did ya hear that? Did ya hear how it unlocked? Even the unlock sound is sexy!"

"Are you going to get in, or do you need a few more minutes to propose to it?"

He shot you a playful glare. "Don't be jealous, yer still my number one. The Ferrari's my mistress."

"Oh, so I've been demoted to wife already?"

His eyes sparkled as he opened the driver's door. "That an offer?"

You felt your cheeks heat up. "Just get in the car, Miya."

"Yes ma'am!" He slid into the driver's seat with the grace of an athlete, his hands immediately finding their place on the steering wheel. "Oh my god, babe, the leather... BABE!"

You walked around to the passenger side, settling into your seat. "I think you've said 'babe' more times in the last five minutes than you have all year."

"Because yer amazin'! Yer the best! Yer perfect!" He leaned over to kiss you, and you could feel his smile against your lips. "Thank ya. Really. This is... this is incredible."

"You're welcome," you said softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "Now, want to see what this beauty can do?"

His answering grin was positively wicked as he inserted the key. The engine roared to life, and Atsumu actually giggled – a sound you'd definitely be teasing him about later.

"BABE! Did ya hear that engine?!"

"Yes, Tsum, I heard it. Just like I heard it the last three times you started it."

"But BABEEEEE!"

You couldn't help but laugh. Today was going to be a very long day of "babe" exclamations, but seeing him this happy made it all worth it. Besides, you had video evidence of his reaction for future blackmail purposes.

"Happy birthday, you big volleyball dork."

"Best birthday ever," he declared, leaning over for one more kiss before putting the car in drive. "Now, let's see what this baby can do!"

The Ferrari purred as Atsumu guided it onto the open highway, his hands gripping the steering wheel with the same focused intensity he showed before a jump serve. The morning sun glinted off the dashboard, and you could practically feel the raw power of the engine vibrating through your seat.

"Ready?" he asked, that dangerous smirk playing on his lips – the one that always spelled trouble.

"Tsum, remember this isn't the court, okay? We need to be care-EFUL!" Your words ended in a squeal as he suddenly accelerated, the force pushing you back into your seat.

The speedometer climbed rapidly as Atsumu let out an exhilarated laugh. The engine roared, and the world outside became a blur of colors. His eyes were sparkling with pure joy, but all you could focus on was how fast the trees were passing by.

"SLOW DOWN!! Tsum!" you yelped, gripping the edge of your seat. "I didn't buy you this car to get us killed!"

He eased off the accelerator slightly, turning to give you a reassuring grin. "Aw, don't ya trust me, baby? I got this under control!" His right hand left the steering wheel to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of your jeans.

"Eyes on the road!" you demanded, though you couldn't help but relax slightly at his touch.

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, but his hand stayed where it was, warm and steady on your thigh. "But ya gotta admit, this is incredible. Listen to that engine!"

As if to demonstrate, he accelerated again, though not as aggressively as before. The Ferrari responded instantly, smooth and powerful. You had to admit, it was impressive how the car seemed to bend to his will, just like a volleyball.

"Wait, let me make this even better," he said, pressing a button on the console. The car's retractable hardtop began to fold back, letting the morning air rush in. Your hair immediately started whipping around your face, and you could smell the crisp spring air.

"Tsum! A little warning next time!" you laughed, trying to control your wild hair.

"But ya look so pretty like this," he grinned, his eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to the road. "All windswept and happy."

You felt your cheeks warm at his words. His hand squeezed your thigh gently, and despite your earlier fear, you found yourself relaxing into the experience. The wind was refreshing, the sun was warm on your skin, and the man beside you was radiating pure joy.

"Ya know," he said after a while, his voice softer but still audible over the wind and engine, "this might be the best birthday ever. Not just because of the car – though holy shit, BABE, IT'S A FERRARI – but because yer here with me."

"Getting sentimental in your old age, Miya?"

"Hey! I'm in my prime!" he protested, but his smile was tender. "I just... I love ya. And I love that ya know me so well. That ya did all this for me."

You placed your hand over his on your thigh, intertwining your fingers. "Well, someone needs to keep that ego of yours properly fed."

"My ego's just fine, thank ya very much!" He accelerated again, making you squeak and grip his hand tighter. "See? Still got it!"

"Atsumu Miya, I swear to god-"

But your protests were cut off by his laughter, bright and carefree, mixing with the sound of the wind and the purring engine. His thumb continued its gentle circles on your thigh, a counterpoint to the speed and power of the car.

The city fell away behind you as you drove along the coastal road, the ocean sparkling to your right. Atsumu had finally settled into a more reasonable speed, though his excitement was still palpable in the way he handled every curve with precise joy.

"Hey," you said, squeezing his hand. "Happy birthday, Tsum."

He lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before returning them to your thigh. "Thank ya, baby. For everything.”

The wind continued to play with your hair, the sun warmed your skin, and Atsumu's hand remained steady on your thigh – a perfect anchor in this moment of pure happiness. You closed your eyes, letting yourself feel everything: the purr of the engine, the rush of the wind, and most importantly, the love radiating from the man beside you.

This might have been his birthday gift, but somehow, seeing him this happy felt like a gift to you too.

The drive down the coastal road felt like a dream, the Ferrari humming beneath you like a contented predator. Atsumu glanced at you every few moments, as if making sure you were real and still beside him. The beach was just ahead, the morning sunlight shimmering off the waves.

As he pulled the car into a small, secluded lot near the sand, he cut the engine, letting the sudden silence settle over you both. The absence of the purring engine made the soft crash of the waves in the distance even more pronounced. He turned to you, his expression playful but warm.

“Best part about drivin’ this beauty? We can park wherever we want and just… stop for a bit,” he said, his voice low and velvety.

“Is that so?” you teased, unbuckling your seatbelt. “You really planned that far ahead, huh?”

“Always thinkin’, babe,” he murmured, leaning closer, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. His hand was back on your thigh, the warmth seeping through your jeans.

The air between you grew charged as you reached up, fingers brushing through his golden hair. “Happy birthday,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant waves.

His response was immediate, a hand curling behind your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It started soft, slow, his lips moving against yours in a way that made your breath hitch. But then, something shifted. Maybe it was the heat of the car, the rush of adrenaline from the drive, or the way he groaned softly against your lips—it deepened, turned desperate and heated.

