#the way to do this is probably just to find a drawing program and backtrack to which laptops have it

[abluescarfonwaston]

Me: Hey Google what's a good computer for someone just getting into digital art

Google: TOP TOP TIER COMPUTERS THAT WILL HELP YOU UNLOCK THE SHRIMP COLORS

me: I really just wanted something small I could write on and maybe draw with sometimes.

Google: HERES 15 LAPTOPS THAT WILL SUCK YOUR DICK WHILE YOU ANIMATE A MOTION PICTURE

Me: I just want one step up from pokemon art academy on the DS...

Google: THIS TITANIUM MASTERWORK WILL EXPLODE UPON YOUR DEATH SO NO ONE CAN SEE ALL THE SMUT YOU DREW

Me: okay well that is a nice feature

[dessarious]

Old Scars and New Beginnings Pt27

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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“Is Miss Marinette feeling better?” Alfred’s voice pulled Bruce out of his thoughts and he couldn’t help but wonder what better even meant in this case.

“She’s responsive and calm for the moment. I believe it was the loudness that set her off earlier. We’re going to need to keep track of everything that triggers her. I have a feeling it’s going to be an extremely long list.” Her parents had made her afraid of everything but helping people it seemed.

“I’ve already set up a shared document that everyone can read and add to. I’ve texted it to everyone’s phone. It has columns for both triggers and things that keep Miss Marinette calm.” Bruce pulled out his phone to find the link and found that the boys had already added their own notes.

“Penny and I can help with that if you give us access.” Jagged was frowning at an entry Dick made about reacting poorly to being touched by unknown males.

“Do you know why she has an issue being touched by men?” The man’s face hardened at Bruce’s question and he wasn’t certain he was going to get an answer.

“Her parents told you she slept around right?” Bruce just nodded. Jagged looked like he was on the verge of murder. “Before they stopped her business she got a call about a quote. They gave her an address to go to. When she got there…” He had to pause and take deep breaths. Bruce wasn’t even sure he wanted to hear where this was headed. “When she got there a man was waiting for her. She managed to subdue him before he could do more than give her a few bruises thank god, but ever since she’s been skittish around men she doesn’t know.”

“And why would that make her parents think she was sleeping around?” Alfred asked the question. Bruce was too furious to talk. He couldn’t even see straight at this point.

“When the police got there the guy said he’d just answered an online ad. Someone set it up with Mari’s name but there was no way for them to trace who actually posted it. Everyone just assumed she’d set it up and chickened out at the last moment, or was trying to get sympathy. There was a lot of bullshit going around at the time.” Bruce could only glare at the wall.

“Her parents actually believed that?” Alfred’s voice was deceptively calm but Bruce knew the man about three seconds from hopping a plane to Paris. Bruce didn’t want to waste the time but he could make a phone call…

“By then everything was already so messed up. I don’t know what they believed or said to her but she changed after that and not just with the way she acted around strangers. She wouldn’t go anywhere alone. She insisted on other people being present when she opened any type of correspondence. Text, e-mail, didn’t matter what it was. She wouldn’t look at it by herself. It’s like she felt she needed a witness for everything that happened in her life. I wish I could say she was wrong.”

“Any thoughts on who set her up?” Bruce eyed Alfred warily. If Jagged had a name that person very well might disappear in the next few days. As much as he didn’t advocate killing there were certainly times to look the other way.

“Plenty of thoughts but no proof. If I knew for sure I would have fed them to Fang a long time ago.” Bruce let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. The more he found out about Marinette the more certain he was that he’d done the right thing. There was no way even his kids could be worse than what she’d already had to deal with. He was dreading having to tell Selina about this though. If there were many more things like this in Marinette’s past he wouldn’t be able to stop her from burning Paris to the ground. He wasn’t even sure he’d try to stop her at this point.

“I’ll make sure Jason knows to tell Syd she needs to back off anyone who tries to crowd her.” Alfred looked amused and Jagged actually laughed.

“I thought you didn’t want that kid around Mari.” Bruce frowned at Jagged.

“That was before I knew she’d need a bodyguard. No one messes with that girl and if she’s with Marinette, she’ll get the same protection.”

“Master Bruce is quite right. Miss Sydney is very capable. For now though I have a surprise for Miss Marinette if you think she’s well enough for it.” Bruce raised an eyebrow at Jagged but the man just shrugged.

“What kind of surprise?” Bruce knew that Alfred wouldn’t do anything to intentionally upset the girl but at this point they didn’t know what even half of those things were.

“A good one.” Because that was helpful. In the end Bruce had to trust Alfred’s judgement. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it later.

When they walked into the room he was shocked to hear Marinette giggling. Selina was recounting some story involving Dick and Tim but he couldn’t pay attention to it. As far as he knew this was the first time Marinette had relaxed enough to laugh. Now he really hoped Alfred’s surprise didn’t set her back. He froze in the doorway slightly afraid of what Selina would do to him if he startled the girl. Jagged had no such reservations.

“What’s so funny?” Marinette turned and immediately drew in on herself huddling closer to Penny. Any signs of laughter wiped away in an instant. He hazarded a look at Selina but she just looked concerned.

“I was just filling Marinette in on some of the insanity she agreed to be a part of.” That was the understatement of the century. Forget their other lives, all his kids were disasters anyway. For all she’d been though Marinette was probably the most normal, even if it turned out she was a superhero.

“Miss Marinette.” Alfred had stepped past him but Bruce simply stayed where he was. He knew he made the girl nervous, hell she still hadn’t called him anything besides Mr. Wayne yet. The furtive looks she shot at him didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. “I’d like to show you something.”

“Okay.” Her voice was soft. Anyone else would have asked what it was but she just accepted it. Maybe her parents had punished inquisitiveness as well. Just the thought made it necessary to calm himself down. Alfred took her hand and led her to a door opposite the bathroom and closet.

“This house was originally set up for occupants to have suites of rooms, generally two or three.” She’d tensed as they neared the door and Bruce thought Alfred was talking to try and calm her down. “Your room is connected to a second that was originally used as a sitting room. I decided to convert it for your use.” He opened the door and reached in to turn on the light. Bruce couldn’t see Marinette’s expression but he heard her surprised gasp.

The room was split into sections. Around the large window were a couple of cushioned chairs to take advantage of the view into the gardens. It would be a good place to draw, read, or just get lost in thought. Next was a section that was obviously meant for design. There was a work table with a sewing machine as well as shelves and drawers full of fabrics, threads, buttons, and who knows what else. Last was an area obviously meant for study. It held a desk, office supplies, her school books, a laptop, and finally a new cell phone. Even for Alfred it was impressive that he’d managed to set this up in one day.

“Well, what do you think?” The question came from Selina and Marinette turned just enough for Bruce to see tears in her eyes and a hurt expression on her face. She didn’t answer, but rather just kept shaking her head. Everything in him screamed ‘abort’ but he needed to understand her reaction.

“Marinette.” She looked at him and there was so much raw pain there. He was going to ask her what was wrong but it seemed like such an inadequate question. He also wasn’t sure she’d give him a straight answer. She’d looked hurt. Why would… the answer hit him fast and hard. He walked over and knelt down so he’d be at her eye level. “This room is here for you. Everything in it is yours. I know your parents wouldn’t let you design or use electronics, but those restrictions don’t apply here. Do you understand?”

The poor girl looked so confused. It was too much too fast. She’d been denied everything she loved from her passion to her friends to her parents affections. She couldn’t wrap her brain around the thought that she could have any let alone all of it back. He really should have pressed Alfred more about this surprise. He didn’t have the first clue on how to backtrack from this either.

“How about we start with one thing at a time okay?” He made his voice as gentle as possible and it seemed to help.

“Okay.” The response was just rote at this point but he’d take it. He stood and held out a hand which she hesitantly took. He led her over to the desk that was obviously meant for school. This would be the most familiar, the easiest to accept.

“These are all the things you need for school, though I’m sure Selina will be happy to take you to get some more personalized supplies if you want.” She shot him a scared look at the last part. Was she afraid of taking up Selina’s time, or frightened that the words were a trap? This was exhausting. She kept eyeing the phone and laptop like they were going to bite her. “You’ll need the computer for school, but you don’t have to only use it for that. If you want someone with you at first when you use it to make sure everything you’re doing is acceptable you can ask any of us, alright?”

“Okay.” She still seemed uncertain but the offer of a chaperone of sorts seemed to set her at ease. Maybe Jagged was right when he said she needed witnesses.

“This phone is for you as well.” He picked it up and put it in her hand. She actually started shaking. “All of our numbers are programmed in it as well as a few others Alfred thought you’d appreciate. The GPS is active so that we can find you just because Gotham is a dangerous city and if there’s an attack I like to be able to find everyone.” Again she relaxed slightly. Everything in her life had been monitored for so long she didn’t know how to react when someone wasn’t watching her. She began looking through the contacts and her face turned into a confused frown.

“Are Adrien and Chloe’s numbers in her so I don’t accidentally answer if they call?” The question was timid, like she thought she’d be punished for not understanding on her own. Because of that it took him a moment to process what she’d actually said.

“Why would you think that?” She hesitated and refused to look up. When she did answer it came out in a mumble as though she didn’t want to be heard.

“Because I’m not allowed to talk to them.” Bruce felt a headache forming. This situation was so surreal for him. He knew how to deal with kids who pushed boundaries and broke rules. He did not have any clue how to make a kid stop following rules that had been put in place by someone else. He gently put a hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. The fear in her eyes made him physically hurt.

“You’re parents didn’t allow you to talk to them but your parents aren’t here and they no longer have a say in your actions. Their numbers, along with Jagged and Penny’s are in your phone so that you can talk to them. Whenever you want.” Her expression went completely blank. Shit, he broke her.

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Kofi

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[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

2. The Stars Are Only the Beginning

Everything was beautiful! She saw things that she hadn’t seen before, things that she believed to be long gone, like fruit trees and people with pets. On the bus ride to the Academy, she counted 57 people with pets! They had little animals in their bag, or bigger ones, on a leash. The air smelled cleaner and there were fountains lining the school grounds. She was reminded of an old book where a boy goes to magic school for the first time. This. Was. Like. Magic. 

