#tech pitch deck

[graphypixllc]

Investor Pitch Deck Startup — Professional & Modern Presentation Template

Visit: https://graphypix.com/downloads/investor-pitch-deck-presentation-3110/

[robo-sleuths-robot-detectives]

New Tech City as in New York City… or New Bot City as in New York City and Robo(t) Sleuths…..

[cameronsbabydoll]

— GET TO KNOW MY !READERS ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

SPOILED!KOOK!READER

(the brat in kitten heels.)

she was raised by billionaire parents who bought her everything the second she so much as glanced at it. she’s never heard the word "no" unless it was followed by "—but we can find something better."

she still keeps all her old barbie and bratz dolls lined up perfectly on glass shelves in her pink childhood bedroom. sometimes she talks to them like they’re real friends.

her whole wardrobe is pink, glittery, sparkly — it’s literally an explosion of color. she has hot pink satin dresses, light pink fluffy coats, and bright pink purses with rhinestones.

her nails are always long, acrylic, and decked out in sparkles or little charms. she changes them every two weeks and throws a fit if her nail tech cancels.

very much “paris hilton meets summer roberts meets elle woods.”

she speaks in a very high-pitched, sweet voice — she’s super animated when she talks, always playing with her hair or clicking her acrylics together.

she loves tiny little purses that can’t actually hold anything useful. her bag essentials are lip gloss, mini perfume, emergency $100 bills, and her pink bedazzled phone.

she’s obsessed with luxury brands — new chanel bags, vintage juicy couture sets, louboutins, cartier bracelets stacked on her wrists like candy.

owns a tiny baby pink convertible with rhinestone-studded seat covers.

wears little kitten heels everywhere — brunch, shopping, even walking through the sand at a bonfire (and gets mad if anyone tells her it’s impractical.)

she’s extremely ditzy — she’ll ask the dumbest questions with 100% sincerity (“wait... is alaska a country?”) but she's also sneaky-smart when it comes to getting what she wants.

constantly says things like “i’m literally a princess” and “that’s hot” without a hint of irony.

thinks starbucks orders are a form of personality ("i’m a venti pink drink with extra vanilla sweet cream and extra ice!")

drinks fruity cocktails with names like "strawberry kiss" or "barbie breeze" — anything pink and filled with sugar.

always smells like a mix of bubblegum, vanilla, and expensive designer perfume (think baccarat rouge layered over body spray).

cries when she breaks a nail. screams when she sees a cute puppy. throws tantrums when things don't go her way but somehow makes it look cute.

rafe has to literally carry her sometimes because she’ll refuse to walk if her heels hurt. ("i’m not walking another step. carry me.")

she loves photo ops and making rafe take 500 pictures of her in front of a sunset, a yacht, a boutique, whatever. (he complains but always does it.)

lowkey is a daddy’s girl and drops "my daddy’s lawyer will sue you" at least once a week even though she’s never actually sued anyone.

dreams of marrying rich and being a stay-at-home wife with a teacup poodle in a designer bag.

if she ever argues with rafe, it’s always followed by her sulking dramatically on a satin bedspread in her tiny matching pj set until he buys her something to apologize.

calls rafe things like "my big scary bodyguard" and "my mean mean man" whenever he tries to put her in check (but she loves it.)

BABYDOLL!READER

(the crybaby in a pastel bow.)

she's soft. like really soft — her heart is big, her emotions even bigger. she cries when she sees puppies, when she hears an old love song, when rafe brushes her hair without being asked.

she’s very baby pink, powder blue, butter yellow — all her clothes look like easter eggs in the best way. her entire wardrobe is pastel vintage pieces, old babydoll dresses with tiny embroidered flowers, peter pan collars, ruffles, little gloves she finds at estate sales.

she collects trinkets like a magpie — porcelain figurines, pressed flowers, postcards from the 1950s, ticket stubs, little heart-shaped lockets she’ll never wear but keeps anyway. every shelf, every drawer in her room has something sentimental tucked inside.

when she talks about her favorite things, her whole face lights up — she glows when she tells rafe about finding a new 60s vinyl at the thrift store or a dress that reminds her of audrey hepburn.

she plays her vinyls constantly. her room is always filled with the crackly sound of lana del rey, nancy sinatra, or elvis. (if she's sad, it's exclusively sad lana songs while she cries into a satin pillow.)

she absolutely forces rafe to take her to this 50s-themed diner at least once a week. she’ll dress up in a pastel swing dress and saddle shoes just for the aesthetic, dragging him inside while he grumbles but secretly thinks she’s adorable.

she’s obsessed with old hollywood — posters of marilyn monroe and audrey hepburn cover her walls. framed black and white photos of james dean, frank sinatra, and john f kennedy are proudly displayed in her closet. (rafe gets a little jealous when she gushes over how "handsome" james dean was.)

her closet smells like vintage perfume — powdery, floral, a little bit like old lace and sweet soap. she still has her grandmother’s pearl necklace tucked inside a little velvet box.

she’s so sensitive it’s almost comical — rafe so much as raises his voice and she’s sniffling and looking at him with glassy eyes like he kicked her puppy.

she's a hopeless romantic. she dreams about slow dancing in the rain, kissing in a convertible at a drive-in movie, getting love letters sealed with a kiss.

she’s ditzy sometimes — she’ll burn cookies because she got distracted dancing around the kitchen, or she’ll forget where she put her purse because she set it down to pick flowers.

rafe ends up carrying her home from the diner more often than not because she insists on wearing tiny vintage heels that always give her blisters. she clutches his neck and cries about her "poor poor toes" while he rolls his eyes but kisses her forehead anyway.

she loves baking sweets — cupcakes, sugar cookies shaped like hearts, strawberry shortcake. she wears a little frilly apron and gets flour all over herself every single time.

she’s very clingy — she loves curling up against rafe’s side while they watch old movies, always playing with the buttons on his shirt or tracing patterns on his skin.

she says “i love you” way too much and way too easily. ("i love you," she says while holding up a pretty leaf she found. "i love you," she says when rafe opens a soda for her. "i love you," she says when he looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world.)

favorite outfit? a powder pink vintage babydoll dress with white lace socks and mary janes. a big pastel bow in her hair. always lip gloss.

favorite drink? a strawberry milkshake or a root beer float at the diner.

if she’s ever upset, the only cure is laying in bed wrapped in a dozen fluffy blankets, a black and white movie playing softly, and rafe feeding her bites of ice cream while she sniffles dramatically.

BUNNY!READER

(the soft, sweet crybaby who thinks the world is still made of fairy tales.)

bunny!reader is pure sugar and softness — like the inside of a strawberry cream candy. everything about her is gentle and soft-hearted, from the way she speaks to the way she hugs people (she clings for dear life like she thinks you might disappear).

she’s the kind of girl who gasps when she sees a butterfly and cries over commercials if they’re even remotely emotional.

she’s hopelessly gullible — if you told her the moon was made of marshmallows she would believe you and ask if she could try some. rafe constantly has to pull her away from scams ("no, bunny, you can't really buy a star and name it after me.")

she’s extremely clingy without realizing it — always grabbing onto rafe’s arm, slipping her hand into his back pocket, or snuggling up to his chest when they’re standing in line somewhere. if he moves an inch away, she's immediately following like a lost little bunny.

scent? always something sweet and light — strawberries, whipped cream, vanilla sugar.

she’s a candle hoarder — every corner of her room has some girly, pastel candle that smells like cupcakes or fresh laundry. (she lights them all at once and the room smells like a candy shop.)

she loves strawberry shortcake — the doll, the cartoon, the dessert. she has little stickers of strawberry shortcake characters on her phone case and folders.

she’s super sheltered — grew up under tight rules, very religious and innocent upbringing. she still wears a little cross necklace every day and goes to church every sunday without fail, carrying her tiny pastel bible with her name engraved in cursive on the cover.

fashion? lots of frilly white socks, pastel cardigans, soft baby pink skirts, lace-trimmed camisoles, mary janes, hair ribbons, little pearl earrings. she always looks like she stepped out of a 90s barbie dreamhouse ad.

she can't lie to save her life. if she even tries she turns red immediately, her voice goes all squeaky, and her eyes start watering because she feels guilty.

when she's upset she straight up sobs — giant watery eyes, trembling bottom lip, sniffles and hiccups, crying so hard she can't even get the words out. (rafe usually just scoops her up and shushes her, rubbing her back and letting her bury her face in his chest.)

she's obsessed with rom-coms — she thinks love should be exactly like the movies, complete with running through airports and standing outside windows with boomboxes. she genuinely believes every fight should end with dramatic declarations of love.

favorite things? baking cupcakes (and always licking the batter off the spoon), picking wildflowers, writing in her glittery pink diary, making little collages with stickers and magazine clippings, swinging on playground swings like a little kid.

bedroom aesthetic? stuffed animals everywhere (most with names), floral bedsheets, walls covered in polaroids, a basket full of bath bombs and lip glosses, a pink bible sitting neatly on her nightstand next to a strawberry-scented candle.

texting style? way too many exclamation marks, hearts everywhere, sends pictures of cute animals she finds on pinterest and captions them "us!!!!"

she genuinely thinks the best of everyone. like, painfully trusting. (rafe lowkey gets mad sometimes because she’s too nice to random people.)

she can be clueless in the cutest way — like not realizing when someone’s flirting with her or not understanding dirty jokes right away. ("wait... why is everyone laughing??")

she’s the type to ask rafe shyly if he thinks she’s “pretty enough” or “good enough” and when he teases her, she’ll get all teary-eyed thinking he means it seriously. (and then he feels terrible and kisses all over her face while she hiccups.)

she smells like strawberries, sugar cookies, and pink frosting.

