#paperless post

[lettuce-tv]

the fun thing about ocs is that you can be like "ok they are doing exactly the same thing that I'm doing" and then you're playing toys all day every day.

[rariishop]

I really love this versatile digital anime journal that I created! One beneficial thing about digital journals is that you can duplicate a page as many times as you like :)

[binders-and-beanies]

New obstacle in getting insured: they are demanding 2 months worth of premiums, due the day of what is supposed to be my first covered doctors visit. Only way to pay is thru a website that I’m not able to sign into on any device, or by check which I don’t have, or have a way to get, nor would a check get there on time. They’re claiming they’ll cancel my insurance if I don’t pay it on time, and I’m learning about this 9 days in advance. Literally every couple days I learn of a new way that I may lose my insurance I never had.

Not to mention at said appointment I have to get a doctor I’ve never met to do paperwork to prove I’m the exact right medium amount of disabled for this insurance. Paperwork she Already Did. And if they decide it’s not sufficient, which they Already Did, hence her having to do it again, they can cancel my insurance and/or add 50 more steps.

So I may have gone thru all this for months Just to go to the appointment that gets me denied again. And the “coverage” for that one appointment alone costs $82 minimum + the various costs of getting to this point in the process. In conclusion fuck yourself and die if you think getting government insurance is easy

[berryrev]

Became His Secretary

Hanma Shuji — Tokyo’s infamous Reaper and Toman’s underboss insisted he didn’t need a secretary. What he needed was his gun to protect the gang’s properties and to execute anyone who dared challenge their authority. But what good was a gun if their businesses fell apart because he couldn't play his role in the office? Yeah, he needed guns, but apparently… he needed a secretary too.

The beginning of you: And It's His Secretary

Hanma Shuji claimed he didn’t need one. However, Kokonoi Hajime was fed up with Hanma’s delayed reports and constant bullshit, that’s why he insisted: Hanma had to get a secretary.

"I work on the streets more, not in this four-walled prison with papers," were his famous last words.

But it was already too late. With Kisaki’s blessing, Kokonoi arranged for the hiring of a new executive assistant, because Hanma Shuji needed one, and Kokonoi believed it was necessary for the sake of their front business, as well as his own sanity.

So here you were—polished, composed, and so professional, and Hanma, whenever he looked at you, felt this pressure he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was because, with just one glance, you’d hit him with the structure of his upcoming office tasks—the kind he didn’t want to deal with and would rather ignore in favor of terrorizing the streets.

Don’t get him wrong, though. You looked so pretty that the idea of not needing an office assistant was instantly vanished the moment you walked into his office. The thoughts that ran through his head when you were introduced as his new secretary? Yeah, they weren’t all innocent. He couldn’t help it, you were gorgeous, young, and very sexy… but goddamn you were so strict.

And he realized that the moment his paperless table turned into a post-it party, thanks to your reminders.

Damn, when would you give him a break?

"Hanma-san, please hurry up. You have a meeting with Amiyoshi-san in fifteen minutes," you reminded him again. How many times had you said that today? He couldn’t even count.

Blowing smoke out through his nose, he asked, "What’s that meeting all about again?" he turned to face you, watching as you tried your best to stay completely composed, even at the same question he already asked a hundred times today.

He enjoyed it whenever he could gouge a reaction out of you. You see, he’s not the type to do lame shit (like office work), but he had to because it was part of his responsibilities. But god, it was boring. So, to cure that boredom, you became the subject of his teasing. Just a small quirk of your eyebrow, or any emotion that slipped past your constant default face, was way too much fun to watch, so he kept doing it.

And oh, poor you. You were just a decent employee trying to work hard, feed yourself, and pay your bills. You had no idea that the moment you walked into his office and saw his long legs propped up on the table, you were already in for a misadventure.

"They’ll negotiate for permission to use some of our secured smuggling routes," you simply answered, meeting his playful eyes. You knew he’d try another antic to delay the meeting, but you weren’t going to fall for his trap. This meeting needed to be settled today, or Kisaki would have both your heads.

"Ah, it’s gonna be stressful. I need to smoke another stick" pulling one from his cigarette tin and turning to face you. "I need to cope, y'know." and he got what he wanted when your eyebrows furrowed in frustration, though you didn’t say anything.

After his third stick of the day, you drove as fast as you could while reminding him again about the meeting agenda. He didn’t listen to your yapping—the meeting would end in two ways anyway. If he didn’t like it he’d kill someone, and if he did, everyone would live, and Toman’s pockets would be eating double this month.

"After this meeting, sir, Kisaki-san expects you at headquarters" you reminded him one last time before Hanma entered the conference room.

"Let’s get this shit done, everybody! Twenty minutes—my patience" he said, propping his long legs on the table as you sat down beside him.

-

You were about to enter the driver’s seat when Hanma stopped, his once bored eyes sharpening as his gaze locked onto a nearby block. Hanma, after everything he'd experienced on the streets, had instincts honed like an animal’s. He could sense danger coming from a mile away.

Golden eyes locked on the black SUV parked down the block, he muttered "Someone’s testing their luck today"

"Hanma-san?"

"Get in the passenger seat. I’m driving" before you could even protest, Hanma had already shoved you into the car and rounded the front with speed, sliding into the driver’s seat. His eyes flicked to the side, the black SUV was now moving.

"Hold on tight, sweetheart. We’ve got company" and he slammed his foot on the pedal.

"H-Hanma-san, what’s going on!?" he could hear the panic in your voice loud and clear, though he wasn’t sure how you were holding up beside him since he was too focused on the side mirror, watching the black car hot on his tail.

"Fucking bastards" he laughed maniacally. His grip on the wheel was as tight as you gripped your sanity. Hanma pressed the pedal one more time before turning onto another block. He was running at nearly 120 km/hr, swerving through the narrow streets like a madman with a death wish.

You screamed when he nearly crashed into a post, but with a swift move, he swerved just in time. You were full-blown crying now, convinced this would be your last day on earth. You were too young to die. You hadn’t even reached your thirties yet and you still had dreams. One of them was to visit every café and pastry shop to taste every cake you saw. Another was to go to Aoshima and pet every cat you could find—

"Fuck it! They’re not gonna let us go huh?" Hanma glanced at you briefly and saw your face buried in your hands. He'd heard your scream earlier, and it told him just how terrified you were. But there was no time to stop. If he did, both of you would end up lifeless on the street.

"Y/N" he called, just to make sure you were still breathing.

"Come on, we’re gonna escape this sh—"

"We’re going to die, Hanma-san!"

"I won’t let us die! Who the hell do you think I am?" He reached for the gun in his holster, cracked the driver’s door open slightly, and glanced at you one more time.

"Take the wheel while I feed these bastards some lead"

And when he opened the door, he started firing bullet after bullet. He felt you grab the wheel as he kept targeting the SUV. These fuckers wouldn’t stop until he got every last one of them killed huh?

He aimed for the driver’s side window, ready to end it, but just then, you swerved hard, and his shot missed. He nearly slipped out of the door.

"Fuck! Warn a man next time, will ya?"

"They're going to kill us, Hanma-san! We're gonna die!" he heard the tremble in your voice, making his jaw clench, and his eyes sharpened.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

"They won’t, baby, not if I kill them first" he fired again, another round of bullets. Glass shattered on the SUV, and finally, one shot went clean through, hitting the bastard behind the wheel.

-

You were still covering your face as you cried inside the car. The both of you had barely escaped death. While you wailed from the intense fear you'd just felt, Hanma, on the other hand, was still riding the adrenaline and bloodthirst, though he forced the high down just enough to try and ease your tears.

"Y/n, come on. I told you we won’t die. See? We’re alive. That’s what matters, yeah? Stop crying now" he didn’t know how to comfort you.

Usually, after this kind of encounter, he’d call someone to clean up the bodies, then go somewhere to fuck the rest of the rush out of his system.

He stared at your shaking form. Even though you knew what kind of work this was, and what kind of business you were stepping into, you still accepted the job wholeheartedly. But that didn’t mean you were used to situations like this, and honestly, it wouldn’t be surprising if you decided to quit after today.

His thoughts were interrupted when you finally uncovered your face and looked up at him.

Completely stunned. There was something that tugged at his chest when he saw how red and puffy your eyes were from crying.

Hanma, for all the sins he'd committed, had never once felt guilt, not until today. He didn’t know what to do. But the sudden urge to coo at you, maybe softly run a hand through your hair, passed through his mind.