The world that Nana had known wasn’t dead. She was just not able to be a part of it anymore… And now, Shani would be! She would be able to live out her Nana’s dreams. That’s what she thought. The childlike wonder burning bright inside of her for the first time in real life.

One of the first things that happened upon leaving the bus was decontamination. The students went into a chamber that served as a huge shower, placing their bags on a conveyor belt to be scanned, searched, and disinfected. After the showers, they were given uniforms to put on and handed the rest of their uniforms. They were taken to treatment, where they were tested for diseases, lice, etc. 

“You’ll have to get rid of your hair,” the lady told Shani.

“Oh no! Do I have lice?” She panicked. She had heard about lice before, but never had it, as far as she knew.

“It’s too much,” the woman said.

“I can handle it,” Shani promised her. She had never cut her hair before, ever. The woman informed her that she had to get on that right away because photos for IDs were next and her hair was against protocol.  Shani tried to recall being informed of what protocol for hair was. She didn’t remember seeing that in any manual, but she had not yet accessed the Student Handbook, as it was an online handbook, and she wasn’t inside of the school yet to have access to online resources. She looked around. Other kids had either straight hair or tamed their curls into flat styles that only betrayed their texture in certain areas and with certain eyes. 

She watched a boy with pretty well done locs cry silently as his head was shaven. There was no way! Most of Nanefua’s stories happened during the lengthy process of maintaining Shani’s hair, to the point where Shani tended to style her hair as she read a book, reminiscing of that feeling. 

For the moment, she got her bags back and rushed as quickly as she could to put her hair into two french braids. It was puffy at the edges, but the lady shrugged her shoulders and simply reminded her that if she looked like she wasn’t at her best, they would respect her less every time they looked at her files. Panicked she looked at the clippers, considering it - though years later she would never admit so. One of the other girls tapped her on the shoulder and handed her something. Shani read the container: edge control. The girl mouthed to her, with only a muffled sound coming out of her lips, “This will help in a pinch, but you really should get someone to put it into a protective style for the semester.” 

Shani spent the next few minutes smoothing her edges and touching them up with the toothbrush she packed for her hair, then gave it back to the girl, signing “Thank you,” to her. 

The girl seemed surprised, but signed back “You’re welcome.”

They parted ways as Shani headed for the ID section. Her photo was taken and uploaded. Her stats were programmed into a brass plated electronic cuff, which was then placed around her arm and secured. She looked down at it and several lights were flickering, a few whirring sounds were made and finally it tightened around her arm and announced, “System activated.” 

The woman explained to her the meanings of the lights and sounds, “Whenever everything is paid up, all of the lights are gold. Whenever you need to pay, the segment that needs payment will light up green until it's paid. If you get behind a payment, it will light up red, and your academic experience may be interrupted.” She wore a stern face as she said, “And failure to pay, even upon removal from the program could result in sentencing.” The woman’s smile returned and she tacked on, “Between you and me, sometimes, you can pay through extra credit work and extracurricular interests that lead to revenue.” She winked. Shani nodded. “Perfect attendance also helps, and is one of the biggest determining factors in being in the Gold League.”

“What’s the Gold League?” Shani asked, already determined that whatever it was, she was going to do it. But, the woman had other students to prep and she was sure that it was in the Handbook.

Meanwhile, the deaf girl wasn’t getting an arm cuff. Instead she held her wrist forward and they scanned a chip inside of her forearm. “Welcome back, Miss Charming. How was your trip?” The person asked, but Miss Charming wasn't looking at her and didn’t immediately answer. However, a holographic interpreter appeared from her bracelet and signed the words. 

“Wonderful, thank you,” the girl finally answered. 

Shani noticed, only then, that though the girl had on the same royal blue color as the rest of the students, she wasn’t wearing one of the uniforms that they had been given. As they headed for orientation, Shani wondered where she got her outfit and if it was within regulations for the uniforms. It was a blazer and a pleated skirt, with a necktie and a red ribbon on her left lapel. On the right were a slew of pins, and ribbons, and she wore a gold badge on her coat.

She awkwardly smiled and signed to Shani, “I’m in the elite program.”

“I didn’t know that they let people into the elite program with…” Shani froze, unsure of what the correct word to use here was and feared she had already said too much to backtrack.

The girl looked upset, but she managed a smile as she passionately let her know, “I can do anything that I set my mind to do! Nice to meet you.” She hurried off to two other girls who were in a similar attire as hers - the royal blue of the Academy, but not the exact uniform that Shani and the others had on. She announced, in that muffled tone, “I am approaching!” And one of the girls (a brunette with short hair) gasped and turned to hug her. The other (a blond with long hair in a braid like Rapunzel) was smiling. She had already noticed her come up. They were signing and the one that Shani had spoken to, the Black one… She couldn’t tell if all three were deaf or not, was talking for both her and the other girl. Shani watched them longer than she intended - until they were out of sight, then she realized that she had to rush to orientation!

Shani watched as the board addressed the students. Well, the board was seated on a panel and a spokeswoman addressed the students. She noticed one of the board members in particular, who was as dark skinned as she was, with hair as coiled, though her hair was tied up in an intricate style, much like Nana might have done, and adorned with gold embellishments. 

The board was dressed in two golds. Genuine, authentic gold that Shani had only ever heard of in books, and then the gold that she knew of, but hadn’t really seen much of, now that she thought about it. But, there, she saw full outfits of it. A bright tone in super expensive seeming professional wear, accented by jewelry. The school board was the most regal thing she had ever seen in real life. She read that it was “the luxurious Spanish yellow hue (that the Academy bought rights to) which could only be purchased through the Academy, and only worn by members of the board and members of the Gold League.

“I have to get into that.” She read the requirements. All A’s. Perfect attendance. Good citizenship, as determined by the board. Superior presentation, as determined by the board… She… did not know how to make notes on her new device… yet. So, she broke open her paper notebook, and scribbled in red: Goals 1. Gold League. 2. Find paper version of handbook. 3. Research the history of this Spanish yellow hue. 4. Find out that deaf girl’s name and where she gets edge control…

After orientation, a member of faculty dismissed the kids to find their dormitories and let them know the bell schedule for the following day. “Is there a map?” Shani asked a boy seated next to her. He turned up his nose and kept going. She sighed and found staff. “Hi. Is there a map?” 

“There’s GPS in your device,” she said, smiling and went on with her business, not hearing Shani say that she didn’t know how to use or find the GPS in her device.

Her chest felt… pained? Excited? Scared? Restricted. Her chest felt tight. Her breathing was difficult. She wanted to scream and insist that someone help her find the dorms. She wanted to. But, you can’t do things like that in real life. She tried not to cry, though she was very frustrated, and she reminded herself that you need to have a plan and a path before moving forward. She moved against the wall of the auditorium and sat on the floor. She scribbled: How to Use My Device at the top of the page and doodled a happy ladybug on a flower. She studied the device for hours before someone came up to her, after everything was cleared out and nobody else was supposed to be in here. 

“Girl?” They said and used a scan gun to pull up the info from her arm cuff, “What are you doing?”

She looked up and realized that he was talking to her. He had on a gray uniform, so she knew that he wasn’t faculty. They wore a Midnight Blue attire. This was a gray uniform like people she knew from home. He probably lived in the Outskirts and worked in the city. She hoped that her being here wouldn’t get him into any trouble! Mama told her that Outskirters could get into trouble on a job for just about anything. “I’m sorry! I hope I don’t get you into trouble. I didn’t know how to find my dorms and there was nobody to help me, so I was just here, teaching myself how to help me…” 

She looked embarrassed as she put the device away into her issued backpack. “I was taking notes of the instructions of how to use my device, and drawing a map on paper, in case I couldn’t get the device to work, even with my notes…”

The man was sympathetic. “Listen, Miss Moore…”

“That’s not my last name!” She panicked, “They must have put the wrong information into the system for me!!” 

“No. They just… rebranded you. There’s… Nobody of stature with your last name, as it appears on your birth records, so they granted you a more acceptable name, for room to grow.”

“They… Took my last name away?”

“It’s in the school system. It just won’t appear on any of your achievements.”

“But…”

“As I was saying, we need to get you to your dorms! It’s your first day and we don’t want you to get in trouble for wandering the halls unauthorized. Pop out that map and lets see if it gets you where you need to go, Miss Moore.”

“I don’t like that name. Can you just call me by my first name?” She asked, looking at the map, “Or did they change that too?”

“Is it Shani?”

“That’s my middle name.”

“The middle name is listed as your first name, now.” She felt that tightness in her chest again. “Listen. When I was your age, I couldn’t DREAM of getting into school. You made it here and with hard work, you’ll probably make it to a seat at the table. When you get there, you can be whoever you say you are.”

“I am who I say I am, right now!”

“As long as you know it, nobody can take that away. Even if they’re calling you something else.”

Shani laughed to herself… That’s not REALLY how the conversation went. That’s how it would have went if she had been the adult. What really happened was he was very short with her. 

“Look. Your name is Shani Moore and you need to get to the dorm, so hurry up, before both of us lose this!” She shuffled, trying to keep up with his long strides and consult her map and see through tears burning in her eyes and the smears they made on her recently drawn map. When she got to the dorms, it was spacious, but seemed cramped, because all of the space was being used. There were rows of loft beds with work spaces beneath them, and a wardrobe beneath the stairs. All of the other girls were comfortably in their issued pajamas and staring at her in disbelief. 

“You missed showers,” one girl said and everybody started laughing. Why? That shit wasn’t even funny, even by her 10 year old standards. She sat at the desk and unloaded her device. She would learn this stupid thing if it took her the rest of the night! And since there was no physical book about it, it nearly did. That was her first day of school. 

But, that wasn’t the version that she gave to incoming kids. She gave the story that felt good. She gave the story that inspired hope. 

Luna Charming passed by her, SO PRETTY in her royal blue pantsuit with a half pony and a red bow. She signed to her friend, “Working for free AGAIN?” 