BAMBI!READER

(the bookish sweetheart who smells like pumpkin candles and rain.)

she's the definition of cozy — her whole life is like an eternal fall afternoon. she drinks tea out of chipped mugs, wears oversized cardigans that swallow her whole, and leaves a trail of leaves wherever she goes.

gilmore girls is basically her personality. she quotes it without realizing, she always insists jess was the best option (she will give you an hour-long lecture about why rory messed up), and her dream is to live in a little house in a tiny town like stars hollow.

she loves her books more than most people. her bookshelf is overflowing — the bell jar (with notes scribbled all inside), crime and punishment, little women, wuthering heights, pride and prejudice.

she’s a total margin writer — hearts, underlines, little doodles and quotes she loves written in tiny handwriting. sometimes she writes "this made me think of you" next to passages and gives the book to rafe, blushing furiously the whole time. (he tries to read them... but usually falls asleep halfway and just listens to her explain them instead.)

she's obsessed with old bookstores. the smell of old paper and dust makes her giddy. she swears used books have more "soul." she’ll drag rafe along and spend hours picking through shelves, coming out with a stack of battered paperbacks and a starry-eyed smile.

she’s outdoorsy but not like sporty — more like picnic baskets, laying in fields, collecting wildflowers, saving earthworms off the sidewalk after it rains.

she has an entire tote bag dedicated to "book picnics" where she brings a blanket, her latest read, a notebook, and like three types of tea.

if she sees a stray cat or dog, it's over — she's crying and trying to coax it into her car with snacks. (rafe had to ban her from bringing home "every critter you find, bambi.")

she wears mary janes, loafers, pleated skirts, cozy sweaters layered over collared shirts. always with a messy bun, or her hair pinned back with little clips she picked up from thrift stores.

favorite activities? walking through trails when the leaves change color, baking pumpkin bread, annotating books late at night while a record spins in the background, yelling about fictional characters to rafe who pretends to listen but is really just admiring how cute she looks when she’s mad.

she’s a history nerd — if you get her started on ancient rome, world war ii, or victorian england, you’ll be there for hours. she thinks museums are romantic dates.

her dream gift is a rare edition of her favorite book. she would absolutely cry if rafe ever found her a first edition of anything.

she smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and fresh paper.

when she’s sad, she’ll wrap herself in three blankets, put on you've got mail or little women, and cry quietly while rereading her favorite comfort books.

her flirting is so accidental — she'll get all passionate about some character in a book and then realize she's been playing with rafe's sleeve or leaning too close into his space. (and rafe eats it up, pretending he doesn't notice but secretly loving it.)

she always thinks about little poetic things — like "this breeze feels like something from an emily dickinson poem" or "this sunset looks like the color of my favorite chapter in little women."

PUPPY!READER

(the bubbly, hyper little thing who just wants to be loved and played with all day.)

puppy!reader is all energy and excitement — always bouncing on the balls of her feet, twirling her hair around her finger, or playing with the sleeve of rafe’s hoodie because she just can’t sit still.

she’s so giggly — like, everything is funny to her. she’s the kind of girl who laughs so hard at her own jokes that she can’t even finish telling them.

she’s extremely affectionate — literal touch-starved puppy behavior. she clings to rafe's arm, wraps herself around him like a koala, nuzzles into his chest and makes tiny happy noises like she's purring when he plays with her hair.

she talks a lot, fast and breathless, sometimes changing subjects mid-sentence because her brain is moving a mile a minute. rafe just listens with a little smirk, letting her ramble about everything under the sun.

cat valentine coded — super sweet voice, a little high-pitched, always saying things that don't totally make sense ("rafe, do you think clouds get sad when it rains??")

she gets overwhelmed easily — too many people or too much noise makes her cling tighter to rafe’s shirt and go all wide-eyed, like a scared puppy at a firework show.

scent? cotton candy, lemon sugar, and those fruity body sprays you can only get from a tween store at the mall.

she loves snacks — always carrying gummy bears, lollipops, or little bags of chips in her purse like a kid at a sleepover.

she needs praise constantly — if rafe tells her she did a good job or that she looks pretty, she literally beams so hard it could light up the whole room.

crying style? full-on sniffles, watery eyes, little whimpering noises — and she hates when rafe sees her cry because she thinks it’ll make him mad. (he never is, he just scoops her up and rocks her gently until she calms down.)

she’s incredibly loyal — once she loves someone, that's it, forever and ever. she’ll defend rafe like a rabid little chihuahua if anyone dares talk bad about him.

texting style? voice memos (because she’s too excited to type), a million emojis (especially hearts and stars), dramatic “RAFFFFE BABY LOOK!!!” texts with random screenshots or memes she thinks are funny.

she pouts when she doesn’t get her way — big watery puppy eyes, bottom lip sticking out, tugging at the sleeve of rafe’s jacket until he caves in.

she’s a human golden retriever — ridiculously trusting, eager to please, always wagging her metaphorical tail.

she loves anything cozy — fuzzy socks, giant sweatshirts (especially stealing rafe’s), snuggling under huge piles of blankets and peeking out like a little creature.

she names everything — her plants, her car, her favorite lip gloss. she even named the stray cat she feeds every afternoon (even though it's technically not hers).

she’s the type to squeal and jump into rafe's arms the second she sees him, even if they were just apart for like, ten minutes.

naivety level? she genuinely believes rafe when he jokingly tells her she needs a license to eat cotton candy because it's “too powerful for civilians.”

she always smells like fresh laundry, cotton candy, and sunshine.

[householdcryptid]

NFWMB

based on the ask i got about protective pope when on-call!reader gets decked by a patient! title is a hozier song that is so pope coded it makes me ill <3 cw:canon typical violence, religious themes sort of(done poorly, I haven't been to church in years), original male character, original female character, stalking(?), idk what else yall tell me if I missed something lol. 2.K

It happens in a flash, so quickly you hardly have time to react. The patient's fist collides with your face with a sickening crunch, and you’re on the ground before you can yelp in pain. Warmth drips from your nostril, painting your upper lip crimson, an ache blooming across the bridge of your nose. 

A broken nose, the radiology tech tells you. Hairline fracture that will heal by itself, a nasty shiner to brag about for a week or so. The only thing you can think is that Andrew is going to be pissed. You’re stuffing bits of paper towel up your nostril when Claire, a fellow nurse, pipes up. 

“Should we call your boyfriend?” A denial clings to the tip of your tongue. He isn’t my boyfriend. Goes unsaid, because to be quite honest, you don’t know what you and Andrew are. You wave her off and come up with some lame excuse about him being busy with work. It isn’t technically a lie, at least. He’s always busy with something or other, and you never ask for details. The only problem is that the girls won’t let you drive yourself home. So, instead of calling Andrew, you resort to drastic measures. Your stomach twists anxiously, at the receiver's  pick up sound, and the, saccharine-sweet tone of Smurf’s voice meets your ears. “Hi there, Sunshine.” She greets, faux warm, the crooning sound of her voice making your face ache worse somehow. 

“Hey Smurf,” You greet in turn, index finger and thumb cradling the bridge of your nose tenderly. “I hate to bother you, but I have a favor to ask you if you’d be so kind?” You cringe at your own voice, pitched up and nasally. “Of course, baby,” Smurf hums in what you think is supposed to be a soothing manner. It only sets your teeth on edge. “What happened, hm?” 