Would it make you feel better? Would you stop crying then? But he wasn’t used to that. Comforting someone was alien to him. It wasn’t something a crime lord should do—not for anyone, and especially not for his secretary. So instead, he blurted out:

"Are you hungry?"

And imagine the surprise on his face when you slapped his shoulder—

"The fuck was that for?!"

"I thought I was gonna die today! And you're asking if I'm hungry!?"

If it were anyone else, Hanma would’ve bashed their head in right then and there for daring to hit him. But it was you. And for some reason, he let it slide.

Maybe it was because he had dragged you right into this mess. Or maybe it was because you were pouting while angrily glaring at him.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t want to know.

"Well, we're alive, so there's that. And I told you, I wouldn't let us die. Should’ve trusted me a little more." The last part came out more like a whisper to himself.

He didn’t know what else to say to comfort you. The best he could offer was to remind you that the both of you were still breathing, and maybe, food in your stomachs would ease the weight of what just happened.

"B-but Kisaki-san expects you—"

"Fuck what he said. We’re starving, so we’re gonna eat first" The engine roared to life as he started driving again.

"You’re the one who’s starving" you mumbled under your breath.

And if he wasn’t feeling just a little, tiny bit of pity for you, you would’ve heard a snarky comeback in return.

Hanma stopped in front of a shokudo he knew well.

As you entered, the staff immediately attended to the both of you.

"Hanma-san! I didn’t know you’d be coming. Oba-san is in the office—"

"No, we’re just here to eat" Hanma interrupted.

As you sat down, he casually mentioned that the restaurant was one of Toman’s assets. While the official owners were still the family who originally ran it, they were deeply indebted to the gang. Eventually, it became part of Toman’s network. Usually, when the gang was in a rush or needed a quick stop, this place served as their go-to.

It was quick, the plates of food, more than enough to feed two people, were set on your table in no time. Hanma was about to grab the bowl of donburi when you stopped him, your right hand raised in the air, silently asking for something.

"What?" his confused expression bored into you.

"Hand"

"Huh?"

When he didn’t get it the second time, you gently reached for his large right hand and picked up the pack of wipes in front of you.

Hanma’s confusion shifted to mild shock.

What were you on about?

That unfamiliar tug at his chest came again, but this time, it didn’t go away. It was a steady beat inside him, one that only existed when he was on the brink of death.

Hanma had never been touch-starved. With the countless faceless women he'd bedded, touch was nothing new to him—he was no stranger to it. But how crazy was it, that just one simple touch from you was enough to make his heart feel this restless?

"We don’t want our food to taste like gunpowder, sir" you muttered, not even looking at him as you carefully wiped the residue from his fingers.

He noticed how cold your hands were, but what got to him was the softness. It made him stare in silence, letting you do something he would never allow if it were anyone else.

And still, the inside of his chest stayed unsettled, alongside the one question circling his mind:

"What the fuck is happening?"

-

If you were to ask Hanma what things made him feel giddy and excited, he'd tell you about the missions that left blood on his hands and fire in his chest. The rush of catching someone mid-run, the high he got after escaping the scythe of death by mere seconds, the thrill of outsmarting the cops who thought they had him nailed. Those were the strange feelings that kept him going. Familiar, addicting, and just dangerous enough to make him feel alive.

But lately, another kind of feeling crept in. Strange too, but not the kind he was used to. This one wasn’t laced with adrenaline or bloodlust. It was soft, confusing… but warm.

And Hanma, as much as he tried to ignore it, confirmed those strange sensations had something to do with you. Only with you.

He didn’t understand it at first, and it irritated him more than he cared to admit. Yet unconsciously, he found himself chasing that warm, fuzzy feeling—especially when you weren’t around.

Like now.

He was in the meeting room with his co-executives, all waiting for the arrival of their commander. Feeling bored out of his mind, Hanma, rather than engaging in their useless chatter, pulled out his phone to kill time. That’s when he noticed an unread message from you and decided to open it.

You weren’t here today. Kokonoi had asked you to run some errands for him, which was why your usual nagging reminders came through as text messages instead.

fr. Sexytary :P

Good afternoon, sir. Kokonoi-san asked me to run some errands for him, I’ll be out for a while. I already called someone to deliver your lunch.

Hanma:

i just ate

fr. Sexytary :P

Alright, sir.

fr. Sexytary :P

I saw you running down the stairs, Hanma-san. Please slow down. You might trip, or worse, you’ll get a stomachache.

He let out a loud, roaring laugh right there. Your last message was hilarious. How the hell was tripping down the stairs, which could crack his skull and snap his spine, less serious than getting a stomachache? You were so funny sometimes. So unintentionally funny that it made his whole chest shake.

He kept laughing, not realizing the stares his co-executives were throwing his way. If it had been his usual maniacal cackle, they would've brushed it off as typical Hanma behavior. But this one was different. Genuinely amused. Too genuine. And that, to them, was concerning. Because when the hell did Hanma Shuji ever sound like he actually found something wholesome?

"Must be one of Toman’s rat torture videos," Mucho shrugged, sipping his wine.

Cigarette dangling from his lips, Pah added, "I wouldn’t laugh like that. He looked like he just watched the cutest video ever made"

Hanma didn’t hear them. He was too busy entertaining himself by replying to your ridiculous reminder. He pictured your deadpan face, and that last message made it even funnier in his head. So why not indulge himself a little, yeah?

Hanma:

tripping sounds worse ngl. and how do u know i was running downstairs? u stalking me now?

fr. Sexytary :P

No, sir. Just happened to witness you sprinting down the stairs like you were part of the olympics.

Hanma:

just say ur worried about me heh

fr. Sexytary :P

Worried about the stairs. They’ve suffered enough.

Hanma:

sassy. remind me to fire u later

fr. Sexytary :P

Already added to your to-do list, sir. Right after “glare at someone for no reason.”

Hanma:

u were hotter when u were scared of me

fr. Sexytary :P

Still am, sir. Terrified you’ll revoke my coffee privileges.

Hanma bit his lower lip, trying to keep his smile from widening.

How dare you be sassy with him? He’s your boss, a scary one at that.

But more importantly, how dare him let you match his sass and actually get away with it? Just how dare him.

"Must be porn videos" Smiley muttered, eyeing their upper boss.

"No, probably nudes from his bitches" Chifuyu added dryly.

Whatever it was, none of them dared to interrupt Hanma. He looked like he was in a good mood. Still, they couldn’t help but feel uneasy at his reaction. For someone known for doing the most brutal, unspeakable things, seeing him smile and laugh genuinely, almost softly, was the most disturbing thing of all.

-

Hanma had admitted it to himself that there was something about you he just couldn’t look away from. It was only a matter of time before he confirmed what that strange, persistent feeling really was.

What he didn’t expect was for that moment of realization to come tonight, when he arrived at the office, bloodied and wounded.

You were working late, trying to finish the report Hanma had ditched at the last minute because he’d been called out for a dangerous errand. And now, judging by the state he was in when he slammed the office door open, you just got your answer about how dangerous it really was.

You shot up from your seat and rushed to him, not even hesitating as you grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulders, guiding him gently toward your chair.

"Sit down, I’ll clean you up and treat your wounds" you said.

Hanma heard you, but he didn’t respond. Not because he was in pain, these injuries barely counted as scratches, but because he was too focused on your face. The way your brows furrowed in concern caught his attention more than anything.

In this line of work, it wasn’t unusual to return from a mission with wounds. But the bastards he faced tonight were just lucky enough to get a hit on him. He almost regretted not killing them slowly, just so they’d suffer more. Still, judging by the faint tension in your face, if that reaction really meant worry, then maybe the pain was worth it. He’d take those blows again if it meant seeing that expression on you.

"Worried about me?"

You looked up at him, and he gave you his usual smug grin, one he’d never admit was just a cover. A cover for the tension rising in his chest. Was he actually nervous asking you that? It didn’t sound like him. But maybe… maybe he was. Because what if, just what if...

"Of course I am"

One. Two. Three.

And his heart kept beating.

How dare you make him feel this way?

"As your secretary, of course I’m worried, sir."

He was sitting in front of you as you cleaned the dried blood from his tattooed hands, and he didn’t even flinch. What made his chest ache, though, was your earlier reply. Worried because you're his secretary, huh? He could accept that… for now.

"You're lucky I'm still working on your report. If I finished this a while ago, I would've clocked out already," you muttered, pouring Betadine onto a cotton pad and gently dabbing it on the nasty gashes across his knuckles.

"Oh? You deserve a raise then. Maybe even a promotion?" He smirked, eyes fixed on your concentrated expression, amused when your brow twitched slightly.