Shani shrugged her shoulders and signed back, “SOMEBODY’S got to help these kids!” 

Shani usually went to the auditorium for orientation, seeing if she saw lost looking kids to assist and guide to where they needed to go. Most of them, she never saw again, but she felt better than she did that first day and she hoped that they entered their academic careers feeling better than SHE had. She fell in step with Luna and the two signed to each other as they walked, then parted ways whenever they got to Shani’s dormitory. Luna’s quarters were in the “alter ability” wing. 

Luna, being deaf, although she was in the elite program, did not share chambers with other students in the program. She shared chambers with other students who lived with various conditions, but were smart enough or rich enough to gain their way into this school. Luna was both. 

She had been purchased as a dependent when she was a toddler through an agency that paid poor parents for their children and sold them to rich people. It wasn’t considered an adoption, because the process was far less formal and not at all scrutinizing. But, Luna had been purchased by a wealthy couple that was into adoption for their charity phase, but didn’t feel like the hassle of the process. She was 2. She ONLY knew the Charmings as her parents and wouldn’t have never known about the way she came to be theirs if mean rich people didn’t have kids her age. She found out when she was 5. In their guilt over her upset, the Charmings spoiled Luna, a little more than their other children (who they collected in the same manner). They were also “into” disability awareness those years. They bought Luna and two of her sisters, one who didn’t talk (Taraleigh) and the other blind (Lorilei), and to this very day, there is a baby photo of the three of them, from a set in which they were See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil…

The older Luna got, the more she hated that thing. It was massive, and hanging in the parlor of her parents’ mansion. Yet, despite being less than civil people in certain aspects of humanity, they were decent parents. 

Of course, Luna knew that she thought this perhaps because she was the favorite of the three. They were only at the academy because she was, and they weren’t in the elite program, so even though Luna was, she bunked with them, instead. A waste. That was what Luna had told Shani the headmaster said of her intelligence whenever she thought that she wasn’t paying attention enough to read his lips. “A waste of intelligence when she’s like this.”

“I have other attributes,” Luna had said, surprising him. He even had her tested again to see if she could hear and was for whatever reason lying. When he was satisfied that her records were in order, he told her that her parents had given her leeway to put herself on record with a first name of her choice. (They had the money for it, you see, and the successful last name to boot.) “Luna,” the 6 year old said, “I’m going to be an astronaut.” She knew that face. You poor child. He must have been thinking. She ignored it and pressed forward, officially in the Academy records as Luna Charming. 

“Of course you are!” He cheered. Even not being able to hear his patronizing, she knew it was there. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she could tell something was off. It was probably his insincere smile, or the thing that she had seen him mumble before. “All of the payments for your entry into the elite program on an astronaut’s trajectory is in the system and your personal interpreter will be arriving with all of your special needs materials.” She nodded. She didn’t necessarily need an interpreter, but she knew that the state of the art materials she would bring along would be very useful. Years later, Luna was above and beyond her… well… it would be ridiculous to call them peers. 

Nobody was in her league. She had worked with the intent to be the first 14 year old deaf astronaut. She had gotten the credits to receive credentials. On. Record. She met her goal. But, she was informed that she would definitely have to finish several other certifications, and was recommended another trajectory… to TEACH others. A teacher? Sure… privatized schooling was lucrative and her field of study would be booming… but that wasn’t what she wanted and she felt that if she was only a little closer to their normal, they wouldn’t have even suggested it. 

Both of her sisters were back in a special needs school by the time she was 14. They not only didn’t cut it at the Academy, but even being rich kids, they always felt like everyone was trying to make it harder on them there. Sure they were. Luna had peeped that by the time she was 8. Their parents were willing to pay whatever it took to make sure that their children were the best. Teachers could say that Lorilei needed a new device that was patent pending to access computer systems in a way that blind children never have before! And the Charmings were going to pay for it. They had paid for numerous surgeries to help Taraleigh to be able to speak, even experimental transplants, until the moment where she forgoed the desire and settled uponed a first edition customized speech box that allegedly would give her the voice she would have had, had she had one.

“You’re different, Beth. You’re gonna reach those stars” the voice had said to her when she hugged her sisters goodbye. 

“The stars are only the beginning,” she told them. That became her mantra. 

Now, she was opening her video mail to see Shani excited to finally get her Gold League badge. Luna sent her a congratulatory gift basket with some of her needs in it - edge control, plantation credits, and a few Spanish yellow accessories to start off the freshman year. 

With her sisters gone, Luna didn’t even leave the old quarters. She didn’t feel like having to get used to new neighbors and stuff and at least she had some memories here. But, she had ALWAYS had sisters, and now she was on her own in a wholly different way than whenever she had to go to class. They weren’t there when she got back.

She looked at a notification blinking on her screen. A message from Mom. “Annabeth, are you going to need us to pay for the elite quarters? We have to know by the end of the day.”

“No Mommy,” she said and the message was sent. At least she still had Shani.

A/N: I kinda hate how I jumped around in this one and might wind up tweaking it later on. It didn’t seem to transition seamlessly for me. Anyways, as much as i have ideas, I’ll go ahead and put them out there. Thanks for reading!

[httpbread]

I??Love??Your writing???Like How- Ok lemme fangirl later, Can i request a scenario with hanako x reader where they are caught smooching? owo

pairing: hanako x reader

words: 926

uwu thank you thank you!! it’s entirely the lack of impulse control!

The air was still.

Painfully still.

The various bottles of cleaning supplies around them didn’t dare interrupt the frozen moment in time, too afraid of what might happen if they did.

The mops and brooms next to them clattered no more.

The dim light above didn’t even dare flicker.

And on top of it all, (Y/n)’s face felt like it might genuinely just melt off into the floor in a molten puddle.

For a moment, let’s just backtrack a little.

Just moments ago, their arms had been wrapped around their boyfriend’s neck, their lips locked together heatedly, working magic when his hands had crept under their thighs.

Instantly, trusting Hanako with no hesitation, they wrapped their legs around his waist, kissing him harder than before.

In the process, however, they guess maybe their shoe had rattled something or maybe they knocked a bottle over with the movement, because half a second later, their figures were engulfed in the light pouring out from the suddenly very open closet door.

“Oh,” was all their wonderful boyfriend had to say, yet, not bothering to loosen his grip on their legs so they could use them to stand instead of clinging to him in horror, “Yashiro. Is it cleaning time already?”

Really?! 

Despite all the lack of movement, there was one thing in the closet that was not bound to this rule.

Their heart, beating wildly in their chest, wanting to break out through their ribcage and hit the road, much like they did.

“Y-Yeah... I- uh. Yeah. Bathroom time. Uhuh.”

(Y/n) winces at Yashiro’s very high pitched tone, and glances over at their friend.

She was as red as a tomato, looking almost like she might faint on the spot.

(Y/n) would have to make it up to her-

That is if Hanako’s hands would allow it and themself down!

“What a shame!” Finally, finally, did he gently place them back onto their own feet, not even batting an eye at their incredibly flustered state as he turned away from them in the storage closet, “I was just getting to the good part too.”

(Y/n) could only bury their face in their hands. So many regrets. So many mistakes.

This was by far the most embarrassing one.

Geez. How had this even happened?

Making out with a school mystery in a random closet.

How did he even get them in here?

Then again, when he smirked at them as he did after kissing them silly, they were always reduced to silly putty in his hands, it probably wasn’t that hard at all to usher them in here.

They needed to somehow set up some mental ground rules for kissing Hanako.

Starting with a brand new one, the first rule of a no doubt thrilling- very long- series!

NO closet make outs.

Never again!

“Ah, there! That’s probably it!”

They hastily peer through their fingers at Hanako declaration, only to watch as he turns around with a bucket filled with cleaning stuff.

Their brows draw as he holds it out.

Why didn’t he just let Yashiro get what she needed herself...?

“I-I need a mop, too, Hanako...”

“Right, right,” glinting golden eyes suddenly found them in their corner.

He came right up to them- wow, a whole step- and pressed his hand to the wall next to them, a giddy grin tracing the lips they had been over to the moon to kiss just minutes ago.

He leaned in close, making their heart shriek.

“Excuse me, (N/n),” he suddenly slides a hand last them, making them jolt a little in surprise, only to turn and watch as he slides a mop out from behind them.

Ah.

That would explain why their comfortable corner hadn’t been living up to its name.

“Will that be it, Yashiro?”

Their eyes flutter to the poor girl.

She looks like she’s going through the five stages of grief all at once, horror being the main factor in her owlish eyes.

“Uhm. Y-Yes? I think so,” Yashiro then quickly adds, “I hope so.”

Hanako flashes the girl a smirk, finding a place in the doorway, “Good.”

He then waves at her, “I’ve got some errands to run first, but we’ll meet you in there in a bit, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah! Okay!” She squeaks, hastily backing away.

Errands...?

He expected them to go do errands now? When they felt like they might just kick another bucket and die this time?!

They watched longingly as Yashiro made herself scarce, hurrying off as quick as her lovable legs would take her.

Before their eyes found Hanako’s.

They blinked, thoughts no longer connecting as they watched him slowly, pointedly pull the closet door shut again.

“Wait, what?” The words leap off their lips, “No, no, no-“

“Yes, yes, yes,” he mocks them playfully, “I’m not finished with you!”

“Hah?! No way! I don’t even want to look at you after that!” They hastily jerk their arms up to bury their face in them.

“Just consider it a short intermission, that’s all!” Their eyes shoot right back open when his hand brushes their hip, “And now back to the regularly scheduled program!”

“No! There’s nothing regular or scheduled about this! Hanako, if you don’t-“

But his lips were on theirs again, taking their common sense and chunking it out the closet door.

The quiet click of the lock on the door met was distant as they delightedly tangled their fingers in his soft messy black locks, once again gone as could be under his gentle grip.

[agrestebug]

Marichat May 2020

Here’s another one-shot from the collection! Thank you guys so much for all the likes and comments. I’m glad you are enjoying the stories so far! I hope you guys enjoy this one too and remember, please don’t repost to another site without my permission!