“I need a ride.” Smurf had assured you, of course, that Andrew wouldn’t be bothered by your unfortunate injuries. An assurance in which you take with a grain of salt. Smurf doesn’t know Andrew as well as she thinks she does, after all. Or maybe this is her manipulative way to make you think he doesn’t give a shit. 

It takes some convincing, to get her to take you back to your apartment, and not the Cody house. You aren’t sure you’re ready to face Pope yet, buzzing with anxiety still, the adrenaline from earlier finally waning, leaving your fingers trembling and your knees weak. It’s late that night when a heavy fist hits your door. You’re groggy, stumbling to the door with a grumble. “Who s’it?” A moment of silence, and then:

“Open the door.” 

Shit. You duck your chin as you pull the door open for him, turning your head some in a feeble attempt to hide the bruise that marrs the skin beneath your eye in a bloom of reds and purples. “Hello, Andrew.” You greet, knowing you can’t escape him now. He doesn’t respond. Simply shoulders his way inside, movements a bit jerky, like he’s barely containing his rage. “Lemme see it.” He demands in place of a proper greeting, voice low, quiet like the calm before the storm. It makes you sigh, shoulders sagging, resigned to your swift coming scolding. You tip your chin back up, eyes averted from his own, shame-faced. His disappointment is obvious in the downturn at the corners of his lips, his anger is palpable. You’ve rarely seen Andrew truly angry, but it feels the same every time. Like something in the air has shifted, leaving it colder, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention. “It’s not so bad-” You go to downplay it, but one heavy sigh from his nose silences you. It’s quiet for a moment, the air seeming to go still, neither of you breathing for a split second. “Who?” He breaks the silence first, and it sets your nerves to fizzing all over again. “Andrew, there really isn’t a need for that-” You try to soothe, shaking your head gently, wincing when it revives the pain in your face. “Who?” He repeats, colder this time, demanding. His tone brooks no room for argument. It’s obvious he has no interest in half-assed excuses. You fumble for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before you nod. “A patient at the clinic this morning,” You mumble, reluctant to share the information. “McRoy. James, I think was his name.” His jaw clenches, a rough breath leaving his nose, nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge. You can’t meet his eyes, but you can see his fingers tense, wiggle gently, before curling into fists. “He was coked out, Andrew, wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Thought I was comin’ at him with a knife or somethin’.” You try to explain, but it comes out too weak, not convincing in the slightest. He just stares, shark-eyed, can’t look away from the bruise that mottles your pretty face. He can’t think, guilt and anger twining together in his chest, settling like an old friend. Someone hurt you. Some piece of shit put his hands on you and he wasn’t there to put the man in the ground. 

He’s stock still for a long while, a handful of minutes that feel like an hour. Then he’s moving, stalking back out your front door, slamming it behind him so hard the blinds rattle loudly, breaking the tense silence. Shit, you think for a second time that night.  

  Andrew has a long-running relationship with anger. It clings to his soul, claws dug in long before he met you, the only constant in his life. This feeling? Whatever it is is ten times worse. Like his blood boils, making his skin itch, his ears hot. A white hot rage fills him each time he pictures the bruise on your face, imagines that bastard’s fist hitting your nose. Finding James McRoy isn’t difficult. A piece of shit, twice your age, covered in shitty tattoos and smelling of grime and the acrid scent of whatever he’s smoking out of that pipe. 

Pope is efficient, a well-oiled machine meant to demolish. James goes down easy. Pope’s fist cracks against his jaw, once, twice, a third time. James crumples to the floor, shouting and kicking at Pope’s shins. Pope wonders if you fought back the same way, the idea of it makes something cruel well in his chest. His boot catches James in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind from him, and then Pope descends.

It’s well into the wee hours of the morning when you wake again. You’d stayed up an hour after Andrew left, and then another, before realizing this wasn’t some awful dream. There’s someone in your bedroom. You wake with a grumble, the ache in your nose blooming across the middle of your face. You fumble at your bedside table, searching for the bottle of Tylenol you’d left there, when a warm hand presses two pills into your palm. You jump, startled fully awake, gasping sharply. 

“The fuck-” You pause, blinking blearily as you yank on the chain of your lamp. 

“Sorry.” Andrew mumbles, retreating to the chair he’d set up by your bedside, leaned back against the wall, but he isn’t relaxed. Then again, is he ever? When your vision finally clears, you glare weakly at him. Not upset, really, just a little annoyed at being spooked so early in the morning. You get a proper look at him, and something cold settles in your belly. 

There’s blood splattered up his arms, on his shirt, his cheek. His eyes are a little wide, breathing heavy, a wild look you’ve never seen before. “Andrew..” You breathe out, a little pained, sitting up in bed, leaning towards him. “What-..?” You go to question him, but think better of it. You don’t need to ask whose blood it is, you don’t need to know details. You swallow down the questions, reaching out to take his hands in your own. He flinches minutely, fingers twitching, his eyes cutting to your own, unreadable. Your hands slow, but you don’t falter. You’d told him months ago you weren’t scared of him. He needs to know you still aren’t. “Let me see?” You ask, quiet, just above a whisper. You wait for his tiny nod, more a jerk of his chin downwards, before you take his hands in your own. His knuckles are split, an angry red that’ll scab over by morning, turn a pretty shade of purple in some places, but no fingers are broken. He tenses while you look over his hands, staring down at you, silent as the grave. You don’t know what to say, for once. With Andrew, it’s always been easy. Some inexplicable understanding between the two of you, no words needed most of the time. Now it feels different. You feel like you need to say something, show some form of gratitude maybe, even if it’s fucked up. But the words don’t come, and you end up thumbing over the back of his hand absentmindedly. “You should take the pills.” He mutters, gruff and low, his voice hoarse like he’d been shouting. His eyes are glued to where you’re cradling his hands. Transfixed, as if he simply can’t look away. It makes you smile for some reason, his worry. “Probably.” His eyes flicker up to your own, the set of his jaw slackening some. Your smile soothes him. You aren’t angry with him, you aren’t scared. “Had to do it.” He mumbles, lips twisted up, biting at the inside of them. “He hurt you.” 

The words leave him like a confession, like he’s begging for forgiveness. “I know.” You reply quietly. “It’s okay.”The tension bleeds from his shoulders, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. It’s absolution, your assurance. His breath rushes from him, trembling slightly, his chin dropping to his chest. He brings your hands up, presses the backs of them to his face, and burrows into your touch. You think your heart might be breaking. “Andrew,” You whisper, sliding from the bed, kneeling in front of him, your hands turning to cup his cheeks. You duck your head, catching his gaze. “Thank you.” His eyes flit across your face, swallowing hard. He looks younger, frightened. You wonder how he was as a kid, sometimes. If he’d always been so intense, if there was ever a moment in his life when he felt good. He leans forward, sagging into your hands, presses his forehead to your own, breathing hard. His eyes close, and he just..breathes you in. This is all he needs, all he wants. To have you close, safe, where he can smell your shampoo, and that coconut body lotion you use. “Let’s lie down,” You suggest softly, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “Yeah?” His eyebrows furrow some, warring with himself mentally, before he nods, sighing through his nose. Gentling him into your bed is easier than it should be, you think. You’d always imagined he might put up a fight, get closed off and stiff. But when you climb in next to him? He melts. Curls himself around you, presses his face to your chest, forehead at the hollow of your throat, head bowed, arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you in. You have no option but to wrap yourself around him in return. He sucks in a breath like he hasn’t been able to for the whole night, the exhale shaking a bit.  It’s too easy to fall asleep like this when he’s so warm and nuzzling at the skin just below your collarbone absently. Your fingers find his hair, and he sighs against your sternum. Sleep finds you quickly, then, falling fast and deep. You don’t know what the two of you are to each other, still, but whatever it is? You hope it never ends. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This house has been on the market about 240 days and there are no takers. The 1998 home in Ankeny, IA is like living in a giant garage, (the listing calls it a barndominium), 3bds, 4ba, 9,549 sq ft, $1.5m. It's a fun garage, though.

A vast sun room like no other. The owners may have gone a little overboard with wood features. And, the new buyer will be one who loves orange-y wood stain. Note the glass-enclosed display cabinets around the room.

Have you ever seen a living room with a car lift?

This kitchen looks like a sports bar, but it's not the main kitchen. There are more stools in the middle of the room.

Over here there's a family/TV area.

The view from above.

Thru the doors at the far end of the room there's a small sun room/conservatory.

The window in the dining area looks like it's a gold two-way mirror.

This is the main kitchen.

Enter the primary bedroom and there's this structure that looks like it may be a sauna. The design is kind of weird, with it's chippy plaster and open pitched roof.