Without thinking, you shifted, unbuckling your seatbelt fully and swinging a leg over his lap, straddling him. His hands gripped your hips instinctively, fingers pressing into you as if he needed to hold on. “Babe,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and needy.

You cupped his face, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further. He tasted faintly of mint, his lips warm and soft yet insistent. The leather seat beneath you creaked slightly as you shifted closer, pressing against him fully. His hands roamed, sliding up your back, anchoring you to him.

“Ya tryin’ to kill me, or is this just another present?” he rasped, pulling back for just a moment to catch his breath. His eyes were dark, his gaze locked on you as if you were the only thing in the world.

“Maybe both,” you replied, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. His head tipped back, a low groan slipping from his throat that made your heart race.

“God, yer amazin’,” he breathed, pulling you closer, his hands wandering over your waist, your thighs. The confines of the car felt smaller, the air hotter, as the two of you lost yourselves in each other. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, and you couldn’t help but smile against his mouth.

“How about I make you feel good, babe?”

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[sincerelyhunnybee]

unchained | dark romance w. dabi

chapter 2

wc: 3.5k

cw: captivity/abduction, psychological distress, power imbalance, sensory discomfort, dubious morality, surveillance

ೀfrom bee: surprise ! i'm posting this chapter a lil early c: thank you for all the support i received on ch.1, it really keeps me motivated to keep this fic going. as always, pls enjoy

Two Weeks Before

The night shift was always quieter in theory.

That was the lie you told yourself every time you clocked in past midnight, the city already yawning its way into sleep. The hospital lights buzzed faintly above you, cool against your temples and harsh on sleep-starved eyes. Coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, you drifted between rooms like a ghost in scrubs.

Tonight was different.

The air had that edge to it again—static on the skin, that eerie sixth sense that said something was coming, even if you didn’t know what. You’d felt it before—just before the pro-heroes rolled someone in half-burned, or when gang members stumbled through the emergency doors, screaming and soaked in blood.

The city never really slept. It just held its breath.

You stopped in front of Room 407. Little girl. Seven. Quirk onset came with internal bleeding—a rare mutation in her genetics. She was brave. Didn’t cry when you took her vitals. Smiled with a mouth too big for her face and said she wanted to be a hero, “like Mirko, but scarier.”

You smiled back.

You always smiled back, even when it hurt.

A nurse passed you in the hallway, nodding. “You going home after this?”

“Soon,” you said.

Lie.

You had two more charts to finish. Another patient in observation. And a coffee you hadn’t even touched. Your life had rhythm then—exhausting, yes, but your own. It was predictable. You walked home at sunrise. You knew which alleys to avoid. You bought fresh fruit from the lady who opened her market before dawn.

You weren’t special.

You were safe.

You had no idea someone was already watching you. That somewhere in the darkest corners of this city, your name had been written down by hands that burned.

Present

You wake up with the taste of hospital antiseptic still in your mouth.

For a moment, just a second, you expect to see the buzz of fluorescent lights, the soft beep of monitors, the comfort of clean sheets and sterile halls.

But the world that greets you is concrete. Cold. Still.

The memory evaporates as your eyes adjust.

The tray of food is still there. Untouched. The water is warm now, condensation gone. Your body aches from sleeping curled in a ball on the floor, your shoulders stiff, jaw sore from clenching in your sleep.

You don’t know what time it is. There are no windows. No clocks.

Just the camera.

You glance at it, and even though you know logically it’s just a blinking red light, your skin crawls.

He’s watching.

You shift, stretch your legs slightly, testing your restraints. Still tight. Your wrists throb from sleeping on them, but you’re intact. Unhurt. Not bleeding. Not dead.

Not yet.

You exhale shakily.

Last night plays on a loop in your head. The way he looked at you. The way he moved. Calm. Detached. Not like a man—like a wildfire that learned how to walk.

Dabi.

You try saying the name in your head without flinching. It doesn’t work.

You’d read about him before. Seen clips. Reports. Flames licking up from buildings. Civilians screaming. Pro-heroes chasing a blur of blue fire through the night.

None of it had prepared you for the way he stood in that room. Like he was daring you to scream and betting you wouldn’t.

You hadn’t.

You don’t know if that was bravery… or just instinct. He hadn’t come back.

Not yet. 

But he will.

And when he does, you have a decision to make: survive by staying silent, or start figuring out who he is beneath the ash and the name that makes people run.

You hear the lock before you hear his footsteps.

It’s not loud, but your body recognizes the sound now. It sends a ripple down your spine before your mind catches up. The bolt retracts, the hinges creak, and the door opens with all the ceremony of a breath held too long.

You don’t move.

You’ve already decided that.

You’re still seated against the wall, face carefully unreadable. You’ve had all night to think about what to say—what not to say—and somehow you still don’t have anything ready.

He steps in, like he never left.

Same coat, same boots, same lazy, soulless expression. But something in his shoulders reads differently this time. Not tension—restraint. Like the temperature in the room rose with him, and he’s holding the heat in his palms.

His eyes land on you.

You wonder if he was expecting to find you curled up, crying, broken.

You meet his gaze head-on.

Neither of you says anything at first.

Then he lets the door close behind him with a soft thunk.

“You didn’t eat,” he says, nodding toward the tray.

You shrug.

“Didn’t trust it,” you reply.

Dabi tilts his head like that’s mildly interesting. “Not poisoned. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t waste the time.”

Charming.

He takes a few steps further into the room, keeping a generous distance between you. You can feel him, though. Like smoke curling under a doorframe—he doesn’t need to be close to suffocate you.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, the way someone watches a storm cloud—not afraid, not fascinated, just calculating the odds of thunder.

“I thought you said I was leverage,” you say, voice low. “Is this how you usually treat hostages?”

That earns the ghost of a smirk. Barely there. “Only the interesting ones.”

You don’t let your face flinch. “What makes me interesting?”

He leans against the wall, folding his arms. “You didn’t scream.”

“Maybe I will next time.”

“Wouldn’t blame you.”

He says it so casually, so disinterestedly, it makes you want to stand up just to break the stillness. But you don’t. You stay still, and so does he.