Day 13 - Possessive Kitty

It had been a little over three months now, and he was starting to notice it more and more as time went on. Marinette was like a beacon to all of their friends. They gravitated to her like magnets. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that she was his girlfriend now that made him notice, or if things had always been this way and he just hadn't realized it.

Okay sure, he knew how helpful Marinette was. It was one of the things he loved about her. She was always willing to help a friend in need, spreading joy in that amazing way she did. But this, this was different.

And he wasn't sure he liked it.

This morning, he had found Nino and Marinette leaning up against each other, sharing headphones and whispering in low tones. Neither one noticed him until he was practically on top of them. They had barely moved apart, saying good morning and acting like they hadn't been doing anything.

He hadn't commented on it of course. He knew they were friends, and it wasn't his business what they had been doing. Besides, he knew Nino had Alya, and they had been friends for a long time. It wasn't weird to see them being close. He sighed. He didn't like this feeling. He couldn't even hold his girlfriend's hand because she didn't KNOW it was him, but everyone else seemed to be able to be close to her.

He frowned from the bench where he was sitting, another prime example unfolding in front of him as he watched Kim lift Marinette into a giant hug before swinging her around happily. "You're the best Marinette!" Kim exclaimed loudly.

Alix's aggravated voice was clear across the commons, "You're a traitor Marinette! How are you going to help him win a bet against me!? See if I ever help you with your little 'gardening' projects ever again!"

Marinette's blush was easy to see, and Kim asked instantly, "Wait, you garden Marinette? I didn't know that."

Adrien frowned more. He hadn't known that either. She had a few plants spread around her balcony, but he'd never heard her refer to having any gardening projects.

Marinette said it a little too loudly, "Alix! My gardening days are over!"

Alix huffed, but he didn't catch what she said after that. He was too busy watching Max approach the trio with a purpose in his step. He watched Marinette give quick smiles to Kim and Alix before disappearing with Max just behind the stairs out of sight.

He looked around subtly, seeing Nino and Alya talking just a little ways down. They probably had a great view of her... of them. They probably had a great view of them. He just wanted to make sure everything was okay. That's all.

He got up and walked over to Nino and Alya, saying it shyly, "Hey guys, I'm not interrupting am I?"

Nino put an arm over his shoulder, "Never my man, what's up?"

Alya had a knowing smirk on her face, "Can't see my girl anymore from where you were sitting, could you?"

Adrien felt himself blush slightly, but said it casually, "I don't know what you mean."

Nino snickered under his breath as Alya said it not the least bit convinced, "Yeah, okay. So, you are going to try and tell me that you weren't glaring daggers at Kim just now?"

"Why would I do that?" He asked innocently, glancing over briefly to see Max and Marinette bent over a tablet with their heads nearly touching. Both of them were smiling brightly as they talked back and forth. Markov was hovering just over Marinette's shoulder, but was floating between her and Max. He wondered what they were talking about so intently over there.

Nino patted his shoulder in warning, drawing his attention back to them. Okay, so maybe his brief glance was more like a hard stare, "Don't dig your hole deeper dude."

Alya however, would show no such mercy as she smirked evilly, "I bet you are just dying to know what is going on over there. I'm sure you've noticed Max spending a little more time with Marinette lately."

Adrien nodded instantly, Alya's grin widening as he backtracked, "No, I mean, they are friends, so that's normal right?"

Nino shook his head at Alya's knowing expression, taking pity on his best friend facing his girlfriend's evil ways, "Max altered a design program for Marinette so that she could draw digitally or scan her drawing into it. That way, she can manipulate them on the tablet without having to start from scratch."

Alya said it low, "Kill joy."

Adrien let out a soft sigh of relief, "Oh, okay. I bet that will come in handy, given how much she designs."

Marinette let out a short squeal before hugging Max, who smiled brightly as he hugged her back. Marinette turned and pulled Markov to her face, giving him a soft kiss. Markov's propeller whirled faster for just a few seconds, and Adrien frowned again.

Alya laughed, "Oh boy Agreste, you've got it bad."

"Don't tease the sunshine child Als." Nino chided teasingly.

Adrien asked confused, honestly not sure what Nino was talking about, "What do you mean?"

Alya chuckled, putting her hand on her face as she studied him, "You're so cute Adrien. You have a crush on Marinette, don't you?"

His face flamed, "Wh-what? N-no! Of course not! Marinette is just a friend!" At least, she was 'just' friends with Adrien. Chat Noir was the one who had the privilege of being her boyfriend.

Alya raised a disbelieving brow at him, "Uh huh, that's why you haven't been able to take your eyes off of her lately. You aren't as subtle as you think you are."

Adrien's hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it absentmindedly. He knew Alya wouldn't let this go unless he admitted something, and technically it was the truth. A small part of the truth, but the truth all the same. She meant so much more to him than what he would ever admit out loud to anyone but her, and occasionally Plagg just to get on his nerves, "Yeah, I, really like her."

"That's great dude!" Nino congratulated him instantly, Alya blowing on her nails and polishing them on her shirt, "Called it."

The musical chime that signaled their next class had them all instantly moving. Adrien hesitated slightly though, watching as Marinette disappeared towards her own class. Alya rushed off after her, giving them a hasty wave goodbye before disappearing too. Nino stayed at his side, an amused smirk on his face as he said it, "You should ask her out my man. Marinette is awesome."

"I know." He said as they walked together to their next class, "I just, I don't think father would let me have a girlfriend right now."

Nino blew a raspberry, "Then don't tell him."

Adrien smiled to himself, that's exactly what he was already doing, "He'd find out eventually, and no doubt pull me out of school. I really like Marinette, and I know she'd blame herself if that happened."

Nino nodded sadly, "No, you aren't wrong."

Adrien asked quickly, "You won't say anything to her, right?"

Nino held up his fist, "Bro's honor." They fist bumped quickly, sharing a smile.

They entered their class, but Adrien couldn't concentrate on anything. He'd already covered most of this material when he was home-schooled anyways. His thoughts were on his purrincess, and Alya's comment about glaring at the guys who were with her. He wasn't glaring, and he certainly wasn't jealous. Marinette was friends with everyone, and he was happy that Max was able to help her with something she loved.

He felt a small pang of sadness. While he was pretty decent when dealing with technology, he'd never have been able to do what Max did for her. He could have paid to have it done, if that's what she really wanted, but it probably wouldn't mean as much since he didn't do it himself.

In a rare moment of obvious disinterest, he folded his arms on the desk and rested his head, staring blankly towards the front of the room without taking notes. Was there something he could do for her that she would really love? Alix had mentioned gardening projects, maybe he could buy her a few more plants for her balcony? Or, was there a reason she said her gardening days were over? Maybe something had happened... he let out a soft sigh. He'd have to ask her about it before doing anything drastic. She had looked so sad after she'd said it. The last thing he wanted to do was make his purrincess cry.

He got up slowly as class ended, Nino giving him a sideways grin as he asked, "Miss Bustier next right?"

Adrien instantly perked up, "Right." He started moving faster, ignoring the way Nino was trying to hold in his laugh.

He turned into Miss Bustier's classroom with a smile, his eyes going straight to her empty seat. His shoulders slumped and Nino clapped his back, "You know, for not wanting to say anything, you sure aren't hiding it very well dude."

"I can't help it Nino." He admitted honestly. Marinette was that warm spot in the sun he just wanted to be surrounded by all the time. He was addicted to the tingling feelings she gave him with every smile and every laugh. She wasn't just a magnet to him. She was a force of gravity, pulling him to her without equal.

He pouted slightly. And yet he'd barely been able to talk to her at all today.

"Hey, have you guys seen Marinette?" Ivan asked them from the doorway. Nino shook his head, "Not since break."

Ivan looked disappointed, "Oh, okay. That's okay." Ivan glanced to the side and his eyes lit up, "There she is. Thanks anyways guys."

Adrien frowned, moving mechanically towards the door. He peered out and saw Ivan talking happily to Marinette.

Damn it. He was starting to consider transforming just so he could eavesdrop. He shook his head quickly to clear it. No he couldn't do that. If Ladybug found out she'd skin him alive. Marinette nodded and Ivan's smile brightened, patting the top of her head affectionately with his large hand. Marinette just beamed up at him.

Nino shook his head, watching the blonde model agonizing over the girl who had been in love with him forever. A jealous Agreste was turning out to be a hilarious scenario. Alya was sure to get a kick out of seeing Adrien acting this way. The poor boy.

Nino leaned back on the desk and cleared his throat, "Does Ivan look happy?"

Adrien said it trying not to sound bitter, "Yeah."

"Oh good, Marinette must have finished his gift for Mylene." Nino said calmly, watching with immense satisfaction as Adrien whipped around to face him, "She made something for Mylene?"

Nino nodded, "Ivan mentioned something a couple weeks ago about wanting to do something nice for Mylene for her birthday, and Marinette happened to walk by so he asked her for her advice. She offered to make something for Mylene as a surprise, for him."

Adrien felt like an idiot. That must have been what he had caught her working on a few times now, the gift she had said she was making for a friend.

He walked over to his seat and sat down heavily. "I'm being an idiot aren't I?"

Nino nodded instantly, taking his seat next to him, "Without a doubt my man."

"I'm not jealous." He reiterated to himself out loud, but Nino patted his shoulder, "There is no reason to feel jealous. I'm telling you dude, if you ask her out, you will make her day," Nino corrected himself, throwing his arms up into the air, "heck, you'll make her whole year!"

Adrien frowned, "What if, she doesn't like me back?"

Nino gave him a deadpan stare, "Adrien. Really? THAT'S what you are worried about?"

No. He thought instantly. I know she likes me, as Chat Noir, that's why we are dating in secret. But as Adrien, she had just barely started being able to talk to him without stuttering. He would notice her still acting a bit jumpy, and blushing on occasion when he caught her off guard, but those moments were getting to be few and far between. He kinda missed them.

"Bro, you are a literal teen cover model. Use it!" Nino quipped when he stayed silent.