On the other side of the sauna there's a fireplace and what appears to be a built-in canopy over the bed.

The walk-in closet can accommodate a huge hat collection.

Look at the size of this ensuite.

Does this tile remind anyone else of stuck-on hair?

I don't know why they designed an open children's bedroom, unless it's supposed to be a single, but they turned it into two.

This bath looks larger than the primary.

Another child's room that looks like it's in the basement.

Here's a very long game room on the 3rd fl. on top of the house.

And, this is a multi-sport gym.

Here's a weird room. You come down the stairs where there's a TV cabinet, a China cabinet, and a hot tub.

2nd floor deck.

The garage has some high tech equipment on one side and seating on the other.

The lot is 16 acres which includes the long private road to the house.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6681-NE-Berwick-Dr-Ankeny-IA-50021/833655_zpid/?

[pintadorartist]

KOSA Is being pushed

There is a HUGE push to pass KOSA right now at the end of the year.!

Really Quick summary: Senators Blumenthal and Blackburn "rewrote" KOSA to appeal to the right more. They worked with ELON MUSK to push this bill in order to "protecting kids". Tomorrow, many organizations are bringing groups of parents to speak to Congress. This is coming at a time when the FTC Commissioner Andrew Ferguson admitted their agenda is straight transphobia:

There are TWO ways KOSA can be passed right now. Either from the House of Representatives or by attaching it to an end-of-year spending bill. They will try both.

Republican leadership(Scalise and Johnson) are surprisingly what is stopping thia from going through. They wont admit it out loud but they dont like the bill.

WE NEED TO PUSH BACK NOW!! Those phones need to ring OFF THE HOOK tomorrow while they meet with their parents.

So call, call, and call/email/ and fax your House Representative and tell them to vote no to KOSA TOMORROW! this is an all-hands-on-deck situation.

Here are the call tools:

FFTF Call tool that should cycle you through different reps:

Find your Representative here:

In addition to these House reps, call these reps as well, they are leaders and are very important regarding the fate of this bill:

Republican:

⭐Steve Scalise

        (202) 225-3015

⭐Mike Johnson

        (202) 225-2777

Democrat:

⭐Hakeem Jeffries

            (202) 225-5936

Ayanna Pressley

(202) 225-5111

Ilhan Omar

(202) 225-4755

Jamaal Bowman

(202) 225-2464

Cori Bush 

(202) 225-2406

Here are scripts to use for the calls:

DEMOCRATIC VERSION:

I am urging you not to include KOSA in any end of year spending bills and to keep it from passing. With Trump ascending into office, this bill will give the FTC power to control speech online. FTC Commissioner Andrew Ferguson just came out with an agenda that will focus on going after online platforms for displaying LGBT content. With KOSA, this would only give them and republican attorney generals even more power to remove any content they deem “harmful”, which we know is an excuse to censor everything they don’t like. Suicide rates will skyrocket for marginalized youth with this bill restricting content.

200 human rights and LGBT organizations total came out in an open letter opposing it. The ACLU is against it. Hundreds of thousands of Gen Z are against it. We know the harms of social media, and we do not want this. Major news have reported that this bill actively harms kids. 

The rewritten bill is still very dangerous, and giving any more power to Donald Trump to silence people he deems his “enemies” is a horrible move. With people like Donald Trump Jr. and Elon Musk supporting KOSA, this is enough of a sign to not push it forward. 

Multiple experts agree this bill pushes age verification, even with the new language. KOSA hands more private data of children to third party companies. The updated language threatens encryption. How is this protecting children’s privacy?  KOSA actively harms kids. Do NOT support this bill. Thank you.

REPUBLICAN VERSION: (pretend you’re GOP)

I am urging you VOTE NO on KOSA, the Kid’s Online Safety Act. Even with the rewritten language, this is still a dangerous bill that will harm children and censor pro-life content on the internet. Even with the new language, this bill still gives state Attorney Generals power to censor any content they don’t like. This bill would be weaponized by unelected bureaucrats to censor Americans, why else do you think Democrats are pushing it so hard? Why else would Biden and Kamala Harris support it?

Many news organizations have reported that this bill actively harms kids by exposing their private data to strangers under the guise of protecting them. We need to hold Big Tech accountable, but KOSA is not the solution.

The bill let any state attorney general and the FTC to sue any website for “harmful” content. Do we really want blue state lawyers deciding what can and can’t be allowed online? Big Tech is already censoring us. That’s why they support KOSA. This is massive government overreach. We need a bill that actually protects children by creating better security measures instead of bringing about more censorship to everyone. 

Multiple experts agree this bill pushes age verification, even with the new language. KOSA hands more private data of children to third party companies, which would put them in further danger. This also exposes everyone else. How is this protecting children’s privacy? What parent would want their child’s private data in the hands of strangers like this? KOSA is actively putting kids in danger. It censors our freedom of speech. Do NOT support this bill. Thank you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Please make as many calls as possible today and tomorrow; you are not powerless; you have a voice, and in these times, it's more important than ever to use it;

I also ask that you share this around as well, make as many people around aware of this as possible. Thank you.

[lifblogs]

Aim for the Kid

Written for day 20 of Angstpril 2025, hosted by @chaos-company. Prompt: "What have you done?" Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 1927 Summary: Crosshair kills Omega on Bracca. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death READ ON AO3

“Aim for the kid.”

Hunter’s heart leapt into his throat as blasters were trained on Omega. He did what he could to get her behind him, but they were surrounded.

“Crosshair, you don’t want to do this.”

“Try me.”

“Tech, how’s that plan coming along?” Echo asked.

“Almost got it.”

“Well hurry up,” Wrecker urged.

Crosshair knew this squad, knew how they reacted to things, and he must have known all Hunter needed was time, and that that all hell was about to break loose. He must have known that giving them more time wasn’t an option, that they’d get an advantage.

Suddenly, Crosshair threw a puck, attaching to the gun turret to Hunter’s left.

Hunter couldn’t move fast enough.

One second he saw the puck land, and then there was a blaster bolt. It hit the puck, bounced off.

His entire body went hot, full of uncomfortable tingles as he heard a high-pitched choked gasp from behind him.

Hunter turned, eyes big as he saw Omega holding her chest. Her fingers came away with blood, and revealed the burnt hole in her chest. There were tears in her eyes, and oh, it must have hurt so much. And no, no, there wasn’t a hole in her chest, there couldn’t be, there couldn’t be. This wasn’t real.

No, no, no!

“Hunter?”

Blood came up in her mouth, and she started choking.

He was beside her in a second, holding her as her knees gave way, and she fell.

“It’s okay, Omega. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

It had to be okay, it had to be.

A sob left her that turned into a whimper, body shuddering.

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker were rushing to Omega, Tech already getting out the medkit.

“It… hurts,” she gasped out, and Hunter took his helmet off, letting it clatter from his shaking fingers.

Tech was there with bacta, but the blood on Omega’s lips was bright, clearly having come from an internal organ.

He saw her eyes drifting.

“Stay with me, stay with me,” he urged, holding her closer. “It’s okay, I’m right here. We’re all right here. Just stay with us. It’s gonna be okay, Omega. It’s all right. We’ve got you.”

“Hu��”

Hunter felt like he left his body as he saw the light in Omega’s beautiful brown eyes dim, as her body stopped struggling in his arms, her last breath one choked with blood.

Hunter was shaking, seeing red.

That was his daughter. He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t planned for a life without her since she had decided to stay with them. No, no. This couldn’t be happening. What was he supposed to do? This was all his fault.

But… no, it wasn’t.

Clone troopers had been closing in on him and his family as… as… as Omega died.

Hunter kissed her forehead, closing his eyes, throat aching, tears falling. Wrecker was screaming, so loud he couldn’t tell if the others were sobbing.

Hunter squeezed Omega’s tiny hand, and her not squeezing back killed him. It killed him.

He somehow managed to lower her to the deck, her blood all over him somehow.

And he turned to Crosshair, who still had his rifle aimed at them.

Hunter was shaking hard, hot and cold all at once, an agony building in his chest that was the worst pain he’d ever experienced in his entire life.

“What have you done?”

“Take them,” Crosshair ordered to his troopers.

Hunter roared, he lunged at Crosshair, knocked his rifle aside, and tackled him to the deck.

He drew his vibroblade, putting it to his throat, practically growling at him.

He’d killed his little girl. It was all his fault. It was his fault. She was dead, she was dead, she was dead, and Hunter felt like he was dying too.

A blast roared through the room, shaking everything, the deck above beginning to fall. So, Tech’s plan worked, but too late.