"What higher position could you even give me? I'm already an executive assistant."

"Partner in crime."

He watched how you scrunched your nose. Something tugged at his chest at the sight. Shit, you're cute. He had to restrain himself from pulling you in and kissing you then and there.

"As much as I’d love a share in Toman's underground empire, I’ll pass. I don’t wanna die young."

"Are ya trying to say, if I become your partner-in-crime, you're gonna die?" He leaned in closer, invading your space with that signature smugness, trying to act all dominant, even though his heart was pounding when you met his gaze head-on.

Doe eyes looking up at him, you replied, "Yeah. Remember after the meeting with Amiyoshi-san?"

"Shut up. We both came out alive. I killed those bastards—you saw it."

After cleaning his hands, you dragged your chair closer, eyeing the bruise blooming at the corner of his lips. Just like you did with his hands, you began cleaning that too, gentle and focused.

Hanma suddenly felt his throat dry, like all the words he wanted to say had died before they could reach his tongue.

He was bigger than you—tougher, meaner, forged in blood and violence. And yet, all these unfamiliar feelings bubbling up inside him, making him feel like an idiot, came from this small package with steady hands and a sharp mouth, who treated his wounds like he wasn’t dangerous.

"Thanks to my driving skills, you were able to kill them," you said smugly, though when he glanced at you, your soft smile betrayed the teasing.

And then it clicked, like the snap of a loaded gun.

He was right all along.

This warm, fuzzy feeling that had been tugging at his chest? It was because he liked you.

So, so much.

Hanma stole another look at your face before letting his head fall onto your shoulder. He felt you stiffen at the contact, but he didn’t move. He just sat there, letting your scent and the silence between you consume every thought.

"H-Hanma-san?"

Secretary, you said. Worried as a secretary.

Bullshit.

This unrelenting pull in his chest was no coincidence. It was a damn neon sign.

He fell for his secretary.

Hard.

And there was no getting out of it.

-

He tried his hardest to hide his feelings, not because he was afraid you’d find out, but because he couldn’t handle them. His only option was to bury them deep, hoping they’d never surface again. And the best way he knew how? Distance. Long hours away from the office, dangerous missions, and fucking other women.

He thought that would be enough to forget you. But man, was he wrong. The more he stayed out of your sight, the more he wanted to see you. The more he avoided your reach, the more he ached to be near you. And fuck his feelings, because they only grew stronger day by day.

Whenever he was out on a mission, all he could think about was whether the new wounds he earned would be enough to make you worry again. And whenever he fucked someone else, it was your face he imagined, your voice, and your soft pants under him. He knew it was all pointless. Because at the end of every day, it was always you in his mind.

Damn you. You could use him however you wanted, and he’d let you. No hesitation.

Speaking of trying to avoid you, he had taken on another mission that kept him occupied for almost the entire day. He’d been running and running, chasing down some asshole who had the information he needed. From one alleyway to the next, his shoes pounded the concrete, and sweat soaked through his shirt.

"Sneaky son of a bitch" he muttered, tightening his grip on his gun as irritation bubbled in his chest. Then his phone rang.

He didn’t have the time or the patience to entertain any calls right now, so he ignored it and pressed on. But whoever it was kept calling, the buzzing in his pocket relentless and impossible to ignore.

With a groan, he yanked the phone out, answering it with a snarl.

"The fuck you want!?"

"H-Hanma-san? Hello?"

Oh. Oh.

He calmed himself down, but his sharp eyes kept surveying the area, not wanting to miss even the faintest shadow of the man he'd been chasing. Still, his focus snapped the moment he heard you hiccup on the other end of the line—wait, were you crying?

"Y/N, where are you?" he asked, his voice low but tense. He caught the sound of your sniffle before you cleared your throat and responded.

"H-Hanma-san, I-I'm being followed," you whispered, voice low and hushed over the line.

Hanma had faced worst-case scenarios—hell, most of the time, he was the one who caused them. And yet, he always kept his cool.

But hearing your shaky breaths and uneven pants on the other end of the call put him on edge. Dangerously close to panic.

"I didn't notice it at first, but when I was about to return to the car, I saw someone standing near it. I-I don't know if it was a cop 'cause I just came from the t-trap house, a-and—" your ragged voice told him everything:

You were still trying to escape.

You were still running.

And Hanma, who was always excited to gun someone down, had never felt such a strong itch to pull the trigger on the asshole who dared to follow you.

He needed to calm down. Panic and rage wouldn’t help either of you, especially not when he was in the middle of hunting someone while you were being hunted.

“Where exactly are you right now? Do you see anywhere you can safely hide? Stay there. I’ll come get you. Don’t put the phone down.”

One last scan of the street where he stood, and then he turned and immediately left. He needed to come and get you.

You said a while ago that you came from the trap house, which is in northeast Shinjuku (where he was) so if you were still running and hiding, maybe, just maybe, you were in Kabukicho. Or at least, he hoped so.

"I’m in the backstreets of Kabukicho" you whispered, your breathing still heavy.

He stopped in his tracks. "Alleways?"

"Alleyways."

"What do you see?" He pressed the phone tighter to his ear as he continued speed-walking, eyes scanning every corner of the neon-lit district he passed.

You were just three blocks away from him now, and with every long stride he took, it felt like he was closing the distance faster, like sheer urgency alone could bend time.

Then he heard a shuffle on your end. He slowed down slightly, tilting his head to catch the sound better.

"Love hotels…" you mumbled.

And then the line went dead.

Calm down, Shuji he told himself. Maybe you ran off again or found somewhere more secure to hide. And answering the phone while escaping could be hard-

Goddamn it! Calm was impossible now.

He was running, stomach almost in his throat as he tried to dial your number one more time.

One more block. Just one more block. And he hoped, god he hoped, his baby would be there, waiting for him. Unscratched and breathing.

He called your number again the moment he reached the first alley surrounded by love hotels and host clubs.

There was no hesitation in his steps as he entered the dim path, neon lights flickering above, his eyes scanning every shadow, desperate for even the faintest glimpse of you.

"Answer the phone" he muttered, low and urgent.

Gun in his right hand, he moved through the dark, narrow passage, eyes darting through shadows, hoping he’d see you.

Then, finally, the call connected.

"I'm here now, where are you?" All he heard at first were your ragged breaths, shaky and fast.

"S-Sir, I-I"

He couldn’t hear you properly. His grip tightened around the phone as he broke into a run again.

"I couldn't get that. Where are you, Y/N?"

"H-Hanma-san! H-he’s still following me" You were full-blown panicking now, and Hanma could hear every trembling breath, every crack in your voice. His heart hammered in his chest, faster than his footsteps.

"Shit!" he hissed. "I’m in the alleyway between Scarlet Mirage Hotel and Neon Satin. What do you see now?"

He expected you to pick up where he was. If you could just tell him exactly where you were, maybe you’d meet in the middle.

"S-Sakura-dori"

Shit. You were one alley ahead of him.

"Hanma-san… I saw he has a gun. I-I can’t run a-anymore—"

"Do you trust me?" he cut in, already sprinting toward where you were. If he were even one second late, the worst could happen.

"H-huh?"

"I said, do you trust me?" One more turn, just one more, and he’d be there with you… and that bastard who dared chase you should start praying.

"I-I do, sir"

"Then if I say run to the left, run. Got it?" He was so close now. He could almost hear your footsteps overlapping his own.

He did not hear your response so he asked once again,

"Got it, Y/N?"

Gun locked and loaded, he was prepared to hunt.

"Yes, si—"

"Run"

At the exact moment he barked the command he emerged from the shadows.

Not like a savior. But like a reaper.

And instead of a scythe, he raised his glock.

He saw you running toward him at the exact moment the man who’d been chasing you revealed himself. The gun was pointed at you the same time you threw yourself into Hanma’s arms. He caught you. And then he fired. Every bullet unloaded without hesitation.

The man had no time to react, no time to protect himself. Hanma fed him enough lead to send him straight to the ground.

Hanma Shuji came to take his life, just like the bastard deserved.

Because that’s what the reaper does. Always.

Blood splattered across the concrete of Kabukichō’s backstreets.

The man was dead. But still, Hanma’s grip on you didn’t loosen. He held you like if he let go for even one second, the world would try to take you from him.

The only time he loosened his embrace was when you finally looked up, lifting your face from where it had been buried in his chest and Hanma felt the breath he'd been holding escape him, along with the fear he refused to show.