For a while, the silence stretches. This time, it’s not oppressive. It’s observational. Mutual.

You speak first again. “Why are you here?”

Dabi raises a brow. “In the room, or in the existential sense?”

“Either.”

He looks away, eyes flicking to the ceiling like the answer might be written in the cracks.

“I’m here,” he says slowly, “because the others would’ve made a mess. And you’re more useful not crying in a corner.”

You study him. “You’re not what I expected.”

He shrugs. “Most monsters aren’t.”

That catches you off guard. Not the word, but the ease with which he uses it. No denial. No pride. Just a statement of fact.

You shift forward, cautious. “You don’t strike me as someone who follows orders.”

“I don’t.” His voice sharpens slightly. “I do what I want.”

“And what do you want right now?”

He looks at you then. For a moment, you swear the flicker in his eyes is uncertainty.

Then it’s gone.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Your pulse kicks harder, but your face doesn’t show it. You hold his stare for a breath too long before breaking it, looking toward the tray again.

You speak softly this time. “I’m not going to beg.”

“Good.”

Another long pause.

Then, unexpectedly, he straightens up and walks back to the door.

Halfway there, he says without turning, “I’ll bring something fresh next time.”

You blink.

“What?”

“The food.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him, the lock clicks into place.

But this time…

The silence doesn’t feel as empty.

-

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at the tray until your eyes start to blur.

It’s still there—untouched, as much a part of the room now as the camera and the cracks in the ceiling. The water’s probably lukewarm. The bread’s stiff. You should eat. You know that. But doing so feels like a concession. A thread of compliance you’re not ready to hand over yet.

Even if you’re starving.

You roll your shoulders, wrists aching again. The zip ties haven’t been cut. Dabi didn’t offer, and you didn’t ask. Some twisted part of you knows: the longer they’re on, the easier it is to remind yourself this isn’t normal. This isn’t peace.

You aren’t safe.

You glance at the camera again.

Still blinking red.

Still watching.

You wonder if he’s behind it now, the way he had been last night. You wonder if he’s already making observations. Filing you away under “useful” or “breakable” or something worse. You wonder if he’s the kind of man who watches for fear or for interest.

You hate that you’re wondering anything at all.

Time passes strangely in this place. You think an hour goes by. Maybe two. Your thoughts spiral and slow until they collapse in on themselves. The tension in your body finally gives way to exhaustion, and you drift in and out of a shallow, uncomfortable half-sleep.

Until—

Footsteps.

Soft. Deliberate.

You sit up straight just as the lock shifts again.

This time, your heart doesn’t race. Not the same way.

The door creaks open, and your muscles go tense on instinct.

But it isn’t Dabi.

It’s her.

The girl from the voice outside the room. The laughter.

Blonde, messy hair. Pink cheeks. Eyes too wide, too sharp. There’s something wrong with the way she moves, like a child mimicking grace. In her hands, she holds a little bag—like she’s stopping by a friend’s house with snacks.

Her smile is too sweet.

“Hi there,” she says, sing-song. “Touya’s busy, so I thought I’d come say hello.”

Touya. You almost miss it. 

She doesn’t notice your expression. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care. She walks in with the casual confidence of someone who knows she can make you scream if she wants to.

“Brought you something,” she says, dropping the bag in front of you. “New food. Not poisoned, promise.”

You don’t move.

She crouches, getting a little too close for comfort, resting her chin in her hand as she watches you.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” she pouts. “Touya said you were ‘quiet.’ He likes quiet things. Broken things, too.”

Your stomach turns.

“You know…” she hums, drawing a little knife from her pocket and spinning it between her fingers, “you’re really lucky. If it were up to me, I’d already be trying you on.”

“Trying me on?”

She tilts her head. “I like to wear people I like. Just for a bit. Get inside them. See how they move.”

Your body goes rigid.

She giggles. “But he said I’m not allowed to touch you. Isn’t that sweet?”

No.

It’s not sweet. It’s terrifying.

The door creaks again, and Toga’s eyes flick up, disappointed.

“Oh well. Looks like my playtime’s up.”

She twirls on her heel and skips to the door. Just before she leaves, she glances back and adds, “He’s watching, you know. All the time.”

Then she winks.

The door shuts behind her.

And this time, the silence that follows is different.

Tainted. Sharpened.

You stare at the camera again, pulse roaring in your ears.

If he’s watching, he saw all of that.

If he’s watching, he let her come in.

And if he’s watching now—he knows you’re not afraid of him the way you’re afraid of her.

And maybe that’s exactly what he wanted to see.

-

You don’t move for a long time after the door shuts.

Your breathing is shallow. Controlled. The kind of breathing that comes from training your body not to react. You learned that from long nights in the emergency room—when a patient flatlined and you had to keep your hands steady, your voice calm, your mind ruthless.

It’s different now.

You’re not the one doing the saving.

You’re the one trying not to fall apart.

Toga’s visit lingers like a stain on the air. Her giggle still echoes in your head, high and sharp, like glass against your eardrums. The glint of the knife. The word Touya. You turn it over in your mind, unsure whether it was a mistake, a threat, or both. Your eyes shift to the bag she had left of what you assumed to be snacks. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of crunching on chips. But you can’t give in so soon.

You glance at the camera again.

Still blinking.

Still watching.

You whisper into the silence, more to yourself than to the lens.

“Are you going to let her come back?”

The red light blinks once. No answer.

Of course.

You wipe your palms on a pant leg. They’re damp. You hate that. You hate that your body betrays what your face won’t show. Fear is supposed to be a defense mechanism. But here, it just feels like an invitation.

You scooch back and curl into your corner again, knees pulled tight to your chest, heart thudding dully against your ribs.

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

It’s hours later—maybe night, maybe early morning—when you hear the lock again.

You stiffen instantly, pulse surging.

This time, you know the footsteps.

Measured. Heavy. Him.

The door opens, and he walks in with the same expression as before, like the world bores him and you’re just another piece of it. But his eyes track you carefully, sweeping the room once, then landing on you.

You’re still where he left you.

But now, you speak first.

“Is she going to come back?”

Dabi doesn’t respond right away. He sets something down—another tray, this one warmer, steaming slightly. A thermos beside it.