A great force hit him, and then Hunter was thrown off of Crosshair, debris raining down, his breath stolen. The gun firing had been so loud that now he couldn’t hear much of anything. He got to his feet, trying to figure out what was going on with all the chaos. His family was fighting, and he thought he saw tears in Tech’s eyes.

Crosshair hadn’t gotten up yet.

Hunter clambered over to him through the debris, vibroblade still in hand. He ripped his helmet off, and shook him, glad to see how dazed he was.

“What have you done?” he cried. “You killed her! You. Killed her.”

He had his vibroblade to Crosshair’s throat, nicking him, a line of blood appearing.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do the same to you!”

His hearing was coming back in a rush, everything so loud as the ship continued to fall apart, as blasters were fired, his team trying to communicate with him. He realized he’d been cut off, but he didn’t even care.

He dodged a stun blast, taking Crosshair with him.

Crosshair was hardly fighting him, that dazed look still in his eyes. His vision focused, and he was staring hard, past Hunter, in the direction of… Omega’s… body.

“Oh no,” he murmured.

Hunter frowned.

“Crosshair?”

His brother’s eyes filled with tears, and then he looked up at him.

“Hunter, I’m so sorry.”

Hunter threw a punch at him, and Crosshair took it, nose bleeding. He dropped the vibroblade, and he couldn’t stop punching him, his pain building, and building. Crosshair struggled beneath him, but Hunter had the advantage.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? She’s dead! She suffered!”

He roared as he hit him, as he beat him till his face was a swollen mess, bleeding. He grabbed the vibroblade again, heart beating hard, blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline spiking.

Hunter was so close to slitting his throat. Oh, it’d feel so good to have his hot blood running all over his hands, watch the life leave his eyes like they’d left Omega’s. But… no… this was his brother, and…

“What’s… what’s going on?” Crosshair asked, voice garbled from the swelling.

Hunter frowned. Was… was something happening with his programming?

Not knowing what else to do, Hunter grabbed his blaster and stunned him. They were going to have to figure this out later.

Though, he’d need some help. He had to carry Omega’s body. He couldn’t just leave her here, he couldn’t leave her all alone. She couldn’t be without him.

“Wrecker, can you carry Crosshair?” he cried.

“You’re not killing him?” he asked, voice choked with tears.

“Not yet.”

“I can carry him.”

“Good. Tech, what’s our exit strategy?”

Everything about leading was coming back to him, even as he picked up Omega where he’d let her fall to the deck. Some rubble had fallen on her, and it broke his heart even more, that she hadn’t been alive to brush it off of herself, to move out from under it. Hunter put his helmet back on, and he carried Omega, getting more of her blood on him. He was supposed to have only Crosshair’s blood on him, not hers. Not hers, not ever.

It was too late.

He wished he could go back, shoot Crosshair, not have qualms about it just because he was his brother. He’d change what happened. He’d move fast enough so he was the one getting shot, something! Anything but this. Please, he wanted to see her breathe again. When was the last time she’d smiled? He hadn’t realized it’d be her last.

How they got back to the Marauder was a blur, but they were chased hard, especially since they had Crosshair with them.

Hunter was sitting on the deck, Omega in his arms, looking at her pale face, her blue lips. She was already getting cold, body stiffening. She wasn’t supposed to be cold. Maybe if he got her a blanket… He vainly attempted to patch up the hole in her chest, to clean the blood from her face.

He didn’t realize that Echo had a hand on him as they fled with heavy fire from fighters, didn’t realize Echo was telling him it was too late, that she was gone.

Hunter knew it, but maybe, maybe… Maybe it’d be okay. If he just put some bacta on the wound, or, or… something, something!

Please, please. Omega.

My baby girl… don’t leave me. Please. Please.

He sobbed over her body, and once they were to safety, the others joined him, holding her with him, crying. Hunter never wanted to see his brothers cry like this. Wrecker was a mess, Echo holding him, and Echo was beating his fist against Wrecker’s chest, the grief hitting him hard, and Tech just sat there, holding Omega’s little hand, staring at nothing as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Hunter’s tears dried, and there was a groan from deeper in the ship, where Crosshair was restrained.

His vision cleared, and all he saw was him.

When he went to him, vibroblade out and ready, there was a tear on Crosshair’s bruised and bleeding face.

“I’m sorry,” he told Hunter, voice ragged.

“What is going on?” Hunter asked. “Tech?”

Tech wasn’t answering, and he had to go and shake him. “Tech, come on. I need you. You said the clones were programmed. I need help with Crosshair.”

“Oh, I’ll help you with him,” Wrecker growled. 

Hunter knew what he meant, but he had to work through the anger that made him want to rip the galaxy apart. They all did. Something was going on with his brother that he didn’t understand, there was a bigger picture.

“Not yet,” Hunter told him.

Tech examined Crosshair, asking him some questions, tone numb and faraway.

“It’s me,” Crosshair said. “The real me. I think. I—I—I remember. I remember, they did procedures on me, on my head. I didn’t think anything of it, we have to put up with that, right? We had to follow orders. I was supposed to be a good soldier. I’m a good soldier, I’m a good soldier.”

“Good soldiers don’t slaughter children!” Hunter yelled at him, shaking him again.

Crosshair stopped speaking, seeming as numb to everything as Tech.

“I cannot be certain,” Tech said, “but I believe his programming has… malfunctioned. Perhaps it is due to the horrors of… this situation.”

Hunter sat down by Crosshair, head in his hands. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t handle this.

“What have I done?” Crosshair asked, voice rough and broken, a tear trailing down through the blood on his face.

Hunter, lost, more lost than he’d ever been in his entire life, staggered away from Crosshair, back to Omega, back to… her body.

He held her, not knowing what to do. There was nothing he could do.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Hunter told her. “I’m so sorry, Omega.”

She didn’t deserve this. Maybe she should have gone with Cut, would have been safer away from them. But she’d chosen Hunter, chosen all of them, and they’d chosen her too. She had loved them, to her own demise.

Omega didn’t speak. She didn’t breath, she didn’t move, and she never would again. She would never take another breath, never smile, never laugh, never love.

She was gone.

Hunter cried into her soft blonde hair. He wasn’t anything in that moment. He didn’t know how to be a brother, or a leader, and now, he wasn’t even a father. And amidst all the crying he heard Crosshair muttering over and over again, “What have I done?”

[nostraightheadcanons]

What would a Genre Swap between DJ Subatomic Supernova and SAYU be like?

Introducing D33P S3A and SGR! The genre swaps between Sayu & DJ Subatomic Supernova!

Co designed and drawn By Mod R and Mod Nine We came up with a few things regarding them both! Read below because it gets a bit lengthy

SGR:

- Sayu is no longer a virtual mermaid but a runaway alien from a planet far out of the Milky Way, she crashed landed onto the outskirts of vinyl city in her escape pod where a group of teens found her during their annual stargazing trip. (the sayu crew!) they found a mysterious lump of brightly coloured pink and blue goo inside this mysterious pod and when Tila was the first to open the hatch the goo formed to resemble someone like her. (The hair, the baggy clothes etc) The only sounds she could make at the time were her own alien language and the word Pi. The crew later named her Pisces taking inspo from the constellation - The SGR crew run a radio station that focuses on space exploration and are a Nu Disco band named SGR. (Which means Soft Gamma ray but later was changed to Star Girl Radio) The crew end up housing Pisces and try and hide the fact they have a literal wanted alien with them. She soon turns into their mascot and the lead singer for their band. Tila taught her to sing and they both sing lead. Whilst Dodo / Sofa / Remi add their own respective styles to the music. So their music is a whole mix of flavours that culminate into one groovy intergalactic disco. They’re the charters of Cast Tech; They only found out Pisces could groove once she was messing with the turntables in their studio and her goo like hands got stuck on some records on the deck. Cue impromptu groove session - The SGR crew have a way more prominent roll and influence here; They help make Cast Tech into a hub for citizens that a bit more out of this world that they let on. If you get my drift. - Personality wise she’s more than she lets on; though bubbly and curious about this new found world around her she’s actually pretty smart and strategic. She’s helping SGR build new tech and devices and is low-key their mechanic at times. Being an alien has its advantages when it comes to tech. Although music is a new addition she isn’t familiar with. She’s a bit quirky, loud and kind of out there but she means well - Mod Nine

D33P S3A: - Personality wise he still follows the canon djss arrogance. In this version D33p S3a might be more ignorant than arrogant, caring about himself and his work more than being better. Ignoring a lot that doesnt benefit or impact himself directly. This would also explain why he is the last on the leaderboard and not caring about it. - He will boast about sea and it's creatures, calling bbj amoebas and plankton's on many instances. Instead of space manipulation, he is capable of manipulating water. The ability to change size still retains and is using it in the boss battle through the phases, just like djss. - His battle goes from the shore where you meet him up into deep deep waters. In each and every phase the background gets darker and harder to beat, up until the final phase where everything seems to be almost pitch dark, safe for some visuals to fight. D33p s3as jacket seems to be have some glowing details, putting him into the spotlight. (It also seems to be reversible and have webbed hands) - His occupation is marine biologist, a well known and respected one. He spent majority of his life learning about sea. His occupation as an artist was just a side hobby, that gotten out of hand and landed him in this position. He uses the status that came with it to fund his research - Mod R

[the-fluff-piece]

Tropetember 8

Law's Amnesia

Also check out my stories and headcanon masterlists

Law gets knocked out and gets - AMNESIA! But not the boring medical kind, the fun quirky kind of tropes. He shows the crew a different side as he forgets who he is and what hardships he had to endure

"Kind of sucks when your doc is the one who would need help..." Shachi mused as he and Bepo monitored Law's condition.