Your pretty face was streaked with tears, but you still managed to say something that made him laugh under his breath.

"You're almost late" Oh. That was so you.

"But I wasn't" His grip on you tightened, almost possessive. Like he was silently telling you, I won't let you go. Not anymore.

"I almost died. I deserve a raise" Still adorable and sassy. And all he could think was, What would my life be if I was truly late?

"I saved you. You should work for free"

You rolled your eyes, and it made him laugh almost softly "After this, I’ll file a sick leave. Maybe for a month. I need to recover from this"

Even though your voice had returned to its usual nonchalant tone, your body told a different story. You still hadn’t let go. And neither had he.

"Sick leave denied"

And he knew he didn’t mean it, because his hand was already tracing slow, gentle circles on your back, and maybe it was a good choice, for both of you, not to say anything about it.

-

Your back hits the cold wall as Shuji pins you against it. He crashes his lips into yours, and your knees instantly go weak. You're trying your best not to wobble, not to collapse onto the office floor, but the way he kisses you rough and hungry, like he’s been holding back for far too long, makes it almost impossible to stand.

"Shu—wait, wait." You press your hands against his chest to stop him, just for a moment.

He does, on your lips at least. But his mouth doesn't stay still for long. Instead, he trails hot kisses along your jaw, then down to your neck.

"Shu," you try again, breath hitching, "wait a second. I just got back from running an errand for Kisa—"

"I missed you, baby. So fucking much." And then his lips are back on yours, like he never planned to let you finish that sentence.

"Shu—Hanma-san."

That’s when he actually stops, pulling back just enough to look at you like you’ve called him something offensive.

"It’s Shu for you, miss." He rolls his eyes, dramatic as always, but his hands never leave your waist. You’re still pinned against the office wall, and he’s still towering over you like he owns the air you breathe.

You remember the first time he asked you to call him by his name. It was during that night you both indirectly confessed and ever since then, the rule’s been set. You’re not allowed to call him anything else. It’s always Shuji or Shu, and if you’re feeling generous and cute, baby.

"Can we at least sit down first? We both just got back." You tug him toward his chair, guiding him to sit.

You’re just about to turn around to drag your own chair beside his when he clearly has other plans, because instead of letting you go, he pulls you straight into his lap.

"Shu."

"There. We’re both sitting now. How’s your day, pretty baby?"

If it weren’t for the months you’ve spent working as his secretary, you probably wouldn’t be used to his antics. But thank heavens you are, because right now, you can handle him just fine. Not just him, but also his heart.

If someone had asked your old self what motivated you to work under a criminal boss, you would’ve said it was the high-paying salary. But over time, feelings got involved… and evolved.

Now, if someone asks you again, your answer will be simple:

Because of the dangerous man with the pretty golden eyes.

Funny, isn’t it? You almost quit being his secretary because of him and yet, he’s the very reason you stayed. The only difference between then and now? Back then, you worked under him. Now, you can literally be under him.

You look up at him and raise your hand to gently comb through his slightly disheveled hair. Maybe it got a little messy while he was running and hunting.

"The usual. I just stepped out of the office because Kisaki-san wanted me to pick something up."

He scoffed. "Why did it have to be you, though? Doesn’t Tetta have his own assistant?"

"Well, his errand was so important that the best executive assistant had to handle it. So I did." You wear your smile proudly, even as his forehead starts to crease.

"I had a bodyguard, don’t worry." And you feel the subtle ease in him when you say that.

"Of course. I assigned a bodyguard for the best executive assistant ever."

You giggle, tapping his chest, and in response, his arms around you tighten just a little more.

"If you think I’m the best, you should recommend me for a promotion." You lean forward, your noses almost touching.

"I offer you partner in crime." His words earn him a playful bite on the bottom of his jaw. He chuckles, tilting his head to give you easier access, the tip of his tongue briefly poking out.

"No. I told you, I don’t want to die young."

"What position do you want, then?" he asked, turning his face to lightly peck your lips.

"Partner in life" you answered, and you knew those words made the crime lord’s heart skip a beat. But instead of saying anything, he sealed your lips with another hungry kiss.

There’s your answer.

And for you, it’s always been yes.

When you think about everything that’s happened between the two of you, you never would’ve imagined ending up here, sitting on his lap, casually talking about your day and kissing him like there's no tomorrow.

All the chaos, danger, and complicated history should’ve been enough to drive you away, to push you to find a safer job, one that didn’t constantly put your sanity at risk. But every time you thought about letting go of your position, Hanma Shuji would look your way... and something unexplainable always pulled you back.

You stayed longer. You endured. And in time, both of you realized what it was.

It was love.

And thankfully, you were chosen to be his secretary, because even though the workload gets heavier and the job more intense, you know he’ll always be there.

Not just as your boss who stands above you, but as a lover who stands beside you.

And yeah, there’s no place you’d rather be.

[ironskyfinder]

Taking Dictation

The ad was simple, running in such a nondescript fashion that she almost missed it, down at the bottom of the screen - plain black text on a gray background, so bland it was almost painful.

Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary. Seeking an experienced secretary proficient in dictation and transcription. Must adhere to a strict dress code based on long-term function; excellent communication skills required. Submit a resume online or text ‘SUBMIT’ to 67678.

She thought about it for a moment. 

Everyone at Hamilton & Greene was amazing - except, of course, for Ms Hamilton and Mr Greene - and she liked the fact that it was a short ten minute drive from her apartment. 

But….

The pay was terrible, the transition to the new ‘paperless’ system was a nightmare, and Eric still stunk so bad it was hard to go past his cubicle, even after Linda had a private conference with him. Everyone was overstressed and overworked, and with the lease coming due in two months there’d still been no word on whether they were moving offices, again.

Maybe it was time for a change, or at least time to scare everyone into thinking they’d have to go without her. She glanced back, but the ad and the link were gone - so, she picked up her phone, and texted��

“Submit”

to 67678, just like the ad said, and in seconds a reply popped up - a link, and she tapped it.

The page was similarly subdued, but it had all the information she wanted. The posting was as thorough and painstakingly specific as the job was straightforward - a freelance IT professional and technical writer needed a secretary that could help him run both his businesses. The only item that wasn’t extensively clarified was the dress code, but if it meant she’d be expected to be professional in front of clients, she wasn’t worried. 

She opened her resume, and skimmed it to make sure that it was current before she uploaded it; the next page simply read, “Thank you for your application”, and she stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief that it’d been that easy. 

By Tuesday, she'd forgotten about it, not least because of the fight that Mr Greene and Ms Hamilton were in over the Friemann case, and hearing that it meant bonuses were delayed had her trying not to cry in her car on her lunch break

The phone dinged - a text, from 67678, letting her know that her resume had been accepted.

And, seconds later, a text from a number she didn’t recognize. For an interview: 10AM or 11AM Thursday, or 10AM Friday?

She took a deep breath and steadied her hands. 10 on Friday would be perfect! she texted back, and got ready to head back into the office. 

The interview, and everything leading up to it, was a blur in her mind.

She had taken Friday off, calling in sick late the night before, and had spent a good hour longer than usual getting ready so that she looked sharp for her interview. 

It was at his residence, about a half hour’s drive away; she was on her way with plenty of time, and as much as she’d hate the commute, it was a nice upscale neighborhood, and on the map it looked like it was next to a park that she could walk to on breaks. 

When she arrived, though, all she could focus on was him. She didn’t remember walking in, taking off her jacket, or even what his name was - she was lost in those eyes, and in the sound of his voice. 

He was busy, he explained, too busy to keep up without assistance. He was employed and was about to be over-employed twice over, and there was just no time - his hands were too full. His previous assistant had gotten pregnant, and was looking for a change. She had all the right qualifications to replace her, and to perform even better in her role; she was an expert in taking dictation.

The pay he was offering was almost double what she was making - and, she would be free to use one of the bedroom suites downstairs, whenever she wanted - and she was so excited that she almost forgot to ask about the uniform requirement. 

Almost. 

She’d asked, and he’d chuckled, and she felt herself get wet. He’d said something - she couldn’t remember exactly what - and she’d flushed further. She’d followed him downstairs to one of the bedrooms - to her bedroom - and showed her the corset and stockings that were carefully laid out. 

The mix of arousal and astonishment and disbelief must’ve shown on her face. She didn’t have time to protest or ask questions before he was talking again, and she couldn’t help but melt into his voice. 

He wasn’t just a technical writer, he explained. He also wrote erotica, very successfully, and it was crucial to his process to have inspiration on hand, and reference material available. He was sure that she’d be a perfect fit for her role, all she needed to do was embrace it…

Six weeks in, and she was adapting extremely well to her role.