“You eat yet?” he asks, like you didn’t just bring up the girl who nearly carved your face off.

You don’t look away. “She called you Touya.”

He pauses, only for a heartbeat, before picking up the plastic bag of snacks, grimacing as he looks inside. “She talks too much.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Dabi crosses his arms. He looks at you like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or brave. “She won’t bother you again.”

You narrow your eyes. “And I’m just supposed to trust that?”

His jaw tics. “You don’t have to trust anything.”

He walks toward the wall and crouches to adjust the tray, sliding it closer to you. The steam from the thermos carries something you didn’t expect—heat, yes, but also spice. Real food. Something cooked. Not whatever sugary junk Toga had likely stolen from a convenience store.

“Why are you being nice to me?” you ask, voice softer now, not accusing—genuinely trying to understand.

He lets out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a scoff.

“I’m not.”

You look down at the tray. Then up at him again.

“You stayed.”

That stops him.

He looks at you, really looks this time—like your words touched something raw beneath the skin. And for a fraction of a second, something almost vulnerable flickers behind his eyes.

Then it’s gone.

“I’ve done worse things than keep people in a room,” he says.

“I believe you.”

You pause.

“But that’s not what I asked.”

Another silence.

“Eat,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”

He turns and walks out without another word.

The door shuts.

The lock clicks.

And for the first time since you woke up here, the food in front of you doesn’t feel like a trap.

It feels like a question.

You don’t touch the food right away.

You sit there, staring at it, steam curling lazily in the still air. The scent drifts toward you—familiar, comforting. Warm broth. Rice. Maybe curry. Someone cooked this. He cooked this?

You doubt it. But he brought it. Set it down himself. Told you to eat.

And now you’re sitting here, legs numb, stomach knotted, and all you can think is—

Why?

Not just why the food.

Not why the careful distance, the control, the vague threats wrapped in silence.

But—why you?

You whisper it into the room like it might answer back.

“Why am I even here?”

It echoes, thin and useless against concrete walls.

You’re not a hero. You don’t have a quirk anyone would weaponize. You don’t work for the government. You’ve done nothing special—just studied, worked, lived quietly.

So why?

You stand slowly, every muscle aching from stillness, and pace across the room. It’s a short path—five steps, turn, five steps back. But it helps. Sort of.

The camera blinks in the corner.

You stop and look straight at it.

“Is this supposed to mean something?” Your voice is louder now. “Is this punishment? Leverage for what?”

Silence.

You breathe through your nose, grounding yourself, trying to stay calm—but you’re fraying. You can feel it in your hands. In your voice.

“I don’t matter,” you say. “That’s the part you’re missing. I’m no one.”

The door stays shut.

But your chest tightens with something hot—not fear this time. Anger.

“Tell me why I’m here,” you mutter. “Say it. Or kill me. Pick one.”

You don’t expect an answer.

So when the door opens, you almost lose your mental balance.

Dabi steps in like he never left. He leans against the doorframe this time, arms crossed. Watching.

“Yell a little louder,” he says. “Maybe I’ll feel something.”

You glare at him, your breath sharp. “I want to know why.”

He raises a brow. “I already told you. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

You stare into him from your seated position.

“I’m not stupid,” you bite. “You said I was leverage, but for what? I don’t have connections. I’m not rich. I’m not someone who matters. So why—why me?”

Dabi looks bored. Tired. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t blink.

“Maybe it wasn’t about you. Maybe it was about who was supposed to come looking.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t elaborate.

You wait, but he just shrugs.

“Guess no one did.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Your throat goes tight. You don’t know if it’s anger or humiliation or the ache of a truth you were trying not to name. Maybe it’s all of it. Maybe it’s the idea that he’s right—that you are no one. And maybe that’s the real reason he’s not afraid to keep you here.

Because who would miss you?

Your voice is quieter now. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t need to.”

“You act like I’m some puzzle you’ve already solved,” you snap. “Like you can just keep showing up with food and silence and expect me to play along.”

“You are playing along.”

“No. I’m surviving.” Your restrained body language showing the best emotion you can.

Dabi’s eyes narrow slightly. Not in anger—more like interest. You watch him watching you. He walks towards you and kneels in front of you, close enough so you can see the color in his eyes. Not just blue, but glacial. Cracked. Ancient.

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The air between you is charged—frustration wrapped in a stare-off neither of you wants to lose.

And then—

He gets up and steps back.

Just one step.

He doesn’t break eye contact when he says,

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one who doesn’t know why they’re still here.”

Then he turns and walks out.

And for the first time—

You hear the lock click behind him, and it doesn’t feel like a prison.

It feels like a wall.

A wall you’re starting to want to break through.

-

You don’t move for a long time after the door clicks shut again. This time, it doesn’t feel like being locked in.

It feels like being left behind.

The difference is subtle. But it’s there. You feel it in your chest—like a door inside you closed too, sealing something off before you even had time to give it a name.

“You’re not the only one who doesn’t know why they’re still here.”

The words replay over and over.

You’re back to your seated position against the wall. The food is still sitting where he left it, but your appetite is gone. What’s curling inside you now isn’t hunger—it’s something else. Guilt? No. Loneliness?

Maybe it’s the quiet.

Maybe it’s what silence sounds like after someone almost let you see their humanity, then took it away again.

You glance at the camera. Still blinking. Still watching.

But he’s not there now.

You’re sure of it.

You shift your gaze to the wall, to the cracks in the paint, to the corner where the cement doesn’t quite meet the floor. You start counting breaths.

In. One, two, three. Hold. Out. One, two, three.

You used to be good at finding meaning in the little things. A soft smile from a tired nurse. A kid drawing pictures in the waiting room. A stranger’s kindness on the subway after a double shift.

You wonder if those things still matter in the world outside.

You wonder if the world outside even misses you.

Because no one has come.

No alarms. No police. No search.

Dabi was right.

Maybe no one did come looking.

Your eyes sting. Just a little. Not enough to cry. Not yet.

You tuck your face into your knees and exhale.

You don’t want to care about him. You don’t want to wonder about the weight in his voice or the look in his eyes or the way he steps back like he’s afraid to be close to something that still breathes without guilt.

But the wondering is already there.

And deep down, you know this is how it starts.