He got a massive hit in the head from Luffy - by accident, the other captain swore. Now he was out and sleeping it off.

Bepo put his paw on Law's forehead, patting his captain for comfort.

You've offered to take over so the others could get some sleep. Taking a book and some tea with you, you prepared for an uneventful night.

Law had a light bruise in his head but it didn't make him any less handsome. His face looked stern, even when he was unconscious. His fine features were heartbreaking as always and you allowed yourself to let your fingers trail down his cheek - only to check his temperature and general condition of course.

When you felt his groomed goatee under your fingers, he twitched lightly, making you jump.

He grimaced in pain and groaned, opening his eyes slowly and lifting his head.

"Law, you're awake!" You stated the obvious as you tried to keep him down. Of course, your captain had to wear a half open shirt and of course, you happened to touch his bare chest.

"You need to stay in bed or you'll get dizzy!" You warned him.

"What?" He asked, his eyes looking at you with a confused expression.

With soft force, you pressed him into the bed again, while his eyes were fixed on your face.

"Who are you? Where am I?" He asked, the softness and higher pitch of his voice sounded unfamiliar to you.

"Captain that's not funny, it's me, y/n" you still had to press him down, he was surprisingly strong for just waking up.

"Captain? Who?" He pushed against you and sat up, shaking his head.

"Wow, cool stuff!" He looked around his own medical bay as of he was seeing it for the first time.

"And who are you again?" He asked you, looking you up and down with open interest.

"Are you some kind of mechanic? Is that your tech stuff?" His voice sounded excited and light, absolutely not like his usual self.

As he moved to get out of the bed you pressed him back down with all your power and only succeeded because you surprised him with a jump.

"Whoa, babe, slow down!" He chuckled as you found yourself half on top of him, both hands on his chest.

"You uhm.. you need to lie down, you took a serious blow to the head" you explained with urgency.

"So you're like...my girlfriend?" His eyes beamed like a little boy's in a candy store.

"You're cute!" He said as he grabbed your shoulders and drew you into an embrace.

"CAPTAIN" you screamed, trying to wiggle out of an iron grip.

"Where?" Law let go and looked around.

You jumped down from the bed and caught your breath - he has lost his mind!

And he was already swinging his feet out of the bed, energetically looking around like a 5 year old on sugar.

"I have to see the rest of this thing!" He ran towards the door, and you couldn't hold him back. He was far stronger and faster than you, instead he grabbed your hand and dragged you with him through the door.

"Wow, where am I?" He asked.

"The polar tang - your ship!" You said as you tried to keep up with his long strides.

"My ship? And my girlfriend! I'm so lucky! Just the name of the ship is weird" He laughed. He dragged you down the corridor and to deck, where he stopped dead in his tracks.

"A bear!?" He looked at Bepo in disbelief. The white bear sat on deck and enjoyed some cool night air. As soon as he heard Law's comment, he blushed and stammered excuses.

"Ca...captain??? You are awake?" He eventually got a hold of himself.

Law approached his first mate really carefully.

"A talking bear!" He said.

"SORRY" Bepo bowed down.

"Hey whaaa...?" Bepo blushed until he became a fleshy pink.

As he bowed down, Law grabbed his ears and was squeezing them thoroughly while making "awww" sounds and giggling.

"What's going on here?" Shachi appeared in the door, looking shocked. "He isn't supposed to be up yet!"

"He just...I think he has amnesia!" You said.

"Amnesia?" Shachi rubbed his chin.

"Could be. In any case, you need to get back to bed Captain!" He said to Law.

"Who's this captain?" Law looked around and finally stopped molesting Bepo, who sank to his as a whimpering white mess.

"You are! And we need you! So please go back to bed, you need rest!" Now Shachi helped you to push Law back in the direction of sick Bay.

"Me? Captain? Wow, my life is awesome! I have a cute girlfriend, a ship AND a crew???" He looked like he could burst from happiness and excitement.

"...girlfriend?" Shachi asked.

"He kind of decided that I am his girlfriend" you answered, blushing.

Shachi seemed like he wanted to make a sassy comment when Law suddenly dug in his heels and stared at his reflection in one of the windows.

He studied the tattoos on his chest and hands and let his hands run through his hair.

"I...I..." he seemed overwhelmed, "I look like a crook! A gangster! A...a..." he seemed at a loss for words.

"A pirate?" You helped him.

"Yes! One of those! That would be awful!" He said it with such upstanding distaste that you and Shachi just had to exchange a glance to come to the same conclusion.

"Of course your not a pirate. You're a...fashion model!" You told him.

"Woah, really?" Law seemed to relax again - and become more docile.

"Yes and I am your girlfriend! Let's go to bed, it's late!" It still felt strange to talk to him that way, but he seemed to like what he heard and followed you like a lamb back to his sick bed.

"See? That wasn't so bad. Now you just have to lay down again so you can rest." You indicated the bed with your outstretched hand.

"It seems really small" Law said.

"It's big enough for you" You said.

"And you?" Law blushed.

"What about me?" He confused you now.

"I mean...since you are my girlfriend, you sleep in my bed" He grinned.

"Uhm..." You had to swallow and looked at Shachi for help. He grinned, to. That bastard.

"You two are so in love, you squeeze into a tiny bed" He chuckled maliciously and slowly walked out of the room.

"So romantic! I love cuddling. I think" Law was absolutely on board and threw himself into the cushions, his arms open to receive you.

"Uhm...why don't you go to sleep while I work some more?" You said.

"I am hurt and need rest. You said so yourself! I need you to sleep" Law stated like a kid that just outwitted a grown up.

"Fine." You awkwardly settled on the bed, when Law shook his head.

"Your boiler suit is dirty. You don't sleep with that" He indicated some oil stains on your suit.

You never wore more than underwear and a shirt under that thing. It could get hot. But he really needed to sleep, so you pulled down the zipper under Law's lusty gaze. When you finally slipped it from your shoulders, he commented with another "wow" as he stared at you with undeniable adoration.

He opened his arms again and tucked you into his side as soon as you settled on the bed. Immediately you noticed his cold, clammy hands.

"Law, you're so cold, are you hungry? Are you dizzy?" You asked.

"So...sleepy...with...girlfriend..." he rested his head on your shoulder as he pressed against you and seemed to pass out again. You waited until he breathed deeply and evenly and slipped out of his tight grip.

He looked relaxed and content as he slept and you resumed your watch over him.

-----

Yes, I'm pretty sure that head injuries don't work like that, but this is tropetember so Law has the right kind of Amnesia and will be fine xD I hope you enjoyed it

Taglist@yeeeeezly @waitingmydemons @stariski @livwritesfics @violetmatcha

[wolfliving]

Ten years of ThingsCon

The program is starting to take shape, and we cannot wait! You can find more details below. Almost all the workshop slots are filled, and we are finalizing our exhibition. The design contest for the special celebration exhibition with provotypes of Generative Things has started, and we are fine-tuning our special anniversary party with WLDRF playing generative tunes.

Join us on 12 & 13 December in Volkshotel Amsterdam and celebrate with us 10 years of ThingsCon!

Check our website for the latest updates.

We also value quick deciders, so if you register this week, you will get a 20% discount on the tickets; use the code THNGS2024-20 for the regular tickets.Buy your tickets now!