She rolled lazily out of bed - out of his bed - and quietly made her way downstairs to her room, where she stripped out of yesterday’s uniform and got ready for a quick shower. After last week’s shopping trip, she had everything here that she needed. 

That was another reason she hadn’t been to her apartment since last month. Drying her hair, she emerged from her on-suite bathroom in a cloud of steam and immediately set to getting ready.  

By the time he was coming downstairs to the office, she was dressed - in black today, the set she’d decided she liked the most - she was already there, their coffees in hand, ready to start the day. 

Today he had meetings all through the morning - so she sat at her desk and started working through the notes from the previous day. He was midway through a support call when he hit a button and his desk raised up so he could stand. As soon as he was comfortably standing, she knelt on the cushion in front of him and unzipped his fly, pulling out his cock.

She loved his cock. She got lost in his eyes, and his voice made her melt, but after the first time she saw his cock - on her fifth day, the first time he’d fingered her for reference, while dictating to her. She’d been dizzy, between the sensations of him ruthlessly stimulating her g-spot and  trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his words, and didn’t notice he was jacking off until he grunted softly.

She’d looked back, then - into his eyes, first, those hypnotic pools of gray, and only when he glanced down had her haze followed and - it was perfect, long, thick, throbbing, a drop of precum dripping from the tip as he gently stroked it. She’d begged him to fuck her, that later that afternoon, and that was the first night she’d spent at the office, working late. 

 And the best part - or the worst part, or the hardest part - was that he did expect her to work, despite it all. The uniform, she found, not only kept her on display and accessible, but she felt sexier in it, and even the heels were comfortable too, somehow - but it didn’t make it any easier to be bent over his desk, cockwarming him while he rattled off erotica to her to transcribe. She had to make sure his notes and files got organized, even if she was asked to bounce on a dildo for reference. She had to balance his schedules and make sure his emails were dealt with, even if she chose to spend the morning on her knees trying to distract him while he was on a call. 

Four months in, and she was starting to put a few things together. 

Sir kept assigning her more hypnosis to review, and no matter how good it felt to spend hours on his desk, fulfilling her role, she was only barely keeping up with the notes, and the scheduling, and taking his dick-tation - she giggled, now, whenever she thought of it like that - was even more intense now that he’d started writing a lot of breeding stories. 

She also barely ever slept in her own bed anymore. He liked having her close - for inspiration, he said - but he also liked picking a hole to use to satisfy himself in the middle of the night, and filling her up with another load.

She wasn’t complaining, of course - she would do it even if she wasn’t getting paid - but her birth control pills had vanished from the cabinet, and she couldn’t help but notice that over the next few months the scheduled titles were starting to shift from breeding into pregnancy stories.

A year into her employment and six months into her pregnancy, deskpet was starting to worry. 

She was falling behind now, everything was taking more and more time. The hypnos had made deskpet much, much happier, and now she barely had thoughts at all besides the ones that Sir put in her brain for her to use - but it meant that typing was harder, and now when she was cockwarming or taking dick-tation - she giggled - all she wanted to do was go blank and fulfill her role of serving his cock. 

But he worked so hard, and he deserved help - more help than she could give. 

She thought about it for a while, and set about posting an ad. 

‘Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary’ the ad began….

[greenapplespider]

Excerpt from the rough draft of the dark fantasy series I’m working on called Blood in Moderation- this from one of Callum’s chapters in the first book. (Notes, lore, and world building master post)

—

A light rain misted over Torch City, a smear of blinking neon glittering over trash strewn streets. Callum pulled his collar tight against the wind, his boots splashing through oily puddles as he walked.

Third Street was quiet at this hour- 3 a.m., when even the junkies and hustlers crawled back in their holes. He’d been surprised at the juxtaposition when he started working this area of the city- considering there was a stabbing here at least once a week during the day. His flashlight cut through the haze, bouncing off shattered windows and graffiti-smeared brick.

His lieutenant had stuck him on this route solo, a silent fuck you for the complaint he’d filed a few months back. Callum could still see the bloody face of the 12 year old pick-pocket as Rourke and Turner had laid into him before he could stop them, blood and tears streaming down the boy's busted face. They’d tried to leave the kid lying there- said things like this were better left paperless.

Callum had driven the boy to the hospital himself.

His complaint had earned him nothing but cold shoulders from his “brothers” and a locker smeared in dog shit. He didn’t care. The streets were his. And they could go fuck themselves.

Callum could have spent the shift in his patrol car, but he liked stretching his legs and actually walking the streets had helped him learn the job better than any FTO had.

The Red Lamb, he watched the pub sign rock in the wind as he approached; the illustration on the sign was faded but Callum could still make out the image of lamb being run through with a broadsword. The owner, Clara, stood underneath the awning, a cigarette glowing between her lips. She was a wiry woman, pushing fifty, with a surprisingly deep laugh given her stature.

“Out here at this hour playing copper, ‘Officer’ Berryman?” she asked, emphasizing the word ‘officer’ as she exhaled smoke into the rain.

“Someone’s gotta,” Callum said, tipping his head. “You closing up?”

“Hour ago. Was seeing the stragglers out, decided to have a smoke.” She squinted at him, her crow’s feet deepening. “You look like hell. Peelers at the station still giving you grief?”

“They’ll get over it.” He forced a grin, all teeth that made him feel a bit pathetic as he moved to stand under the awning and out of the rain for a moment. “Or they won’t, is what it is.”

Clara grunted, flicking her cigarette into a puddle as she looked up at him. “You watch yourself boy, you’re not the first to come ‘round here thinking he could bend the world to his own sensibilities. Besides, streets feel wrong tonight, leeches out this evening.” She said, teasing.

He nodded towards her as she headed back inside the pub, the door clinking shut. Clara was right- the air had a bite to it, a certain pressure that had made his skin tingle since he got out of his patrol car. The type of quiet that caused your ears to ring- something beyond the usual stench of piss and diesel.

Callum’s hand brushed by his gun, just a graze to reassure himself it was there, the weight of it a small comfort against the itch at the back of his neck. He usually rolled his eyes at Aüfmen superstitions, but the mention of leeches at this hour had even him on edge.

Torch City was a cesspit- it had a reputation of being one of the oldest and most corrupt cities in Vanberg for a reason. But this was his home and these were his people whether he liked it or not.

Callum’s father had been a police-man, he’d been ambushed by some gang-bangers after getting off shift one morning- stabbed 9 times in the gut, spine severed, and paralyzed since. They hadn’t had the money for a healing mage. He’d been thirteen, now at twenty-three, didn’t he owe it to his father to pick up where he left off?

To make a place his sisters could feel safe in?

Callum turned down the alleyway between Princeport Ave. and fourth street, a narrow artery of condemned tenements and overflowing dumpsters. The missing persons files weighed on his mind- dog-eared reports he’d pulled from the precinct basement, yellowed and forgotten. Some dating back over a century and all the same. Kids mostly, druggies, homeless- lowborns and street rats, vanishing month after month. No leads, no bodies, just names in a ledger like they’d never existed.

The latest cluster was from this district- nearly 30 in the last six months, all under twenty, mostly homeless or youth homes kids. Callum had started mapping them in his apartment, pins and string spiderwebbing across a corkboard his older sister, Cathy, kept begging him to take down. Begging him to come out with her and her friends, to find a girlfriend, “-anything other than work, it’s gonna burn you out and you’re gonna get hurt like dad, Cal please-”

Maybe. But he couldn’t stop now.

The sound of running feet slapping on wet pavement broke his thoughts. He swung his flashlight toward the end of the alleyway, catching a skinny figure darting between two rusted-out cars. A kid, maybe fourteen, all elbows and wild brown hair, skidded to a stop as the beam hit him.

[sirfrogsworth]

Froggie's (Almost) Very Productive Day

I try to fit as many out-and-about chores as possible into a single day so I only have one set of post-exertional malaise consequences instead of consequences after each day of doing a thing. So any time I decide to drive, I try to find several tasks to accomplish all at once.

My first stop was the Family Services Division in the hopes of getting some help with grocery bills. I am making ends meet, but it seems to be getting harder each month. And maybe I could have skipped my trip to Florida and saved that money, but if I don't do something drastic for my mental health, I fear this first holiday season without a parent could send me into the darkness.