"Marinette isn't impressed by things like that." He said dejectedly, ignoring Nino's facepalm.

"I'm telling you, if you don't just pluck up the courage and ask her out,"

"You are asking someone out Sunshine?" Alya's voice said excitedly from the doorway, Marinette standing right next to her. The girls took their seats, both of them silent as they looked between Adrien and Nino, waiting for an answer.

"No." Adrien said.

"Yes." Nino said at the same time.

The boys shared stern glances and the girls laughed. Alya shook her head, her voice dripping in amused sarcasm, "That was very informative thank you."

Marinette still had a soft smile on her as she caught his eyes, "If you really like her you should go for it."

"I don't think she likes me very much." Adrien admitted sadly, pointedly ignoring Alya's eyes rolling.

"Anyone would be an idiot not to like you." Marinette said, a cute blush adorning her cheeks. "N-not because you are famous or anything! But because you're a great guy! You're smart and funny, and really nice and sweet, and I mean of course you're handsome, anyone who's not blind can see that, I mean, obviously, NO but wait that's not the only reason either!" Marinette's face found her hands and she took a deep breath, missing how Adrien's face was tinged with pink.

Alya and Nino exchanged knowing smirks. It had to be happening. This was the moment and they were going to be around for the rest of their lives to tell them 'I told you so'.

Adrien cleared his throat slightly. Had it suddenly gotten warmer in here?

"Thanks Marinette that, that means a lot to me." He told her softly.

She looked up from her hands and nodded, "Of course. You're one of my very best friends."

Nino and Alya facepalmed at the same time, Adrien holding back the need to flinch at the awful word. Friends.

He planted a smile to his face, telling her the truth, "You're one of my very best friends too."

Class began as Miss Bustier walked in, and all too soon it was coming to an end. He was hyper aware of Marinette's every move behind him. He felt like he'd been on the edge of his seat the entire class. At least now they had one last break before the last class of the day.

"Hey Marinette, are you ready?" Adrien instantly turned, seeing Marinette smiling at Nathaniel.

"Absolutely, you want to go to the art room?" She asked. At Nathaniel's confirmation, the two left the room already deep in conversation.

Nino shoved his arm, "Dude, what was that! That was the perfect moment!"

Alya nodded but said it knowingly, "Being a good friend is where it starts you know. I'm telling you, ask the girl out."

"I'll, try." He told them. He was pretty sure she would reject him, but if it would get Nino and Alya off his case, he would do it. He got up and Nino asked wide-eyed, "Wait, you are going now?"

"Why not?" He said with a shrug, leaving the room and hearing Nino's warning to Alya, "No, you aren't going to go film it happening." "You don't know me Nino."

Adrien chuckled to himself before the laugh turned into a sigh. This was definitely something he didn't want on video. He peered into the art room, seeing Nathaniel and Marinette in a bright discussion about superhero clothing. He watched from the door with a smile, until he realized that her beautiful bluebell eyes were staring at him, "Hey Adrien, is everything okay?"

He blinked once and nodded, his hand going to his neck, "Oh, yeah, no everything is fine. I don't want to bother you but if you have a minute, can, can we talk?"

Marinette quickly looked at Nathaniel who gave her a shy smile, "You were a big help, but I think I can take it from here."

She popped up out of her chair, smiling brightly, "If you need anything else just let me know." Nathaniel nodded as Marinette made her way over to the door.

A smile crept onto his face, seeing the slight blush on her cheeks. They went down the hall a short way to one of the benches that overlooked the commons. He sat down heavily, a soft sigh escaping him. Marinette sat with him, and as he chanced a glance at her, he saw her letting out a relieved, relaxed breath.

He smiled as he told her what he noticed, "You've been hanging around with the guys a lot, haven't you?"

Marinette said it quickly, "I don't mind, honest. I love them so I don't mind helping everyone when they need me." She turned slightly to look at him, a knowing glint in her eye, "What did you want to talk about? Did you need something?"

No. He thought instantly. His life was nearly purrfect. He had the best of friends, and most amazing girlfriend... if only he could take her hand the way he wanted, or kiss her good morning, or hug her simply because he wanted to. He loved her hugs. It had been a few months... maybe, maybe he could tell her the truth.

"Honestly," he started slowly, seeing her yawn. He stopped, asking instead as he smiled at her, "Do you need anything? You look exhausted."

She shook her head, "No, I'm okay. Really."

"Hey Marinette."

They looked over and saw Marc walking up to them slowly, a book in his hand. Marinette smiled instantly, but Adrien frowned. He really couldn't get five minutes with her?

"What's up Marc?" Marinette asked. He shifted uncomfortably, "Nathaniel said you looked over the artwork with him, c-could you take a look at the next chapter for me?"

She nodded before telling him, "Of course, just give me a few minutes to finish talking to,"

"No, don't worry about me." He told her quickly, "It's really nothing important."

Marinette frowned, "Are you sure?" He nodded, "Yeah, go. We can always talk later."

She nodded, "Later then. Come on Marc, I think Nathaniel is still in the art room."

He watched them walk off and leaned back against the wall, shutting his eyes as he tried not to be upset. This was, and god he couldn't believe he was about to even think this but, it was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Why couldn't everyone leave her alone? Couldn't they see how tired she was? They couldn't give her a few minutes to herself?

His eyes snapped open, that was it. A few minutes to herself, that was something he could give her. She needed a chance to relax, to just get away from everyone for a little bit. He had only noticed the guys all day, but he could only imagine what she did for the girls.

He nodded once to himself. He was going to protect his purrincess, even from herself. He had the purrfect plan too. Ice cream. He'd take her out after school to André's for ice cream, and tell her everything.

He made his way back to Miss Bustier's classroom for the second half of her class. Nino and Alya were staring at him expectantly as he walked in, Alya asking confused, "Where's Marinette?"

He made his way to his seat, "Helping Marc."

"Did you," Nino started, but he shook his head, "I didn't get the chance. After school. I'm going to take her for ice cream."

"Atta boy Agreste!" Alya approved happily.

The end of the day just could not come fast enough for him. It felt like time was dragging its heels on purpose, slowly tormenting him so that he could idle over the manic thoughts and crazy scenarios that kept playing out in his head about what could happen if this went wrong. The bell finally sounded their release and Miss Bustier asked him kindly, "Adrien, I know you don't have a lot of time, but I'd like to speak with you for a minute if you can."

Adrien looked straight at Nino, asking low, "Make sure she doesn't go home." Nino gave him a thumbs up and he looked back at Miss Bustier, "Yes of course."

He fidgeted in his seat as everyone filed out. Why were they taking forever?! Usually everyone was out of the room in seconds, and NOW they wanted to take their time?

Ivan and Mylene finally left the room and Miss Bustier walked over to his desk as he asked a little concerned, "Am I in trouble?"

"Oh no Adrien of course not." She said sweetly, "Your father's assistant called this afternoon to let your teachers know about the photoshoot you had coming up."

He deflated, "Oh, right." He'd forgotten about that shoot. He was going to be out of school for an entire week. He nearly facepalmed. Crap. He'd forgotten to tell Ladybug about it too.

Miss Bustier said it knowingly, "I know you love being in school, and your grades overall are excellent, so next week a lot of the work we've gathered for you is simply reading material. No heavy load, no extra work. When you come back, we'll each give you a short quiz and as long as you pass each one, we'll excuse the other assignments."

He told her smiling, "Thanks Miss Bustier, that will be a big help."

She nodded, "Anything we can do to help. Have a good afternoon Adrien." She watched him gather his things, telling him as he reached the door, "Oh, and good luck with Marinette."

He blushed but smiled at her. He didn't even want to know how she knew something was going on. That was just part of Miss Bustier's power he supposed.

He glanced around the commons, but couldn't find anyone he was looking for. He rushed outside and found her instantly, but his heart tightened in his chest.

Nino and Alya were talking to Rose and Juleka, and right next to them, Marinette was talking to Luka. Luka suddenly pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and Adrien felt his insides burn.

Okay that was it. He was done.

That is HIS purrincess. Why was Luka bothering her?! He had to fix this. It had gone on long enough. He took a hard step towards everyone when a short beep pulled his attention. Gorilla was staring at him with a sour lemon face. He frowned, looking back to where Luka was still happily talking to Marinette. Gorilla shook his head in response, tapping his watch.

"Yo Adrien!" Nino called out to him, subtly motioning to Marinette and Luka.

Gorilla shook his head firmly and Adrien sighed, giving Nino a small wave, "I gotta go. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

He passed by the group, getting in the car and sulking in the back. They pulled up to the mansion and Nathalie was waiting for him at the door, "Cutting it very close Adrien."

"I had to talk to my teacher about missing school next week." He said flatly. Nathalie raised an eyebrow at his tone, but didn't comment otherwise, "Only piano today. Your instructor should be here shortly."

"Whoop-eee." He muttered as he walked past her and upstairs to his room. Plagg zoomed straight out of his shirt to his cheese stash, coming back out with a wedge between his paws, "You know, maybe you should stop trying so hard to get pigtails' attention. You are already going out with the girl. Who cares what she does with her friends."

"I don't get to spend any time with her during the day because she's spending it with everyone else. She's MY girlfriend, it's not fair." He fell face first onto his bed, groaning into his pillow.

Plagg watched his chosen with an amused smirk as he savoured his cheese. Adrien being his own worst enemy was one of the highlights of dealing with such a lovesick kitten. Plagg finished his cheese and ducked quickly to hide as the piano instructor arrived.

When Adrien returned from dinner later that evening, looking more sullen and mopey than before, Plagg took pity on him, "Why don't you go see your girlfriend? She hasn't seen her Kitty all day either, you know."

Adrien's eyes lit up and he nodded, "Plagg Claws out!"

He transformed and was racing across Paris in the same second. As her balcony came into view, his heart swelled and a goofy smile spread across his features. He landed with a soft thump, and grinned when he heard her rushing to reach the skylight.