Keynotes 

Alexandra Deschamps-Sonsino

✧

Matt Webb

✧

Iohanna Nicenboim

✧

Manon den Dunnen

✧

Simone Rebaudengo

Overview of the sessions

These are the confirmed Thursday sessions:

✦

System design for establishing The Internet of People in a post-oil-world 

(Rob van Kranenburg and guests)

✧

Rethinking Fashion Systems 

(Troy Nachtigall)

✧

Generating Trust In A Digital Food System  (Lorna Goulden, Kai Hermsen)

✧

Plushification – Soft DIY Devices for Private Communication 

(Albrecht Kurze, Arne Berger, Klaus Stephan, Stephan Hildebrandt, Karola Köpferl) 

✧

More-than-human design card deck  (Eva van der Born)

✧

Transitions and the Power of Generative Design

(Panel Alexandra Deschamps-Sonsino, Iohanna Nicenboim, Iskander Smit, more tba)

✧

Distributed everything – a workshop on weird modularity

(Joep Frens, Mathias Funk)

And on Friday we have the following sessions planned:

✦

Proactive civic relationships with urban tech in public spaces

(Mike de Kreek, Tessa Steenkamp)

✧

Reboot & Reimagine IoT

(Geke van Dijk)

✧

Uncover the (Gen)AI Blindspots of Generative Things

(Jonne van Belle)

✧

AI Dreams & Disruptions

(Sen Lin)

✧

Making sense of generative cities 

(tba)

✧

Enacting human robot encounters

(Nazli Cila, Marco Rozendaal)

✧

Generative immersive experiences

(tba)

✧

Interactive Environments – exhibition tour

(Allessandro Ianniello)

✧

Design contest Generative Things – exhibition tour

(Iskander Smit)Buy your tickets now!

Exhibition and more 

We’re finalizing our exhibition. 

Let us know if you have work to consider before the end of this week.

✦

TH/NGS 10 Generative Things from the Next Decade

✧

Interactive Environments of TU Delft

✧

When ChatGPT meets an old Typewriter – TU Chemnitz

✧

Shadowplay by Joseph Lindley

And more:

✦

Short pitches of inspiring new work

✧

DCODE book launch and panel: Rethink Design: A vocabulary for designing with AI

✧

Special evening celebrating 10 years ThingsCon

Looking forward to see you all! 

You received this email because you subscribed to our list. You can unsubscribe at any time. Silodam 366, Amsterdam, NH, 1013AW, Netherlands

[tieflingkisser]

Facebook Allegedly Detected When Teen Girls Deleted Selfies So It Could Serve Them Beauty Ads

"This is what puts money in all our pockets."

from the article:

You might have heard the famous maxim that "if something is free, you're the product." The freemium world of apps and social media have made it nearly indisputable,heralding a previously unimaginable tech panopticon known as "surveillance capitalism."

Surveillance capitalism came about when some crafty software engineers realized that advertisers were willing to pay bigtime for our personal data, which builds up as we surf the web. That data helps advertising corporations "understand their audience" and "deliver highly relevant content," and has expanded into a global data trade as more and more people spend more time online.

The data trade is how social media platforms like Google, YouTube, and TikTok make their bones. In 2022, the data industry raked in just north of $274 billion worth of revenue. By 2030, it's expected to explode to just under $700 billion.

And as the data trade expands, so too does the tech behind it. What were once chintzy if endearing tabloid-style popups — "Doctors hate him! See how he reversed his age with one weird trick" — have now become hyper-personalized ads crafted and delivered for very specific groups of users, a system called "social media targeting."

[...]

A recent tell-all book by former Facebook insider Sarah Wynn-Williams, titled "Careless People," is blowing the lid on the sheer depravity of the social media giant's targeting machine. Wynn-Williams worked at Facebook — which subsequently changed its name to Meta a few years back — from 2011 to 2017, eventually rising to the role of public policy director.

As early as 2017, Wynn-Williams writes, Facebook was exploring ways to expand its ad targeting abilities to thirteen-to-seventeen-year-olds across Facebook and Instagram — a decidedly vulnerable group, often in the throes of adolescent image and social crises.

Though Facebook's ad algorithms are notoriously opaque, in 2017 The Australian alleged that the company had crafted a pitch deck for advertisers bragging that it could exploit "moments of psychological vulnerability" in its users by targeting terms like "worthless," "insecure," "stressed," "defeated," "anxious," "stupid," "useless," and "like a failure."

The social media company likewise tracked when adolescent girls deleted selfies, "so it can serve a beauty ad to them at that moment," according to Wynn-Williams. Other examples of Facebook's ad lechery are said to include the targeting of young mothers based on their emotional state, as well as emotional indexes mapped to racial groups, like a "Hispanic and African American Feeling Fantastic Over-index."

"To me, this type of surveillance and monetization of young teens’ sense of worthlessness feels like a concrete step toward the dystopian future Facebook’s critics had long warned of," Wynn-Williams reflects.

[graphypixllc]

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[saffronmidnightparade]

The Vermillion Harbor is a place famous for its imports, exports, and luxury cruise ships. The seafood is unparalleled here. Tonight, as the midnight hour rolls in? It's something else. A decommissioned aircraft carrier, a relic of a war long gone has pulled into harbor, and docked for the event.

Below deck, incredibly protected quiet rooms stop the noise from reaching overwhelming pitches.

A fully staffed pool, strewn with party lights, is available to attendees.

There's rumor of a battle joint on the ship and nobody can find it!

On deck, the main attraction, the dancefloor is already filled with movement and thumping bass. The repurposed hanger, something that could fit absolutely enormous planes, has been converted to a high tech explosive space for music and movement. The catwalks above are shrouded, and the ghost pokemon cordially invited make up a third of the crowd.

Lording over the space, a Banette with strange sleeves, headphones and cords hanging from its body, opens its mouth and lets out a SCREAM.

DJ- NIGHT SHAAAAADEEEE

THE DANCE WITH THE DEAD HAS BEGUN!

> ATTEND THE RAVE?

> LISTEN TO THE SET?

[relevant-url-incoming]

Greying

once again doing some outside perspectives of when people realise caibos is actually Baby, this time with Tharan (can you tell this is matching up to my playthrough) (also realising that they did imply that he can stop shielding and therefore no longer be weakened once vivicar's done sending out the plague signals or whatever the fuck but that's dumb i like my consequences long-lasting and heartwrenching. i handwaved it for some of my consulars but not for Caibos i am making this boy suffer)

The first time Tharan realised how deceptive the Jedi’s looks must be was when he returned with Qyzen from the Carida. Tharan had seen how haggard Caibos had looked after shielding Master Fain, but it was the greying at his temples as he returned from saving Fain’s daughter that clinched it.

“I see shielding this victim has done a number on you,” he said, eyeing Caibos as he trudged up the steps into the ship. He couldn’t help but feel concerned. He’d thought the wrinkles and occasional winces of pain were due to a life lived well and long. The rapidity of his degeneration today made that significantly less likely. Not that Tharan was any less excited to be travelling the galaxy with him, as the Jedi had certainly proved himself, but this rendered the Jedi an unknown quantity once more. Tharan only liked that in a new piece of tech, and when he knew the unknown could be made known through his genius.

“I’m fine,” Caibos said. Tharan looked at Qyzen. He couldn’t be sure, having not had the opportunity to learn Trandoshan facial expressions, but he thought Qyzen looked upset or frustrated. Certainly, it was an unusual expression for the hunter.

“Rest, Herald,” Qyzen said. “Cannot hunt on shaking legs.”

“I am fine,” Caibos said again. There was a strange note to his voice – higher-pitched and plaintive, like a boy whose voice was still dropping. Tharan’s sense of foreboding grew. “I must call Master Syo.”

Tharan trailed after Caibos and Qyzen, intending to keep an eye on the Jedi. There was something strange in Syo Bakarn’s eyes as he spoke to Caibos, Tharan saw now – and he apologised to Caibos.

“I did what I must do,” Caibos said, as though these were words he said so often he didn’t have to plan them. From Syo and Qyzen’s reactions, they had heard them before, too.

“I appreciate your commitment, young Jedi,” Syo said. “But the Council does not take your sacrifices lightly.”

“Master Syo, we should discuss Lord Vivicar,” Caibos said too quickly.

When the call was done, Tharan did not return to the lower deck right away. Instead, he followed Caibos to the cockpit.

“Is something wrong?” Caibos asked.

“It’s difficult to say,” Tharan said, unsure how to start the conversation. “It has occurred to me there are a few things I neglected to ask you when this partnership began, not being on my mind at the time –“

“Tharan, it’s quite all right. You can ask me anything.” Caibos’ voice was so soothing and solemn that Tharan felt incredibly silly for a moment. He would only insult and confuse the Jedi if he was wrong – but then again, he was a genius. Perhaps not always in matters of picking up on lies and half-truths, but Tharan had never been a fool.