Not with kindness.

With curiosity.

With questions.

And for now, those are the only things you have left.

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated !

taglist (open + ask to be added): @reggieswriter @d4rlinxs @dabislittlemouse @ppomodori

[vague-humanoid]

Though calling out antisemitism is central to the commissioners’ role, it’s unclear what qualifies these officials to adjudicate anti-Jewish bigotry. Klein, for instance, came to his current position after a stint working as the German government’s representative to Jewish organizations, but prior to that, he spent most of his career in Germany’s foreign service working on unrelated issues, stationed in places like Cameroon and Italy. When I visited him in his office in Berlin last April, only a menorah decal pasted on one of the windows hinted at the nature of his position. Klein told me that there are no standardized training programs for the commissioners or educational requirements that they must fulfill before their appointments. Schüler-Springorum pointed out that, though references to the Holocaust underlie every aspect of Germany’s antisemitism system, many of the commissioners are far from experts on the history in question. “It’s amazing how little they know about National Socialism,” she lamented. None of the antisemitism commissioners for either the German Federal Government or its Bundesländer, or states, is ethnically Jewish—which, according to Klein, is by design. “The fight against antisemitism is a problem for the whole of society. It isn’t a problem for the Jewish community to face by itself,” he told me. “I mean, it’s not as though the most pressing problem with antisemitism in Germany is among Jews.”

Indeed, when Jews interact directly with the system, it is often as its targets: Klein told the Berliner Zeitung in a January 2021 interview that “tendentially left-leaning Israelis in Berlin” should “be sensitive to Germany’s special historical responsibility” when they criticize Israel. In the eyes of the commissioners, this seems to be all the more true of Muslims and Arabs—especially Palestinians—who voice support for the Palestinian cause. “Palestinians are like a thorn in the side of Germany’s memory culture,” Palestinian German lawyer Nadija Samour told Jewish Currents. They’re “disposable,” but also “crucial for the German identity . . . If you really want to prove how civilized you are, and how philosemitic or pro-Israel you are, you get the chance to prove that by throwing Palestinians under the bus.”

This commitment to Israel advocacy—which requires disciplining the state’s Jewish critics as well as suppressing Palestinian speech—has led observers to argue that the system of antisemitism commissioners exists less to ensure the safety of Jews than to placate Germans’ feelings of guilt for the Holocaust. Indeed, last summer, in the course of admonishing Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas for comparing Israel’s crimes to the Holocaust during his visit to Germany, Klein emphasized the way that antisemitism hurts Germans. “By relativizing the Holocaust, President Abbas lacked any sensitivity towards us German hosts,” Klein said. Emily Dische-Becker, a left-wing Jewish curator and journalist in Berlin, told Jewish Currents that German antisemitism efforts are ultimately not driven by a concern for Jews. “It basically is an issue of German identity politics at the end of the day,” she said. Neiman—whose 2019 book Learning from the Germans argues that the nation provides a model for other countries struggling with the weight of collective memory—told me that the creation of the commissioner system, and the passage of the anti-BDS resolution the following year, had caused her to question her previous evaluation. “Things have changed really dramatically since the book came out,” she said. “I still think that Germany did something historically unique by putting its crimes in the center of its national narrative, but I also think it’s gone haywire in the last three years. This system of antisemitism commissioners basically went in all the wrong directions.”

[itsappleexpert]

Reliable Apple Expert Care for Your MacBook

Your MacBook is more than just a sleek piece of technology it’s a powerful tool that supports your work, creativity, and daily life. When it runs into issues, whether hardware or software-related, you need repair services that you can trust. That’s where reliable Apple expert care comes in.

Apple-certified technicians offer the knowledge, experience, and tools required to provide professional and accurate MacBook repair and maintenance. Whether you own a MacBook Air, MacBook Pro, or a newer Apple silicon model, choosing Apple expert care ensures your device receives the attention it truly deserves.

What Makes Apple Expert Care Reliable?

Reliability comes from consistency, certification, and commitment to quality. Apple-trained professionals are held to high standards, ensuring each MacBook is repaired with the utmost precision and care.

Here’s why Apple expert care is considered the gold standard:

Certified training from Apple

Access to proprietary Apple diagnostic tools

Use of genuine Apple parts

Commitment to data protection and privacy

Repairs backed by Apple’s limited warranty or AppleCare+

These experts know every corner of your device—from the internal components to the software interface—and follow strict protocols to maintain performance and safety.

Common MacBook Issues Solved by Apple Experts

Apple experts are prepared to handle virtually every MacBook issue you might face. Whether the issue is minor or major, certified technicians know how to resolve it efficiently and reliably.

Battery Replacement

Experiencing rapid battery drain or shutdowns? Apple experts offer battery replacements calibrated to your specific MacBook model, restoring reliable power and runtime.

Screen & Display Repairs

Cracked screen? Flickering display? Experts can replace or repair your Retina display with genuine parts that preserve brightness, clarity, and touch sensitivity.

Logic Board or Hardware Failure

If your MacBook won’t start, freezes, or shows kernel panics, it might be a logic board issue. Apple-trained technicians can identify the problem and repair or replace the faulty component with care.

Keyboard & Trackpad Issues

From stuck keys to laggy trackpads, Apple experts offer dependable solutions to restore smooth input functionality—whether it’s a butterfly, Magic, or standard keyboard.

Water or Liquid Damage

Spilled something on your MacBook? Prompt, professional care from Apple experts can minimize internal corrosion and salvage your device using Apple-standard procedures.

🧩 macOS & Software Issues

Running slow? Apps crashing? System won’t boot? Apple experts can reinstall macOS, fix software bugs, and restore performance without data loss.

Why Trust Only Certified Apple Technicians?

Choosing a repair provider not backed by Apple could put your device and data at risk. Unofficial repairs may involve generic parts, improper tools, and lack of training—leading to more issues later on.

In contrast, Apple experts provide:

Diagnosis using official Apple tools

Service that adheres to Apple’s technical guidelines

Repairs that maintain warranty and AppleCare+ eligibility

Professional handling of sensitive data

Accountability and service quality checks

You can always count on consistent, high-quality outcomes when working with certified Apple repair providers.