Her eyes were bright as the hatch opened, and she was up on the balcony in seconds, "Hey Kitt- OH!" he lifted her up in his arms, hugging her tightly to his chest as the purr's just rippled out of him. He nuzzled his nose into her loose hair, breathing in her scent deeply. He missed her. He missed being able to do this.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around him just as tightly, "I missed you too chaton. I hate that I don't get to see you during the day."

He purred happily, "I feel the same way. It has been, an excruciatingly long day." He pulled back, but refused to let her leave his arms. She ran her hand through his hair and his eyes closed as a soft sigh escaped him.

"Let me go grab a few snacks and you can tell me all about it." She unwound her arms from around him, but he pulled her closer, not giving her a chance to escape. "In a little while. Can I just, hug you for a little bit?"

She blushed but smiled as she shook her head, "A long day huh?"

"You don't even know the half of it." He admitted heavily. They sat on the lounger together, Chat pouting when he had to let her go so that she could get comfortable. The second she was, he wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head on her chest, smiling like a madman.

Her hand moved rhythmically through his hair, inciting another round of purrs before he told her, "I missed you today. A lot."

She kissed the top of his head gently, "You know you can come over anytime you want."

He smiled up at her, "I'm really happy when I'm with you. I'm glad you agreed to be my girlfriend."

She bopped his nose lightly with a smirk, "Against my better judgment."

"One of the best decisions you'll ever make in your life." He said grinning.

"No doubt." Marinette said smiling back at him. "And for what it's worth, I'm glad I agreed to be your girlfriend too."

He nuzzled back into her chest, the smile refusing to leave his face. He'd tell her the truth soon, but maybe for tonight he would just enjoy being with his girlfriend.

He felt himself smirking proudly, hugging her tighter as he thought it, 'That's right. Mine.'

[hidge-resource]

submitted by remadra!

Hidge and Stardew Valley (1 of 2)

She had glanced up and down the hall before shutting herself away in her room. No one had seen her. There was no one there. It was clear.

Pidge pulled out her laptop, curling up on her bed and sliding on the headphones to hear a jaunty tune. Finally, she had finished modding the game to have… well… her friends, albeit in a quieter, digital form.

Stardew Valley offered her to pick her new farm. She picked the forest, ready to relax with easy foraging. Pidge happily picked out hair and glasses to match her own, going for overalls and a green shirt with a smile. Cat person. She wanted to name it Green, just like her lion. Bebe was already in the game anyways. Green gave a soft purr of endearment, and her heart swelled. Even with Green in the hangar and Pidge all the way in her room, the girl often talked out loud to her lion when she was alone.

"Green, did you think I'd forget about you? I thought you were the smartest lion."

She skipped the intro, getting right to greeting the townsfolk. to see if her mod was working as well as she hoped.

One of the first people to greet her was in-game Keith, with a stiff 'hey' in front of Pierre's shop. Unknowingly, her friends had provided the information she needed to assess, place, and type responses for her game. The more she got to know Keith, the friendlier and more open he became. His counterpart would start a little rude, pushing others away, but he was set to come out of his shell by autumn if she kept talking to him.

Next was Shiro, who was always a few steps behind his brother when Keith was making friends. A normal big brother would probably embarrass his little sibling, but then again, Shiro and Matt were two very different squares on the alignment chart.

Speaking of Matt, she found her brother in the Stardrop Saloon, greeting her "cousin" and being invited over to his house to meet his dog. She found Lance at the arcade games, complaining about Keith beating his high score again, and spun through the rest of the greeting spiels of the game's base NPCs. Finally, she turned home to rest before little Pidge sprite passed out.

Green rumbled.

“No, I’m not going to see him yet. This game isn’t just about the progress. There’s things to do besides quests. It’s like a little ideal simple life sim. There’s a storyline and everything.”

*

After the scheduled earthquake, Pidge had her sprite run to the bathhouse and greet Allura and Coran. The in-game Alteans told her all about their friend just outside of town, who didn't come out often but was really a great cook.

His favorites were mostly artisan goods like coffee and the home cooked meals Pidge could make. The only downside to her mod was that it took longer to build up hearts with the characters she programmed in, and therefore it would take longer to become his friend. Allura handed her a package with the request to please deliver it to her friend, and Pidge felt her heart skip.

Ugh.

It's just a game.

Nevertheless, she sped back to her farm, skipping through to the lake, where she had added a little house in her mod. Finally, a message popped up, different than the previous 'nobody seems to be home'.

"Hello?"

Pidge jumped as the door slid open, slamming her laptop shut and spinning around.

"Hey, Hunk! What's up? I thought you were making cookies?"

He laughed, deep and full and relaxed.

"They've been done for hours. You missed dinner, so I thought I'd bring you something."

Even though her stomach grumbled, Pidge pulled a face. "Yay, food goo. Always a good meal to be had. Tasteless but nutritious."

That laugh again.

"No, it's actually a sandwich. I figured you'd had enough of the goo, with all the missed meal times and late nights in the lab. Are you getting enough sleep, Pidge? You look kind of tired." Hunk tilted his head, brows drawing together.

Her breath caught. He noticed? That meant that he might force her to go to bed now, but she was so close to her first real milestone in the game.

"Thanks, Hunk. You don't need to worry, I'm fine. I'll take a nap after I eat, okay?"

"Okay. See you later, Pidge."

He set the food down and stepped out with a wave.

That was close.

Shut up, Green.

*

Pidge was playing Stardew Valley. Hunk could recognize that melody anywhere. As soon as she left for the lab to check on her equipment after her nap, he guiltily snuck in to peek at her laptop, bringing his own. There had to be a reason she wasn't sleeping, and lately it had to do with the mods she made.

Yes, he could ask Pidge for the game, but the last time he did that, he spent three days debugging and optimizing both her Subnautica and Minecraft mods.

All because she gave him the puppy eyes.

An adapter, a cable, a few clicks, and Hunk copied the game over to his laptop.

Mission accomplished.

He'd solve this, and Pidge could get some real sleep.

*

Something was definitely off about the game. Maybe it was meeting his real life friends in a 32 bit world. Maybe it was the confusion on why Pidge didn't add him. He couldn't think of anything he did to upset her and be excluded. Was it a bug? Was this what she had been working on all night? He could fix that for her. Computers might be her forte, but a fresh set of eyes could help.

Hunk opened the game files, beginning to take notes on her crazy ideas and perfect scripting.

*

Hunk stared at his notepad.

He checked it at least three times.

The mod indeed had a character named Hunk.

He could only meet his in-game self, Allura, and Coran after the earthquake opened the bathhouse path.

All of Team Voltron was in the mod, even Pidge's brother. Keith and Lance had an on-going feud about the arcade games. Shiro always volunteered to help at events. Matt had his own farm with a dog. Coran and Allura owned the bathhouse. Pidge was obviously meant to be the new farmer who moved into town.

Hunk lived by the lake south of the player farm, running a small bakery where the player could buy all sorts of dishes.

He was romanceable.

No other added character had the option.

Maybe it was to keep the game steady. Maybe she tried to add him as a regular character, but she ran into a bug and this was the best fix for now. Maybe he read it wrong again. Maybe he read it wrong for the fifth time.

Nope.

It was completely intentional. There wasn't even a residual REM statement from where she might have backtracked. He was written as romanceable for Pidge.

That was... new.

*

Pidge dropped in front of her laptop, leg bouncing. She made it to year three with steady progress, Keith was her gamesprite's best friend, and Hunk was at 8 out of 10 hearts.

Stardew Valley loaded up happily and-

The screen turned black.

She froze, panicking.

It had been working so well, what could have-

The Hunk sprite walked on screen. The text box opened up once he reached the middle.

'Hi Pidge!'

She didn't program this.

'I know you mod games for fun. But you've been staying up really late and looked frustrated. I wanted to see if I could help you if you had a problem with the code. You don't. It's perfect, as always. I noticed you were frustrated because you couldn't find any topaz. You lowered the spawn rate of cave drops to keep the game running efficiently. I raised it and made cuts elsewhere that won't mess with your experience.'

Pidge squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that this was just a nightmare. Hunk read her coding. He knew what this mod was for. This was him letting her down gently.

The computer chimed and she automatically looked to read.

'I have a problem. Maybe you can help me. There's someone I really like, but it's hard to tell how she feels about me. I've been really confused. I found out last night while I was working on her code that she might like me too. I really hope I'm not wrong, or this is going to be awkward.'

Someone knocked on her door and it slid open.

Pidge turned around, eyes wide.

Hunk stood, a tray of six cookies with frosting decorating each one, cheeks ruddy with a blush and not quite meeting her eyes.

Will

You

Be

My

Girl

Friend?

She got up quickly, stepping over to the other paladin, picking up a cookie and smearing frosting with a grin, turning it around to face him.

Yes.

"Oh thank god! I thought you might turn me down? I'm not sure why, I mean, I like you and I'm pretty sure you like me after seeing the script and I guess it's just anxiety really but there was a chance you really like me back and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't waste my chance and at least try to-"

Pidge pulled his collar to make him lean down, planting a kiss on his cheek. Hunk's mouth snapped shut and his ears turned red to match his cheeks. Cookies fell to the floor as frosting turned crumbs to a thick paste. The pan clanged as it met the ground soon after.

"Hey, Hunk?"

"Yeah, Pidge?"

"I think your confession with cookies was really sweet, but there's frosting in my socks and I want to get them off before I kiss you for real."

[kiruuuuu]

Echo Chamber Pt 8

More SAS involvement and Echo gets clingy (finally). (Rating M, fluff and sexy towards the end, ~2.8k words)

.

There’s something odd about the SAS operators recently, Echo has noticed a while ago yet was unable to put his finger on it until he realised that they spent a disproportionate amount of time in his vicinity. This excludes Thatcher who undoubtedly has enough on his plate, but especially Smoke and Mute just happen to be in the same room as him whenever possible, even going so far as to sit next to him in the workshop. He discovered that Mute enjoys video games as well, dabbles in all kinds of different genres; his interests even overlap with some of Echo’s, making his opinion of the Brit skyrocket. They added each other on various relevant platforms and programs and chat now and then but mostly keep to themselves on base since their circles don’t really interact much.