I needed to do an interview to finish applying for SNAP. I wanted to do a phone interview, but the next appointment was in January. So I went to social services where they allow walk-in appointments. I waited in a tiny plastic chair for several hours until they called my name. She yelled out "Benjamin" because when most people see "Grelle" they aren't really sure how to say it. (Rhymes with belly.)

She started my interview and it was going swimmingly at first. But then she started asking questions about the house and my inheritance and my trust. I had no idea what to tell her. It feels like a mistake now, but I have had pretty much no involvement in that process. I have no idea how it works. And I started to panic because she was acting like I was committing fraud or something by not mentioning the trust. But the entire point of the trust was to protect my benefits. Nothing is mine. I own nothing. I have no access. But I had no idea how to explain that.

Maybe my lawyer can help me apply, but I did not want them investigating everything and screwing things up before we even have the estate through probate. We specifically hired a lawyer and went through this convoluted process to make sure everything was on the up and up. But she really made me feel like I was doing something wrong. And that made me panic, which probably made me look even more guilty of something. So I just canceled everything and left.

After a few hours in a crowded government office, I decided to head to a different crowded government office.

I know I didn't need it until 2025, but I decided to go ahead and get my Real ID thingie before my first flight. I was kind of hoping they'd retake my picture because my current driver's license is... well...

And I'm so glad they took my big terrible picture and made it into a smaller, more terrible picture.

People complain about the DMV, but the one near me runs like a machine. It was filled with people and I still only had a 10 minute wait time.

I'm starting to wonder if all of those 80s comedians who were all, "What's the deal with the DMV?" were exaggerating.

Good stuff, Jerry.

I head up to the counter and ask for a Real ID. She asks for two pieces of mail and my birth certificate.

And this disappointed me a little bit.

I did my research. I went to the Real ID website and used their interactive guide to figure out exactly which documents I would need. They gave me this entire checklist and I printed it out and went through all my records and mail trying to find everything.

I had to wait a week for my internet bill to come because it's the only thing I forgot to change to paperless. This took a lot of effort and I was ready to be validated for being so prepared.

And she asks for two pieces of mail.

Any mail.

So I was off to get new tires.

Driving around on 8 year old bald tires was giving me anxiety. I didn't have the money for new tires, but I remember the guy saying they had financing. Recently several of my past debts went past the statute of limitations, and so my credit score lifted itself out of the pits of "poor" and into the realm of "fair." So I decided to take a chance and apply for a Discount Tire credit card. It's a 6 month payment plan with no interest, so that didn't feel as predatory as all the credit card offers I get in the mail with 8000% interest.

We started going through the approval process and I was answering all of the questions and then I saw the name of the bank offering the credit. It was the same bank that tried to sue me and also the bank that can longer collect due to the statute. I was worried they put me on some sort of list and would deny me. But, to my surprise, they approved me instantly. And wouldn't you know it, they gave me almost exactly the amount needed for a new set of tires.

I'm hoping we'll be doing another auction of the house stuff soon, so I plan to pay off the card and then cancel it, but this was the only solution I could come up with to drive safely until then.

I was having a weird day where photos of crusty rich wide dudes followed me everywhere I went. Here is my good ol' boy governor at the entrance to social services.

And at the tire place, I noticed this fella...

Why does every rich CEO think they are a font of wisdom capable of creating compelling quotes?

Does he think no one has ever said "work hard" and "have fun"? And after he said this was he like...

"That's gold, put that in *every* store."

"Oh, and use that picture of me where it looks like a handsome gal just grabbed my undercarriage."

He probably thinks, "Well, no one has put these specific generic platitudes together into a single mega-platitude. I am a genius."

"Be honest, work hard, have fun, be grateful, pay it forward" sounds like he had a bunch of motivational posters on his wall and started reading them all at once.

Like, every line could have a picture of an eagle above it.

In any case, the guy at the tire store, Dakota, was really nice. He made the experience very low anxiety. And he really liked my Thor's Hammer keychain with built in fidget spinner.

He went around showing it to all his coworkers. "Look, it even spins!" And they were like, "Dude, where did you get that??" And I was like, "Amazon." Now I'm just imagining 10 dudes at a tire store all fidgeting their hammers.

As nice as he was, Dakota was still a salesman and had a job to do. He gave me two tire options and tried to upsell me. The cheapest tires had a "1" rating for winter. He said they get "super hard" in the cold... I tried not to giggle. But I explained I drive about twice a month and mostly to the grocery store. If it is a bad winter day, I'll just wait or get delivery. He understood and set me up with the cheaper tires.

He then checked out my car and noticed my tire pressure sensors were dying. I keep getting a warning light on my dash. Apparently they all have tiny batteries in them that die after 7 years. And you can't just replace the batteries so you have to install brand new sensors.

And this is where my social anxiety got me into trouble.

I don't actually need these sensors. They are usually inaccurate. I prefer to test my tires with an actual gauge. But I got so caught up in his sales pitch that I agreed to replace them... at $60 each. For that I could have gotten the fancier tires. I really don't care if an orange light shows up on my dash. And I looked up the price online and a pack of 4 is $30. Though that is without installation.

But still... I wasn't thinking and he was so nice that I was just like, "I want to please Dakota. Saying no might make Dakota sad." Dakota's job is selling me but that doesn't mean I have to buy anything. He would live if I had said "no thanks."

To make my blunder more blunderous, when they finished the tires he asked for my key fob. And it decided that was the time for the battery to die. And in order to reset the system for the new tire pressure sensors, you have to press two buttons on the fob for 7 seconds. Thankfully I had a spare fob at home, but if I want my fancy new $240 sensors to work, I have to return to Dakota and have him initialize them.

I really hope these are the Cadillac of sensors.

Or, like, the ones they use on Cadillacs?

They better be accurate, is what I'm saying.

I do feel safer with new tires. So I am glad I did that. And I gave them a good obligatory kick and felt the tread. They seem nice enough even if they get boners in the winter. It's crazy how bald my other tires were in comparison. Like, I can fit half my finger down into the tread on the new ones—which did not get them super hard.

The way I drive, I probably won't wear them down. They'll probably start to rot before I do.

Before I do, meaning before I wear them down.

Not before I rot.

I am not in a rotting competition with my tires.

I was then off to Sam's. I decided all of my hard work accomplishing 2 out of 3 goals deserved some sushi. So I grabbed some California Rolls and headed home. On my way out, a Hummer and a Porsche nearly collided in the parking lot. And they sort of got stuck facing each other. One of them needed to back up and they both signaled at each other like "You back up, I'm not backing up." And it was just this weird standoff between the two douchiest looking cars you could imagine.

I mean, you have to be a douche to drive a Hummer.

I still remember the mystery Hummer dialysis patient from when my dad was going 3 time per week. We could never figure out who owned the Hummer, but we knew it was not the underpaid nurses and techs. So it had to be one of the patients. And none of them seemed the type. We never solved that mystery.

That hummer started off a delightful safety yellow. (Elon would cry.)

They decided this wasn't extra enough... so they did this...

Katrina and I could never decide... are these cow spots or the world's least effective camoflauge?

There was another patient who drove this old beater...

And I loved seeing this car because we had the same one when I was a little kid. I'm afraid the aesthetics of the 1980s Caprice Classic did not stand the test of time, but it had great sentimental appeal for me.

But this maroon beast that squeaked and sputtered its way from here to there belonged to a very sweet older gentleman. Sometimes he and my dad would be dialysis buddies—sitting next to each other in the recliners. And the worst thing about dialysis was the boredom. All you have to do is watch broadcast TV with 4 channels.

All of the TVs require headphones. They give you your own set of super cheap headphones in the dialysis welcome bag. They were very uncomfortable so I ordered my dad better ones with cushioned ear cups.

His dialysis buddy noticed them and thought they looked nice. And then he revealed that his free headphones broke and he didn't know how to get new ones. He had been watching TV with no sound for weeks. So, I bought another pair with the soft ear cups and my dad gave them to his friend. And it just made me happy imagining the two of them watching The Price is Right in matching headphones.

I do have to make fun of this sweet old man a little bit. When I walked passed his car I noticed he implemented the world's most effective anti-theft device ever created.

That's right... The Club™.

If someone decides they have to have a 40 year old car with an engine that sounds like a dying hyena and a hubcap missing... they are out of luck.

But hey, you gotta protect what is important to you. And if I needed a getaway car and my choices were between his beater and the Cow Hummer, I'd take his ride for sure.

Well, I'd try... and then get arrested because The Club™ is undefeatable.

Do NOT look that up on YouTube. It's 100% true. (And the Lock Picking Lawyer doesn't count due to him being able to break into Fort Knox with a paperclip and then doing it again to make sure it isn't a fluke.)