Where to Find Reliable Apple Expert Care

Apple expert care is available at several trusted locations, including:

Apple Stores (Genius Bar) – Trained in-house Apple technicians offer diagnostics and repairs using official tools and parts.

Apple Authorized Service Providers (AASP) – Local certified shops that meet Apple’s rigorous repair standards.

Independent Repair Providers (IRP) – Certified third-party service providers with access to Apple’s tools, resources, and genuine parts.

To find the most convenient and reliable repair location, visit Apple’s official service locator and book an appointment based on your issue.

What to Expect from Apple Expert Service

Here’s how a typical Apple-certified repair experience works:

Initial Diagnostics Experts run an in-depth device assessment using Apple’s own diagnostic suite.

Transparent Service Estimate You receive a clear repair timeline and cost—no hidden fees or guesswork.

Certified Repair or Replacement Repairs are performed with Apple-approved procedures and original parts.

Quality Check The device is tested to ensure it functions exactly as expected.

Warranty Support Repairs are backed by Apple’s 90-day limited warranty or longer if covered by AppleCare+.

This streamlined, professional process ensures your MacBook is restored to top performance without delays or surprises.

Your MacBook deserves expert attention from professionals who truly understand its unique design and functionality. With reliable Apple expert care, you can feel confident that your device will be handled with the same precision and quality that went into building it.

From diagnostics to full hardware repairs, Apple-certified technicians provide the trustworthy service your MacBook needs so you can get back to creating, working, and staying connected without missing a beat.

Don’t take chances. Trust the experts who know Apple best.

[bloodchapell]

Hi!! I love your wriitngn .. my savior because barely any drst writers and yours is also just amazing on top of that..

Can I request Gen meeting reader who happens to be just as skilled in psychology as him? Like they ten billion percent see through his whole act

I don’t. Mind anything. freaky. If ou want.

THANK YOU!!^^

gentle on my mind — gen a.

what to expect: i am not a pro in psychology, minor spoilers of the south america arc

your sword's note: thankyu so much for the request dear anon! this is lowkey genius, proxpro is always saucy. this made me like tender idk why. title inspired on this song. more on my mistresslist

When Gen realized that the enemy was too advanced for the Kingdom of Science's demise, he left Kohaku and Chrome and decided to walk towards their base. Only he could do something so dangerous, despite his lack of physical prowess, his mind games had no parallel.

He never anticipated you as a variable —variables are too Senku, not him—.

You would always be around, when Stanley first took Gen to see Xeno, you were sitting in a corner, reading papers, barely noticeable. When they interrogated him, you watched closely, simply waiting for Xeno to look at you, but he didn't, so you didn't intervene.

Gen would ask questions, and Xeno would answer, but occasionally Xeno would look at you.

"How is everyone so loyal?" With a false fascination Gen asked, as if it was an inquiry to pass the time and not to collect information.

"We are at peace, only we survived so it is up to us to rebuild the world." With few words you replied.

"Say, dear, what do you think of Mr. Xeno's methods?" Gen continued, hands hiding in his sleeves, smiling manic.

"Your body language alone tells me a whole story, surely you know that." You laughed, an honest laughter; he was startled.

"Don't be trying to play coy with them, Mr. Gen." Xeno joined, putting his clawed hand on Gen's hair, ruffling hard. "Not even you can counter them."

From whispers in the hallways, Gen learned that you were starting your masters in psychology when petrification hit, and by coincidence had been close to where Xeno and his group were, so alas you were now part of the twisted team.

Gen would come by often, like a mischievous cat, with his sly smile, asking questions with a flattery you would dismantle almost immediately, but he persisted, that was why you ended up giving in despite being able to notice his schemes.

He was there for less than a month, and oddly, you started to see deep within him, past his traitorous coyness, past his cheerful facade, simply viewing clear through him, his simplicity, his sadness, his worries.

"The weather gets nice this time of the year." He nodded looking through the glassless window. Though he still maintained his persona, there were some only minor slip-ups. "What is your opinion on this?" He was more secretive with his words, logically selective when others were around.

"There is something primordial I enjoy about this life." You shrugged, sitting by the edge. "We did not have enemies before, so I only had to keep up the peace with words to back up the fear of Stanley. I also worked around, not much, but decent work. I miss modernity, in the best aspects as anyone would, some days of heat, I crave cola and sitting by the air conditioner while I listen to music, or whatever trivial stupidity. But I also like the community, though I don't fit much within them."

"Why so?" Gen asked; you noticed his eyes lighting up at the mention of soda, but he had to constrain himself and keep up the spy act.

You had sensed it, something sentimental and childish in him, not because of his mannerisms, it was something hurt in him. So you placed your bet.

"I don't agree with violence, call me a utopian." A laughter. "I grew up surrounded by it, so I was awoken by life into realizing that humans with their violence is ridiculous."

His eyebrows slowly softened.

"I like cola too."

His first words of sincerity.

When the sun went down, and everyone went to sleep —not the guard checking on him, clearly—, you two sat down at a distance and first met each other.

"So, I was revived by Tsukasa-chan to check that Senku-chan was dead, but turns out I got out charmed by electricity... and you won't believe it... cola!" Gen giggled, you both laying on the floor like teen girls with the legs up and all. "I kinda soulmate-d platonically hard and I decided to stay. Now I am in great dangers because my thirst won."

"Hey, how about this, you get me one of those Senku-cola, and I will join you."

He had to control himself to not burst out laughing completely, but he nodded.

The last weeks of summer that you spent with Gen, occasionally checking on the corn and slipping him some so he could later on surprise his friends —because the devotion with which he spoke about them was telling enough of the trust he had in their victory—, laughing at Xeno and Stanley, running through the fields and poking the cows, felt like the start of a new life.

By the start of the fourth week, the room where you sat, writing nonsense on a notepad as Xeno sat with his headphones coordinating some attack by Stanley, erupted in disturbance. Gen knew what was happening immediately, and his mind betrayed him when he grabbed your hand and ran along his friends.

"So you betrayed us." With an unexpected chillness, Xeno asked once you were on the opposite side of the tunnel.

"Just innate disagreement."