Except that apparently, they do. Because they hover around him – even Sledge seems to keep an eye on him sometimes, though it’s hard to pinpoint the exact reason why. For a while, despite the fact he’s pretty sure they don’t know about whatever it is the two of them have, Echo suspected they were gauging how well he and Lesion fit together, whether he deserves him or not. If they’d asked him, he probably would’ve told them that no, he doesn’t deserve all the devotion that’s suddenly being thrown at him. Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t really, regardless of what Lesion seems to think.

Right now, they’re outside on a break. Dokkaebi isn’t on duty today so Echo has taken a seat at the edges of the circle around Smoke who’s gesturing emphatically and exchanging quips with an entirely unimpressed Mute who, despite being engrossed in his lunch, manages to keep up with him effortlessly. Echo has noticed this before: the two of them banter like professionals, both of them giving as good as they get. Not only that, Mute is also one of the few who doesn’t let Smoke intimidate, badger or mock him – at least not without shooting back. Their utterances click together satisfyingly and create an atmosphere of comfortable familiarity that normally would spark nothing more than faint envy in Echo yet now hits him full force.

He misses him. It’s hard to admit and even harder to accept but ever since Lesion left for the special training course almost two weeks ago, Echo’s moods have been unpredictable and his evenings unbearably long. He misses Lesion and it’s been so long since he felt anything like this that he forgot how to deal with it. Instead, he mopes and checks his phone compulsively whenever he can. He loathes the fact that time zones exist because they barely even get the chance to call, so instead they text not nearly as often as he’d like but it’s better than nothing. Even if it’s nothing but stupid emoji, even if it’s just the cheesy kissy face he hates.

It’s not enough. On one of the few occasions they got to speak for an extended period of time, he grew harder and harder just from hearing his voice. He steadfastly refused to disclose that fact when Lesion asked outright after he failed several times to answer a few simple questions due to being too distracted by literally nothing but his boner. Even though he was embarrassed about it, Lesion took it in stride, started giving orders with which Echo complied eagerly and talked him all the way through an earth-shattering orgasm that left his ears ringing, only to reveal that he’d been sitting in a café the entire time and sure hoped none of the locals speak English. The entire experience was elating and lessened the pressure on his chest but ultimately, it wasn’t enough.

“Yo, drone boy”, Smoke rudely interrupts his brooding and kicks at his foot, “did you hear? We’re going to a party soon, you wanna come with?”

“What, you actively uninvite me but he can tag along?”, Bandit cuts in, dismayed and visibly offended.

“He’s not going to dismantle the entire interior decoration now, is he? As opposed to you.”

“A friend of a friend is throwing it”, Mute patiently explains to Echo while the other two start throwing things at each other verbally, “and it’d do you some good to get outside more. And it’s me saying this, so you know I’m right.” Mute is an even bigger geek than Echo, therefore having him remark on Echo’s lack of a social life does carry special meaning.

“Alright”, he agrees, mostly because he now can be sure that Bandit won’t be there but also because he’s come to genuinely like Mute, though admittedly talking to him is much more pleasant when Smoke isn’t present. “When is it?”

“This Saturday.”

A lot plays into it but the fact that his bed feels so ridiculously empty all of a sudden, breakfast tedious, evenings boring is probably the main reason for his slip-up: “But that’s when Tze Long comes back.” He realises immediately, even before Bandit’s head whips around, and he can’t really backtrack either – the question as to why this is relevant at all would remain regardless.

“I didn’t know you were on a first name basis with him”, Bandit says, suspicious, and Echo is too busy panicking to think of anything to help him out of this hole he dug for himself.

“He just likes bragging about being able to pronounce it right. Remember how much Lesion laughed when I butchered it? Chinese is fucking crazy, you put the wrong emphasis on something like Batman and suddenly you’ve bought a dishwasher.”

It’s not just Smoke, Mute jumps in to his rescue as well: “Oh, you mean he already asked you about joining him? I told him we’d try to get you to come with us, so yeah, we’re both talking about the same party.”

This is when he realises they know. The way both of them smoothly cover up his mistake, immediately draw attention away from the topic and portray it as a misunderstanding is unambiguous and now their behaviour retroactively makes a lot of sense. They were looking out for him, Smoke probably for no other reason than to do Lesion a favour – he makes no secret of how much he values their friendship – and Mute hopefully because he reciprocates Echo’s sympathy. The revelation is both sobering and reassuring because while this means that Mute would normally not have approached him, the result is that he did. Besides, it’s never bad to be allied with the SAS operators.

Another surprise: he doesn’t mind that they know. Part of him wants to believe that they found out because Lesion can’t help but be obvious about it which, to be fair, is extremely probable. It’s flattering, actually, though it exacerbates his longing for the other man.

Once the situation has been defused and the conversation moved on, Echo catches Mute’s eye and mouths a thank you that’s met with a slight smile and the whispered words: “If you’re playing with his feelings, Smoke will stab you.”

Echo doesn’t doubt it.

~*~

It’s a logistical nightmare to cram the three British men as well as Lesion and Echo into the tiny car, especially because Sledge is stupidly tall and massive and Smoke insists on driving, meaning Lesion ends up halfway squished behind the shotgun riding Scotsman – and Echo between him and Mute who’s also far from small. Together, they groan and accidentally elbow each other in the sides several times as they struggle to fasten their seatbelts but manage eventually. The pleasant side effect of being pressed intimately close to Lesion is sadly negated by the fact that Echo can barely breathe and he wonders whose idea it was to drive to the party together.

On the way, Lesion recounts his experiences from the past two weeks, most of which Echo has already heard and so he instead focuses on not panicking when Lesion’s fingers find his own and thread them together, holding on confidently and without asking and it’s so sweet that Echo’s teeth hurt. Lesion returned a few hours ago, exhausted yet content and Echo had to twist his arm to take a much needed nap before their colleagues would pick them up later, joined him in bed and dozed a little while wrapped around him, happy to finally have an outlet for all his … affection again.

They arrive in what looks like a residential area and not like a place where any of the Brits would go to have fun but they’re stopping and climbing out of the car nonetheless, joking and looking extremely nonchalant. Lesion nudges him with a mischievous smile and a watch this expression and asks: “So, who’s going to be the designated driver?”

Cue collective eye rolling from the other three who immediately form a circle – apparently this is an old ritual of theirs – and fire off a few extremely fast rounds of rock, paper, scissors in which they keep picking the exact same thing every time, resulting in nothing but ties until they eventually shrug. “No winner, no designated driver. We’re taking a cab back home”, Sledge announces to Echo’s bewilderment.

“This is the fourth car we lost this way”, Smoke informs him before strolling up to a seemingly random, unsuspecting-looking house and entering without even knocking or ringing the bell.

They’re joking, of course. Echo sincerely hopes they are. “What kind of party is this?”, he belatedly wants to know and dubiously watches Mute hide the car keys in someone’s front yard.

“Oh, a friend of one of my buddies from Cambridge lives here, some professor for neuroscience I think. Used to give away LSD because, you know, selling it is kind of illegal. Shall we?”

.

So far, Echo has stumbled across a potato salad that probably witnessed the Queen being crowned back in the day, almost stepped into pizza on the best way to sentience, shunned a pile of ham sandwiches that looked sadder than most children when Mufasa dies and made a wide berth around various bowls of crisps into which a few questionable people have already reached after having licked their fingers clean. It’s no wonder then that he immediately approaches the first thing that looks edible to him, even delicious, and decides to chat it up. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“Mixing myself a Long Island Iced Tea”, Lesion replies, distracted, as he squints pensively at the almost empty bottle of rum in his hand before dumping the rest of the clear liquid into his tall glass as well. They’re alone in the kitchen, most of the other numerous guests have filed into the small garden or stayed in the vast living room. “It’s basically every type of alcohol plus a splash of coke.”

“That sounds positively abhorrent”, Echo replies and eyes the other man more closely. Even if the available food hadn’t been as repulsive as it is, even if it had been the best thing he’s ever eaten, he’d probably still prefer him. His fingers are itching to touch his hair and the urge to just step up to him and hug him from behind, pull him close, never let go is almost overwhelming.

“Oh, I can assure you, it is.” Lesion turns to him with a grin on his lips and Echo wants to pry them apart with his tongue, kiss him until either one of them faints, devour him. Lesion has never been more attractive, his tan is darker now and in stark contrast to his light clothing and Echo feels oddly charged, merely waiting for the right moment to unload this electricity dancing in his veins, uncertain as to where all this came from but unwilling to fight against it.

He plucks the glass out of Lesion’s hand and takes a generous sip that leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth and sets his throat on fire. Judging by the amused snort, the grimace he unknowingly produces must be extremely entertaining, yet he takes another sip and notices heat rising in him. “That is vile”, he agrees and grabs the coke bottle to turn this disaster into something vaguely drinkable.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

While he continues to gulp down the abomination Lesion mixed together, he ponders the question and finally says: “I genuinely couldn’t tell you. I talked to some guy about all his past lives who just happened to be Kings, assassins and just generally important people, coincidentally, and when I say talked I mean that he chewed my ear off. But then I got rescued by some girl who’s like half my age and already doing her PhD in particle physics and she was lovely. Also I’m convinced that two women were flirting with me purely because I called someone who ranted in favour of Brexit a fucking idiot.”

Lesion makes a curious noise at this last part. “Were they hot?”

That’s – that’s not the question he’s supposed to ask. Echo doesn’t know which one he should be posing instead, only that it’s not this one. Feeling vindictive, he says: “Extremely.”

“Nice. You could suggest they join us later, when I -”

Echo slams the glass onto the counter harder than he intended to and licks the lame joke off of Lesion’s mouth, kisses him and crowds him against the counter, kisses him and snakes his arms around his warm torso, kisses him forever. They barely did before coming here, a few pecks and not enough deep ones, so he’s starved and parched and freezing. The problem is he can’t stop, not now that the familiar smell that’s unmistakably Lesion is in his nose and drives him insane; he’s impossibly aroused and wants to hold Lesion down, thrust into his mouth, come all over him, suck him until he shakes and where is this deep-seated, primal desire coming from -

“Oh my God”, Lesion mumbles against his mouth and moans involuntarily when Echo slots their hips together, grinds against him unashamedly to show him just how much he missed him, “darling, you’re bloody plastered.”