The dialysis center is in the same complex as my local Tolerable Schnucks and I still see that maroon boat of a car every once in a while. I always smile whenever it is there because it lets me know he is hanging in there and hopefully still has sound for his TV.

Wow, I went off on a mega-tangent.

I didn't even finish talking about my day. Where was I? Oh, the douche standoff finally ended. The Porsche Douche capitulated and backed up. Probably due to the fact the Hummer Douche has 0 visibility behind him.

When I got home I started devouring my sushi. I finally heard back from my lawyer. He submitted the last of the evidence for my appeal. And I was finally able to confirm he got the records of my ECT treatments from 20 years ago. I worked so hard to get those. At first, they forgot to send all records before 2011. I had to call back and figure that out. They shipped them and they didn't arrive until a week before we had to file. Everything was so last minute and my anxiety has been... palpable. It felt like when I did my science fair project on Sunday night.

He's hoping to get a decision at the beginning of next year. He warned me that these appeals are usually rejected. And that the most effective method of approval was a hearing in front of an administrative law judge. But that could be delayed by up to a year. So I might need to figure out how to survive until 2025. As long as my brother does what he is legally required to do, I should be okay. But counting on that also gives me palpable anxiety.

And that was my day.

Every time I go out is always an adventure.

But remember...

BE NICE. EAT YOUR VEGGIES. PET CUTE DOGS. DREAM BIG. KEEP YOUR TIRES WARM... FOR REASONS. 5 LIFE LESSONS -Froggie, Mildly Famous Internet Person

[sleeping-archivist]

oh we are so back. had an incredibly stressful morning and now none of it matters bc we have tmagp thursdays back!!!

as always, my live reactions to tmagp ep 31 (w/ spoilers) below the cut:

episode reactions:

tmagp thursdays are back!!!! except the episodes release while i’m in class again 😭

listening and reacting while i eat my lunch. i’m so excited omg

no colin :(

severed hand???

“could be anyone’s severed hand” oh gwen i missed you darling

beep beep

fatal programmer error???? also welcome back jon i missed you <3

colin!!!! rip king

independent operation permissions??? oh this is so fucked

i’m not woman in stem enough for this i fear

bro the computer ate him omfg

“i’m sure we can leave” yes of course!! yeah no for sure!!

uhhhh i would not recommend bringing Celia back in tbh

tape recorder!!!!!!! the way i reacted like a damn sleeper agent in the middle of a public area at the sound of that clicking omg

sam :(

archivist????

alice do u really feel safe going to the home of a woman who shoved your friend through a rift between worlds

“sounds like a problem for the government” if only it was that simple lmfao

you think??? girl you know, you better come clean rn

COWARD’S ANSWER

babysitter??

using the photocopier???

the real horror, using a printer/copier. can confirm

HORRID. TERRIBLE

“he’d hate that, he always wanted us to go paperless” alice i missed you so much

tape recorder!!!!!!! pt. 2

i’ll be so for real, i still can’t understand what the archivist is saying

circus music… ok i see you

who’s this interesting fellow

georgie!!!! my love i missed you

sam just keeps getting put in situations

who’s this captain fellow?? very curious

georgie!!!!!! maybe actual georgie??????

gertrude????

if i see a vehicle named tim i will cry let me be so for real

y’all WHAT is happening. how long is this after the eyepocalypse (if this is the tma universe)

“should have drunk the tea” uhh what

Celia i swear to god if you don’t tell them you’re from another dimension

don’t open any emails, please god

contact your family gwen contact your family… i want alternate universe elias

uh oh statement time

magnus institute name drop!!

“the grand old building where people took their ghosts and their stories and got nightmares in return” is a BANGER of a line

“when the pupil collapsed and the archivist died” uhhh no. i pretend i do not see it. the archivist did NOT die

diva down :(

i fear heidi is not there unfortunately

post-episode thoughts:

super excited to be back!!!! really hyped to see what happens in both universes

so if we got tma!georgie… can we get tma!melanie… please please please

also i am FASCINATED by the post-eyepocalypse london, i hope we find out more about that and about what happened to the fears

[three--rings]

Happy Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day!

So back in May/June I finished my first playthrough of Persona 5 and fell HARD into the shuake/akeshu ship. This fic was one that I read and immediately messaged the author about doing for this event.

And it turned into probably my favorite book I've made yet. The one I am happiest with overall.

The series (both fics are in the book) is First Step. The main fic is "the first step to find your way is to mark where you have been" by @futuresoon

It's a fantastic post-Royal fic that explores the idea that Akechi's spirit is trapped in a Palace, and Akira has to work through the Palace of Akechi's trauma in order to save him.

Also thank you to @munidraws for letting me use their fanart for the fic.

Process details under here

The typesetting was designed based on both canon elements from the game and motifs from the fic. The fic is set mostly in a labyrinth of black stone walls, so I used that for the chapter openers. And the Chapter titles and text messages in the book use the actual fonts from the game (or ones recreated to be very close by fans).

Text messages are shown in very stylized black and white boxes in the game. I decided I couldn't recreate the shape of the boxes without both a lot of work and taking up a lot of page real estate. So I settled for plain black and white boxes. Shoutout to Manda and Des from Renegade for teaching me how to do these easily in Affinity.

The title page took me....more time than I'm willing to admit. Because of the labyrinth theme and long title I wanted a winding brick path for illustration but it proved really difficult to find anything like what I wanted. So I went through a lot of image manipulation to get something like what I wanted. (Shh, it's not a snake.)

I did my first solid painted edges, with a couple fails until I went and bought some black acrylic ink, which worked like a dream. The endpages are linen textured cardstock.

The case is bound in black bookcloth and marbled fabric made into bookcloth. I used purchased black bookcloth for the author copy and made my own paperless bookcloth with acrylic medium and paste from some thrifted fabric. You can tell the difference in person, but it's subtle. The marble is quilting fabric from Joann's which I also turned into paperless bookcloth and then folded and glued down as a strip.

The spine is titled with heat foil quill in red foil. It's not perfect, but came pretty close for using foil that is not fantastic in quality.

[celestine-witch]

TMAGP 031 THOUGHTS

Season 2 babbyyyyy!! We are so back!

Spoilers under the cut

Tried to record my thoughts chronologically, but way too late in the game I realized that wouldn't work with the dimensional split. So we're gonna divide this up between the OIAR Universe and the post-Institute Universe. First Up...

THE OIAR UNIVERSE

Colin? Colin? Oh my fucking god he fuckin’ dead.

Ahhh dyhard yelling at each other <3

Holy shit Colin got properly Ushenka’d

Hey Chester! Good to hear from you buddy

Hey hey what do you mean Extension Becher?? Like he’s a part of the system?? Oh holy shit he really is part of the system.

RIP Colin Becher, resolved 14.05.2024

“I’m sure we can leave” *liar static* Yeah I didn't think so. Thanks for the confirmation, though!

“Sam will be okay” *incorrect buzzer*

Poor Jack. He’s just a bitty baby! He has no idea what’s going on.

“Oh god. He’d hate that. He always wanted us to go paperless.” Alice NO

Auntie Georgie is a godsend and absolutely wonderful. I love her, no notes.

Damn. Celia really wants to just let Sam be stuck on the Otherside. Can’t say I blame her, since it seems to be either her or him.

“Respectfully, you can kiss my ar—” Let Alice curse dammit!

MEANWHILE, POST-INSTITUTE...

Hey what the fuck are those sounds. Oh it's just Dave. And the horrors.

Ah yes, whistle away the horrors—wait that worked?

OH SHIT GEORGIE BARKER PART 2!!

Ohohohoho sounds like London is still fucked up post-MAG200 The “London Exclusion Zone” hehehe "the LEZ;" TMA is still gay as ever lmao

Hearing the Ritual from an outsider’s perspective is just perfect. And her Statement… haunting.

“… the Archivist died, his face still burned into my mind.” Oh. I… yeah that's as much confirmation as we're ever going to get, I think.

Heidi pushing back against the Archivist at the end, even as she dies… incredible. An amazing moment, honestly. I know she’s dead, but I almost wish she wasn’t so the characters can know how badass she was.

[guerim]

Bela x Mia in resident lover

(not a shipp post)

I really like the idea that they hate each other but are somehow forced to live together daily and I thought about some things because of that.

And one more thing, I speak Portuguese. My fourth language is English, so don't be surprised by mistakes.

Mia's pov

It was common to have some missions like keeping an eye on Bela and what she was doing.