They managed to escape Stanley, for almost nothing, and set sail. Gen introduced you, and you started associating faces with names, prominent people of the tales he started telling you. Luna, Carlos and Max were surprised to see you, and somewhat embarrassed that their motives to join sides with the Kingdom of Science revolved merely around romance rather than something strong like conviction and morals (under the guise of cola).

It didn't take Senku more than half a day to deliver the promise of his malign twin to you, in a crystal bottle with his name on the tag, and you drank happily as you sat on the deck of the ship, as Gen fanned you with all his strength and sang whatever song first came to his mind, emulating what you had said you missed from the old world. It probably started there. The tingling feeling of not knowing what to do, pacing back and forth, punching air, giggling at his gestures.

It was not rare to see you two together at all times, hands in sleeves, with the cat smile, which you had slowly appropriated from him. Whenever Senku needed one of you, he assumed the other one was included, and he would get genuinely surprised if you weren't attached by the hip.

Gen liked being by your side, there was this sense of sincerity, your side was a place where he didn't have to pretend, nor analyze, he found himself being genuine, no second screen running in the background of his mind running calculations on techniques to flatter or manipulate or understand, it was simple, yet very complex, profound.

Whenever you were not busy, you two would share with each other, sitting side by side in the middle of the chaos, Ryusui and Francois running across, Ukyo mediating, Senku, Chrome and Xeno losing their minds, but in that chaos, everything was blocked out and you two could only hear each other. The stories never ran out, for they were not the grandiose stories that one would only tell as a funny anecdote, you could tell each other anything, a simple day of the past that came to mind, a particular hardship, a dream, a thought, an embarrassing moment, and it was all welcomed.

A particular time when Senku needed to boost the communal morale and his PR team (you included) needed to devise a distraction for the masses, you found yourself slightly peer pressured to drink, Chelsea jumping and cheering for you to drink until the last drop.

"Nononono, I only drink cola..." Gen exclaimed with worry, seeing that somehow the unwavering optimism that the geographer exuded had convinced you to drink.

He did end up tasting it, but acted like the throwing up cat and backed away to a corner.

"Did you know that..." You struggled to stand still, giggling, "The opposites attract thing is rare? We tend to gravitate towards people with similar personalities to ours."

"That figures a lot, though you may have sources." Gen nodded, holding you still.

"I do, did, somewhere in a slideshow for class, hehe."

"You are a little unwell, dear." He started walking towards a chair to sit you down.

"I'll tell you a secret, I like you sooooo much!"

His cheeks got red, not softly blushed like usual, red, bright and distinctive, so he hid on his hands.

By next morning you were oblivious to what had happened, but in an oddly polite manner Gen informed you of the incident, backing up his confidence with "drunks don't lie" and you started dating. It was not common knowledge, aside from the escapades you two would have to a corner to give stupid pecks to each other and then come back with frowns and nodding like you had discussed world threatening matters. Some figured it out, some others stayed stupid.

"Waiiiit, you two are together!?" Chrome stopped dead in his tracks at some realization that hit too late.

"They walked in sharing a jacket, not in the cute way, in the each one with one arm in the jacket way, two days ago, did you just only realize that!?" Senku scolded him, and went off a tangent explaining the scientific version of why the "opposites attract" made not much sense.

[ms-demeanor]

Since some people might want a Mac, I'll offer a Mac equivalent of your laptop guide from the perspective of a Mac/Linux person.

Even the cheapest Macs cost more than Windows laptops, but part of that is Apple not making anything for the low end of the tech spectrum. There is no equivalent Mac to an Intel i3 with 4 gigabytes of RAM. This makes it a lot easier to find the laptop you need.

That said, it is possible to buy the wrong Mac for you, and the wrong Mac for you is the 13-inch MacBook Pro with the Touch Bar. Get literally anything else. If it has an M2 chip in it, it's the most recent model and will serve you well for several years. Any new MacBook Air is a good pick.

(You could wait for new Macs with M3, but I wouldn't bother. If you are reading these guides the M3 isn't going to do anything you need done that a M2 couldn't.)

Macs now have integrated storage and memory, so you should be aware that whatever internal storage and RAM you get, you'll be stuck with. But if you would be willing to get a 256 gig SSD in a Windows laptop, the Mac laptop with 256 gigs of storage will be just as good, and if you'd be willing to get 8 gigs of RAM in a Windows laptop the Mac will perform slightly better with the same amount of memory.

Buy a small external hard drive and hook it up so Time Machine can make daily backups of your laptop. Turn on iCloud Drive so your documents are available anywhere you can use a web browser. And get AppleCare because it will almost certainly be a waste of money but wooooooow will you be glad it's there if you need it.

I get that you are trying to help and I am not trying to be mean to you specifically, but people shouldn't buy apple computers. That's why I didn't provide specs for them. Apple is a company that is absolutely terrible to its customers and its customers deserve better than what apple is willing to offer.

Apple charges $800 to upgrade the onboard storage from a 256GB SSD to a 2TB SSD.

A 2TB SSD costs between $75-100.

I maintain that any company that would charge you more than half the cost of a new device to install a $100 part on day one is a company making the wrong computer for you.

The point of being willing to tolerate a 256GB SSD or 8GB RAM in a Windows laptop is that you're deferring some of the cost to save money at the time of purchase so that you can spend a little bit in three years instead of having to replace the entire computer. Because, you see, many people cannot afford to pay $1000 for a computer and need to buy a computer that costs $650 and will add $200 worth of hardware at a later date.

My minimum specs recommendations for a mac would be to configure one with the max possible RAM and SSD, look at the cost, and choose to go buy three i7 windows laptops with the same storage and RAM for less than the sticker price of the macs.

So let's say you want to get a 14" Macbook pro with the lowest-level processor. That's $2000. Now let's bump that from 16GB RAM and a 512GB SSD to 32GB and 2TB. That gets you to $3000. (The SSD is $200 less than on the lower model, and they'll let you put in an 8TB SSD for $1800 on this model; that's not available on the 13" because apple's product development team is entirely staffed by assholes who think you deserve a shitty computer if you can't afford to pay the cost of two 1991 Jeep Cherokee Laredos for a single laptop).

For $3000 you can get 3 Lenovo Workstation laptops with i7 processors, 32GB RAM, and a 2TB SSD.