“How old are you?” he asked.

He knew immediately that he had guessed right. Caibos stiffened, seeming to search for an answer.

“Fifteen,” he muttered at last, sounding for all the galaxy like a sullen teenager. Tharan supposed, to his mounting horror, that he was. “How did you know?”

“I wasn’t certain,” Tharan said. He needed now to recategorize each of their interactions. The way Caibos’ eyes skittered over Holiday’s midriff – not just a Jedi with an overdeveloped sense of propriety, but a boy unsure of how to interact. The insistence on handling everything himself – knowledge of his own competence, or a desire to prove himself?

“Then why did you ask?”

“It occurred to me after your most recent foray into shielding your fellow Jedi,” Tharan said. “That perhaps your wizened appearance is not due solely to time lived.”

“I’m not wizened,” Caibos said, sounding disgruntled.

“My dear boy,” Tharan said with no small amount of amusement. “You are now going grey.”

He reached up to touch his hair, positively pouting.

“You look very distinguished, never fear,” Tharan said. “Though I should say if anyone expresses interest in such things, you may want to disclose your age sooner rather than later.”

“Why would – Oh. That’s – I am a Jedi!”

“Of course,” Tharan said. “But if you ever desire advice –“

“Tharan, you don’t need to treat me differently,” Caibos said. “You didn’t treat me like a child before.”

“That would be my mistake, and not yours,” Tharan said more sombrely. “I don’t doubt your skill, Jedi. But it doesn’t take a genius to know a child should not shoulder these burdens alone.”

“I’m not a child.”

That sentence alone was enough to confirm his age. Tharan smiled, reminded all too well of his own teenage years. What a hellion he had been.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “I thank you for your time.”

He was no expert on biology, but he resolved to see what he could find to diminish Caibos' symptoms. Especially if this plague continued, the boy would need all the support he could get. He may not welcome it, but Tharan was quite good at making his efforts so indispensable that even the most recalcitrant of people had to accept them.

[rplayford02]

KEEPER: Production

The shoot ran fairly smoothly. Here’s a run down day by day!

Friday - Changing Rooms

The prep we did during the tech recce really helped here. I was able to tell Tom exactly where he should boom from without having to consult camera. We did eventually need to consult camera to check exact edge of frame, but the prep definitely streamlined our communication.

Saturday - day off!

Talked about the shoot with Ben.

Sunday - Will’s Bedroom

A lot of time spent basking in the sun on the decking at Jake’s, waiting for the light to change. It was an indoor location where we had full control so it was fairly easy for sound. Only challenge was space. The room wasn’t very large and we (Tom and I) had to hide in a corner behind camera. When I wasn’t soaking up the sun, I was hiding in a cupboard next to an unnerving pillow of Jake’s face.

Monday - 1st Pitch Day

So rainy! The weather made communicating anything ten times harder, and it was our first day out on the pitch so we were still settling into the environment. To make it all just slightly more complicated, we switched around the schedule so we were basically shooting in sequence. It was necessary to move all of scene 5 onto this day to minimise continuity errors, however it did create some confusion. I hadn’t really prepped to shoot those scenes on that day so it kind of put us on the back foot. This being said, we still got everything shot and only wrapped slightly late.

Tuesday - also a day off!

Had crew dinner at Nando’s and conversations with Ben about the direction of the film so far - what beats we were already hitting, what might need adapted. With our style of shooting, there was room for some flexibility. Was also able to speak with Zoe at SAS about how sound was going. Came up with a strategy with Alex and Ben for how we would better communicate over the next two days on set.

I’ve never been able to reflect on a shoot whilst it was happening before and I was surprised at how valuable I found this day off. Such a shame that I’ll probably never have the luxury again!

Wednesday - 2nd Pitch Day

Ran much smoother. No huge issues, except that Monday’s shoot had made me ill. :((

Slightly concerned about the sound for water break 2 - the boom couldn’t be close at all and I couldn’t get LAVs on them, since it’s a continuous take from the scene before.

Tom continued to be an incredible boom op through very, very long takes in the freezing cold! I was very grateful!

Thursday - 3rd Pitch Day

Last day ever on a set in uni! People cried! Unusually, not me!

Also ran smoothly. Re-shot the walkout shot from Monday. Sound was good, probably the best of the three days. Had a chance to get some extra field tracks of the ambience.

In the end, sound wasn’t actually forced to compromise much at all. There were a lot of factors which we couldn’t always control and that was scary, for sure. The improvised dialogue, improvised movements, the loud, inconsistent, constant background noise, the weather, the broken/missing kit (two crackly radio mics and no waist bands!) - it was all against us and yet there were no real catastrophes, which shows how much my sound recording has improved in the past two years.

At times the stress got the better of us (mainly me, maybe Alex) but on the whole, the set was extremely professional and well run. I really enjoyed being able to focus entirely on sound recording, which never really seems to happen on student projects. I just loved working with this team! Everyone was firing on all cylinders and I could trust that everyone was doing their jobs amazingly and just focus on my own sound shit. I still had my overstepping, control-freak moments but they were significantly reduced.

It was so cool to see it all come together from pre-production. I’m so proud of everyone and grateful for all the work they put into this film!

[valuation-genius]

The Valuation Slide That Wins Investors

The Valuation Slide That Wins Investors

In the glitzy world of startups, where innovation meets ambition, there’s one slide in a pitch deck that can command the attention of everyone in the room – the valuation slide. Whether you’re an early-stage startup or merely gauging the potential of a business idea, presenting the perfect valuation can set the stage for a successful fundraising effort. But how do you nail this slide, especially if you have no revenue yet? Let’s delve deeper.

Why Valuation Matters

The valuation of a startup isn’t just about numbers or potential revenue. It’s a narrative of the company’s potential, vision, and the value it aims to deliver to stakeholders. For investors, valuation serves as a compass – it guides them to ascertain the risk associated with your startup and the potential return on their investment. While revenue is a straightforward measure for established companies, startups often operate in the realm of vision, potential, and innovation. This makes the valuation slide not only about the worth but also about the story behind that worth.

Crafting the Perfect Valuation Slide

1. Simplicity is Key: Don’t overwhelm your audience with complex calculations or jargon. Present a clear, concise valuation figure and back it up with 3-4 key metrics or reasons that support it.

2. Storytelling: Numbers, on their own, can be lifeless. Weave a compelling story around your valuation. How did you arrive at this figure? What milestones or potential growth does this number represent?

3. Visual Appeal: A picture is worth a thousand words. Use charts, graphs, or infographics to represent data. It aids in comprehension and retention.

4. Be Prepared for Questions: The valuation slide will undoubtedly raise eyebrows and questions. Be ready to defend your valuation with data, research, and comparables from the industry.

The Role of Valuation Tools

Not everyone is a financial wizard, and that’s okay. In today’s tech-driven age, tools like ValuationGenius can give you an edge. These platforms provide an approximate valuation based on a range of factors, eliminating the need for deep financial know-how. While this shouldn’t be the sole basis of your valuation, it can serve as a starting point or a validation tool. When combined with market research and industry benchmarks, tools like these can make your valuation slide more credible and robust.

Case Study: Litemeup and the Power of AI in Valuation

Meet Litemeup, a fledgling startup on the brink of transforming the packaging industry with AI-driven design. While they had a groundbreaking concept, they faced a common challenge many early-stage startups grapple with: how to place a valuation on an idea when there’s no product or revenue in play?

Enter ValuationGenius

Without a product, without revenue, and seemingly without the necessary data points that typically inform valuation, Litemeup turned to our tool. ValuationGenius didn’t just spit out a random number. Instead, it provided a range of estimates based on different valuation methods. But what truly stood out was the grounding of these estimates. Each was justified not just by data, but by the wisdom of business development and an inherent understanding of the startup landscape.

So, when Litemeup pitched to investors, they had more than just a vision. They presented a detailed valuation slide that wasn’t built on optimistic projections or vague assumptions but on a solid foundation provided by ValuationGenius. The result? They secured the trust and, subsequently, the investment from stakeholders, proving that even in a world where numbers often dominate, there’s always room for common sense and astute business acumen.

Conclusion

While a startup’s journey is riddled with challenges, presenting the right valuation shouldn’t be one of them. Remember, your valuation is more than just a number. It’s a representation of your startup’s vision, potential, and promise. Craft it with care, back it up with data, and present it with confidence. Value startup with no revenue