And there was Winters walking towards the student council room, She was carrying a folder with printed papers for Bela's campaign, she did this favor for her at Miranda's behest.

“Here is it.” The brown haired woman said with a wide smile and leaned on Bela's desk.

“Thank you, you can go now, Mia.” Bela answered without even looking at her.

But Mia didn't move, she kept smiling and continued to stare at Bela.

And, Bela just continued her work in silence.

She remained like that for the next few minutes, Mia then sat down at Bela's desk in a paperless corner and the blonde snorted.

“What do you want now?”

“What? Nothing.” Mia brought one hand to her hair and adjusted a strand.

“You're getting in my way, go away.”

“But I am silent.”

“And your silence bothers me.”

“So you want me to talk?”

“No, I want you to go away.”

Bela crossed her arms angrily.

Mia smiled seeing that it was bothering her.

“Why are you mean to me? Let me work and help you.”

“You will help by leaving. Didn't Miranda give you something to do?”

Mia shrugged and picked up a pen from Bela's desk, playing with it.

And, Bela, seeing that it was useless, went back to working in silence, every now and then her gaze fell on Mia.

[just-b-wilde]

Poll for readers: Survival

I have a dilemma and I am interested in the opinion of my readers. The first poll is about the Survival story and contains spoilers. The result of the poll does not guarantee that it will be incorporated in the story in this way, but it is a possibility.

The next post will be a poll for Give me your memories.

I think every reader knows that Lila and Five often talk about their paperless marriage, but there was also their unconventional proposal. I myself am currently somewhere between both options.

[sofiewilde]

Paperless Post

[captmickey]

🖍 🤔🛠 ❤️

🖍 - Post any sentence from your wip From Brotherhood (and at this rate I'll be posting the entire fic via snippets haha) Number Two snored somewhat on the office couch, his armor, while in one paperless corner of the room, was strewn haphazardly in said corner. Number One was at his desk, going through even more of the addendums that seemed to have multiplied since he stepped out hours ago. It probably did, he thought, it wouldn’t be so shocking if that was the case. But, and this was a longshot, it could be he was seeing double or, an even further longshot, it, in fact, was a double thanks to the bloody head butler.

🤔 - What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet? Lordy, there are too many. And some I did start but just never finished/completed but refuse to abandon. But one of them is Guybrush's back story, it's a dream fanfic of mine, the only problem with that is um... well. Everything. Panic of it being maybe too "unhappy" or short or long and everything in-between.

🛠 - Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? This freaking table in 3adv I'm.... struggling at gapping at a scene in Brotherhood from when Number One meets with his captain for one meeting and the final meeting. I wish I can say it's clear in the beats, but nope. I have a lose "x happens" and I'm just "BUT WHAT IS X, YOU SILLY GOOSE?!"

❤️ - I always appreciate-- wait, how many times have I said this? I mean what I say about appreciating a kudos!

[infyq]

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Understanding reputation management

Basically, ORM is the process of monitoring, influencing, and managing a brand's or even individual's perception online. It is basically a mix of methods and strategies used to control what people see in perceptions regarding a person or business in the online space, especially in search, social media, and review websites.

ORM does not only aim at suppressing negative content but also looks at enhancing positive information that characterizes or defines the image that an entity wants to project.

Importance of Online Reputation.

With increased reliance of consumers on the Internet for research before they make any decision, online reputation becomes really important. Here's why:

Builds Trust and Credibility

One of the critical success factors in delivering any business relationship is building trust. Any search your prospective customer may conduct over the internet needs to result in something that builds confidence in your brand.

1.First Impressions Count

The majority of times, search engines are where a future customer will have their very first experience with your brand. It's extremely hard to recover from a bad first impression. We can help in forming that positive first impression through ORM, shining a light on the positives with your brand, and making sure any negative content is at a minimum or removed altogether.

2.Influence Buying Decisions

Modern-day consumers are much better informed and use online forums and review sites to a great extent. A poor online reputation can make a huge difference in purchase decisions. Online management gives you a better way to influence how consumers think about your brand, product, or service and will more likely drive them toward a positive purchase decision.

The Various Key Strategies of ORM

In order to manage and regulate your online reputation, it deploys quite a few strategies. Some of the key constituents of this comprehensive package include:

1. Monitoring and Analysis

The first step of ORM is being aware of what people say about you online. This involves search engine results, not to forget social media, review site platforms, and other channels for brand mentions.

2.Content Creation and Promotion

positive content is very important for strong online reputation. High-quality content represents the core values and expertise of your brand. we do provide blog posts, press releases, great articles and social media updates with good contents that let you show off your strengths. This content is also shared on multiple platforms so as to reach maximum individuals.

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Social media is the greatest of all platforms that stands to influence your customer's perception. In the realm of our ORM services, we bring to the table SMO that aid you in the professional administration of your brand's social media avatars on platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn.

Our team makes content that is bound to engage, motivate, and connect to your target audience, which thrills your followers to more positive interactions. We ensure that more friends are initiated from the conversations and that all the comments and messages are replied to instantly in order to retain a positive image.

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Link-building is another critical step in ORM, as through high quality backlinks acquired through reputable sites, one can boost the authority of website and its ranking in search engines.

It is one such brand that deals with specialized link building services India. we have a strong belief in working on the creation of a robust and diversified backlink profile through guest posting, influencer outreach, and content marketing.

5.SEO Optimization

Search engine optimization is an integral part of ORM. We optimize the website and its content, leaning toward the relevant search engine keywords to increase placement on SERPs. It doesn't just give you the visibility, it controls what that visibility says about your brand.

It performs both on-page and off-page optimizations to ensure that the positive content comes up above the negative information. This will include website structure optimization, improving load times, and enhancing user experience.

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We are one of the leading management companies and are based out of India. We offer a whole bouquet of services to enhance and protect your reputation even further. From social media optimization in India to link building services, we have strategies that will be tailor-made for you, done with the sole intention of turning the perception of your brand positive on the World Wide Web.

Do not hesitate to contact us and let us serve the various reputation management needs of your business.

[praublem-child]

I imagine that is a great explanation of US healthcare system as it pertains to minors, but this letter is about the UK.

As a British mother of a British teenager here in Britain, my son could totally make a medical appointment, attend it, get treatment if appropriate, without me knowing. It would not come up on a bill / health insurance, because we don't have those here.

The comment you made about phone tracking etc is at least partly valid though, as controlling parents sometimes forcibly install spyware etc. Itemized phone bills aren't common here and I haven't seen one in more than 20 years, but I imagine they might still exist for some people. So such a kid would have to go there in person to make the appointment.

Anyway, all power to kids having the autonomy I wish I had at that age!

I didn’t take into account the different healthcare systems in other countries. Sometimes I really forget how isolated our school systems are and how little I know about the other places in the world/how little they come up in my head when I’m interacting with things online, so thank you for pointing this out. I also hadn’t even noticed that it was for another country, but I probably should have looked at the original post a little closer.

I suppose in other places transportation also wouldn’t be as much of an issue as in my area either. I can’t get anywhere without a car, but I know a lot of other countries have significantly better public transport systems and such and even in other cities you can walk to appointments so that’s probably just a my area/rural area barrier for minors getting healthcare.

Sorry if this sounds ignorant, but I promise it’s out of curiosity. Do you really not get anything home from doctors offices in the mail? Even when we don’t get bills in the mail (paperless delivery, no recent procedures needing billed, etc) often my doctors offices send follow up with instructions in the mail. I get what’s called after visit summaries mailed to me semi-often that just explains what the appointment was for, any medications I was put on, and what next steps needed to be followed. Whenever they ask I always request they don’t send it because I have an app that lets me access it whenever and the papers just get lost or piled up collecting dust, but they don’t always ask.

I grew up with one parent that was chill with me having these rights and another that was appalled, and the latter was one who went through my phone and mail constantly so I wouldn’t have been able to pass through this even if everything was addressed to me and the bill was covered by me personally. I didn’t have an itemized phone bill either, my father just demanded I hand over my phone at random for him to search through, and he always listened in and kept logs of when I was on the phone so he could tell if I deleted things and tell at me.

I think the overlap between the parents who don’t want their kids having these rights and the ones that would go through their kids devices and mail to call them out on things is probably a circle, and as much as I know kids can be sneaky, there’s only so much one can do to hide things at times which is why it was such a big point I brought up.

I’m really glad to hear that other countries have better rights for healthcare when it comes to teenagers. Here’s to hoping the rest of the world follows the example.