And look, for just $200 more I could go up to 48GB RAM and get a 4TB SSD - it costs $600 to upgrade the 14" mac from a 2TB SSD to a 4TB SSD so you could still get three laptops with more ram and the same amount of storage for the cost of one macbook.

I get that some people need to use Final Cut and Logic Pro, but hoo boy they sure are charging you through the nose to use products that have become industry standard. The words "capture" and "monopoly" come to mind even though they don't quite apply here.

"Hostile" does, though, especially since Mac users end up locked into the ecosystem through software and cloud services and become uncertain how to leave it behind if they ever decide that a computer should cost less than a month's rent on a shitty studio apartment in LA.

There's a very good reason I didn't give mac advice and that's because my mac advice is "DON'T."

[pigfacedbitch]

You Like... Who?!

summary : you tell your sister that you're in love with Octavian.

word count : 1.02k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Sibling! Annabeth Chase / Piper McLean / Hazel Levesque / Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano x Reader, Octavian x Reader

warning/s : is Octavian considered a warning?

here is my masterlist!

Note : I find him hot... sometimes. I know, I have a problem. Octavian likes you back, by the way. For those who have no idea what Amokinesis means, it's the ability to control emotions of love and desire.

Annabeth Chase

You are a child of Athena but she will look at you like you're the dumbest idiot she knows.

Just kidding, Annabeth is intelligent and will analyze this situation logically.

Best believe this Wise Girl will interview you. However, instead of an employer to an employee, it's more like a lawyer questioning a witness.

What qualities of Octavian do you like the most? When did you start liking him?...Do you love him? DO. YOU. LOVE. OCTAVIAN? Gods, answer (Y/N)!

After her interrogation, she will want to know what are you going to do about it.

Annabeth will give you the pros and cons of dating Octavian if you want to ask him out. She has long list of cons; he's arrogant, condescending, cruel— and many more.

"And the pros, Annabeth?"

Her face morphs into this 'zoned-out' look as she tries to think of any desirable qualities Octavian has, making you laugh.

"Wow, I can't think of anything."

Whether you like it or not, Annabeth will be there when you tell Octavian about your feelings. She'll be hiding (with the help of her invisibility cap), carefully watching his reaction.

She is flabbergasted when a sweet smile slowly forms on Octavian's lips before takes you in his arms, whispering into your ear promises of love.

She is happy for you but she will not hesitate to put Octavian in an onager catapult and throw him across Camp Jupiter if he screws this up.

Piper McLean

To be honest, Piper will genuinely think that Venus cursed you.

Her initial reaction is this; "What in Jupiter's name is mom planning now? Is she insane?"

Will she call out to your godly parent? Hell yes.

Venus appears right before the two of you with an intrigued look on her face. Being the goddess of love, of course she knows of your feelings towards Camp Jupiter's augur!

"Cure her of whatever curse this is."

"Our darling (Y/N) is not under any enchantment."

"It's Octavian, what is there to like?"

"Even the most dreadful of creatures deserve love, my dear. Besides, apart from me, no one else can control where love grows or where it falters."

This reminds her of Jason, silencing her.

Venus, realizing this, gingerly kisses Piper's forehead before placing a hand on your shoulder, telling you how Octavian feels the same.

"He does?"

"Of course, you're my child! Now, go and get him."

You look at Piper for support, you look unsure.

While she doesn't look as enthusiastic as your mother, she nods in encouragement.

You hug both of them before exiting the cabin. By the window, Piper and Venus sees you approach Octavian.

A few minutes later, you kiss him (something that still makes Piper want to barf) and he eagerly kisses you back.

"I will make his life a living hell if he hurts her." Piper whispers to Venus before your mother disappears into the thin air.

This made Venus proud. No matter how beautiful her children are, they are capable of terrifying things.

She just hopes that day will never come or else Octavian will surely meet his end.

Hazel Levesque

We all know Hazel is a very calm, sweet girl who will do no wrong unless she really has to.

But once you tell her about your feelings, she may act on impulse and confront Octavian immediately.

Why, you ask? Because like Piper, she'll think your under some spell. Except it's his doing.

Octavian has an evident malicious nature, a person who's willing to do catastrophic deeds to get what he wants.

So there's no way that someone like you could ever feel something for that oaf other than hatred and disgust...right?

You try to reason with her but she was determined.

She finds Octavian having a conversation with Reyna at the Garden of Bacchus.

Hazel promptly aims her spatha at his chest, demanding what he had done with you and how she will kill him if he doesn't solve it.

"What is going on?"

"(Y/N) likes him, it must be Amokinesis."

Both Reyna and Octavian's eyes widen as they look at you for further explanation.

Hazel didn't miss the blush on Octavian's cheeks and how the way the corners of his lips quirk into a small grin as he looks down, flustered.

"It's not Amokinesis, Hazel!"

"And I wouldn't do anything like that to (Y/N)."

Octavian replied, looking at you with such sincerity Hazel hasn't seen before.

Reyna looks back and forth between the three of you, delicately thinking of what to do. She settles the issue by getting you checked.

If there were no signs of Amokinesis then your feelings for Octavian are true.

After it was confirmed that it is, he didn't waste time and told you he shares your affections.

As much as Hazel loves you, she can never accept Octavian.

The two of them will remain in a bitter feud, only tolerating each other's presence for you.

And if Octavian hurts you? Let's just say Hazel (+ Nico) will make sure he spends eternity in Tartarus.

Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano

Reyna will say she's happy for you and urge you to speak more about your feelings.

As you ramble about; from when you realized you like Octavian to your daily interactions with him, Reyna will look for anything suspicious.

Octavian may be obnoxious, though no one can doubt he is a brilliant orator that can manipulate and charm people in his favor.

What if he used the same tactic on you?

Once your done, Reyna will just observe. She will take note anything; how Octavian acts, speaks, or talks about you.

After some time, she concludes that Octavian appears softer with you. Despite his reputation, you bring out another side of him; clement, calmer, more humane, and less evil.

I don't think any of them will particularly approve of him, especially Reyna.

Dating you will not completely change him. In fact, this makes her even more wary than ever.

What will she do if Octavian hurts you? Well, nothing really.

She would just smile, sit back, and enjoy the sight as you destroy him. You're a child of Bellona, after all.