And oh. That’s probably it. Now that he says it, Echo realises how light-headed he is, how little control he actually has over his tongue as he continues to shove it down Lesion’s throat. He barely noticed how much he drank but, thinking back, it was a lot. Not that it matters right now – on a rational level, he’s aware that he probably shouldn’t do any of this in some stranger’s kitchen yet his drunk brain reacts to the sudden proximity to this man in particular very enthusiastically. When Lesion interrupts their extremely sloppy make out session, Echo merely moves on to nibble at his ear and pushes one of his hands under his t-shirt to stroke over an erect nipple, relishing the yelp this gets him in return and the way Lesion attempts to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Babe, honey, no, wait”, he whispers and Echo loves how panicked he sounds, “don’t – oh God – how about we go back to the party for a bit longer and then we can continue once we’re -”

“I missed you.” His other hand tries to sneak into Lesion’s trousers but is caught by the wrist and pulled away, so in revenge he gently bites at Lesion’s neck which earns him a soft curse that goes straight to his crotch. “I don’t know why you wanted to go to this stupid party instead of fucking me all night.”

Lesion’s voice is unsteady now and it’s such a turn-on that his words take a moment to register: “I – I thought you wanted to go.”

“Wait, did they tell you I already agreed when they asked you?” A nod and Echo has to laugh despite having gotten played so obviously. “Mute said the same to me.” And it really doesn’t matter by now because even if they wasted some time, they still have the rest of the night and actually, Echo is enjoying making Lesion squirm for once. He latches onto heated skin with his mouth and sucks a large purple bruise into existence while he pinches the nipple with his one hand, shakes off the weak grip with the other, grabbing Lesion’s ass and pressing their lower halves together as his lover just flails helplessly.

“I see you’re having fun”, someone comments from behind them and this Scottish accent can only belong to Sledge but Echo doesn’t even care, not a single bit because all that’s in his mind is Lesion and his body and what he’s going to do to both.

“We’re a-actually leaving”, Lesion stutters, trying and failing to pry Echo off of him.

“Weird”, says Sledge and there might be a hint of amusement, “that’s not what it looks like to me.”

[frederator-studios]

Meet Kate Tsang and Jennifer Cho Suhr, Creators of “Welcome to Doozy”

Kate and Jennifer are award-winning, multidimensional filmmakers who bonded over being the food table hoverers at networking events. Others may schmooze; Kate + Jen sandwich. Their passion for food - and for their friendship - shines through in their short “Welcome to Doozy,” our 6th GO! Cartoon. I sat down with these very impressive ladies to discuss the bureaucracy behind imaginary friends, the importance of representation, and karaoke tea-time. 

Sooo, how’d you two meet? Kate: We met in film school at NYU, where we were in the same Masters program. Jen: Kate took classes in animation - but I have no animation background, and, sadly, can barely draw...

What brought you together as collaborators? Jen: We were paired in the same production group our first week of school, and became good friends. Kate: We’ve since collaborated on each other’s class exercises, thesis films, and various arty things.

Partners in movie-making! What brought you to Frederator as a team? Kate: I’ve always had an interest in animation. I love Adventure Time and Bee and PuppyCat. So when Natasha Allegri posted on her blog about GO! Cartoons, I told Jen we should ‘go’ for it. Jen: We had - still have! - the concept for a full series prepared, so we actually pitched the show bible first and then reverse-engineered that into the short.

How did “Doozy” change throughout your development process? Jen: A lot, actually. Lou is a Kitsune fox demon now - she started out as an eyeball with cowboy boots! But the concept was always 2 girlfriends, a la Broad City, having misadventures. Kate: A little origin story: Ex (who has always been a rabbit) recently retired from being an imaginary friend. The Bureau of Imaginary Friends handles the re-adjustment of retired IF’s back into the imaginary world. So this is the story of Ex re-assimilating: finding a roommate in Lou, getting a job, and developing a crush on her coworker Skeletim. Jen: Skeletim stayed really consistent since the pitch - Eric (Homan, our VP of Development) always really liked him. We joke that Eric only stuck with us because of Skeletim.

How much are Ex and Lou based on you two, and who’s who? Kate: It’s a bit of a mix… Jen: But I’d say I’m more Ex, almost by default - just because Kate is so much more like Lou. Kate: I AM the mischievous one. Jen: And I’m the more... straight-laced one? I guess that’s the way to put it. Although! Kate is the one who does martial arts, like Ex.

What themes recur in your work? Kate: There’s always hopefulness in mine. I’m interested in outsiders, and finding whimsy and humor, even when things look bleak. I enjoy working in mediums where I can create wonderment. Like right now: I’m learning magic! Jen: I care a lot about representation and grounding stories in the realities of human relationships. The feature film that I’m developing now is inspired by my relationship with my sister. And with “Doozy”: it’s very specific to Kate and my identities as Asian Americans. Kate: Like incorporating the bento box, and the influence of Japanese anime and manga, of which we’re both fans. We were definitely inspired by Hayao Miyazaki’s way with food.

❀ A happy lil side note: one of the most popular Youtube comments on the short reads ‘A lot of people won’t know what a bento is but thanks to you, now they do!’ ❀

Jen: And we were conscious of the fact that most buddy comedies are about male friendships. We wanted to show girls being silly together and represent female friendship as it really is. Kate: That’s why Broad City was such an inspiration and even a motivator for “Doozy”. We were like ‘Ok, people do want to watch this.’

I read recently that Broad City’s viewership is split almost evenly male/female - it’s actually something like 55/45, with more men watching than women. Kate: What? That’s awesome. Jen: It just goes to show that it all comes down to good comedy and strong characters. I’m actually about to have a baby boy which has made me think about the types of stories that I’ll read to him as he grows up. I’ve been thinking of some of my favorite YA books with female protagonists like Anne of Green Gables and A Wrinkle in Time… it’s important to me that he’s able to identify and empathize with female characters. The only reason that boys “wouldn’t be able to” as people say, is if they learn socially that they shouldn’t.

What are some cool things we’ll get to see if “Welcome to Doozy” gets a series? Jen: Well, let’s just say there are some nefarious happenings in Ex’s office…

Gasp! Not Mrs. Hugs! Kate: Nah, not Mrs. Hugs. She’s a true office drone, doesn’t know what’s really up. Jen: We’d also backtrack, to show how Ex and Lou came to be friends and roommates. Kate: And we’d get to introduce their pet popsicle, who lives in the freezer. Jen: And we’d get to see Lou working her job at a run-down mini golf course. She schemes and ~magics~ to keep it afloat. Kate: There’s an underlying mystery, and it’d be a lot of them screwing up while trying to investigate it.

What sorta stuff do you guys like to do together - any wild adventures? Kate: Actually, yes. We try to take a road trip together every year. So far we’ve done the Badlands, the Southwest, the Midwest, the South and New Orleans. Jen: Admittedly, the Midwest was probably the most boring… not to knock where I’m from. But here’s a story: when we were in Nashville - the biggest music town - we quickly realized that karaoke is different there and that everyone getting onstage was a pro or semi-pro country singer. And then Kate got up - Kate: I didn’t know any better. Jen: And sang an Amy Winehouse/Mark Ronson cover amid all this country music. Truly the new kids in town. And the audience TOTALLY ate it up! They loved it. Kate: We karaoke together a lot. Sometimes we rent a room for just the two of us… during the middle of the day… one might call us enthusiasts.

What cartoons do you guys like? Jen: Well, Kate and I have wildly different tastes. But we both love Adventure Time and Rick and Morty. Kate: And we share 90s cartoons, like Dexter’s Lab, Daria, and Invader Zim - Jen: But Kate likes things like Ren & Stimpy - which is too grotesque for me…

What about your favorite Studio Ghibli film? Jen: Spirited Away. Kate: My Neighbor Totoro.

Last up: what are you working on now, and what’s your favorite thing you’ve made in the past? Kate: Favorite film I’ve made is “So You’ve Grown Attached” - “Doozy” inherited elements from it, like the imaginary friends, and the name ‘Ex’. Jen: I’m really focused on getting my feature financed right now, which we want to shoot this summer.

Oo-ooh! What’s it about, and who’s the star? Jen: The film is called You and Me Both and we have Constance Wu from Fresh Off the Boat as one of the stars (me = !!). It’s a drama with comedic notes about two sisters, one a struggling heroin addict, who take a road trip to find their birth mother. While it touches on some heavy topics like loss and addiction, it’s ultimately a love story between sisters… so if anyone is looking to finance a film, hit me up! As far as favorite work… I don’t know… Kate: What about “Saeng-Il”? (“Birthday” in Korean) Jen: Okay, “Saeng-Il” then.

And Kate, what are you working on?

Kate: Eeeerrrrrr…. Jen: C’mon! Your feature! Kate: Okay, yeah, I’m working on a feature too. It’s a drama-comedy about a teen delinquent who teams up with a struggling party magician to battle her inner demons, strained home life, and avoid reform school. If anyone happens to know anyone who knows Catherine O’Hara - I’ve got a part for her.

You heard it here first, folks. Let’s snag financing for “You and Me Both” and Catherine O’Hara as Kate’s lead.

Thanks for taking the time, Kate and Jen! Great chatting with you, and best of luck on all of your projects. Can’t wait to see ‘em on the big screen (and also, little screens).

- Cooper

[delwin47]

Fanfic (ST:Voy), Reckonings

One more early Voyager fic from me -- Happy Voyager Anniversary, everyone and thank you to @alphaflyer @rikerssexblouse and @pg1890 for joining the fun!

Summary: Voyager's first three days stuck in the Delta Quadrant: two crews, one ship and, of course, Tom Paris.

Originally posted on FFN and AO3

Reckonings

Stardate 48321.46: 12 hours after the destruction of the Caretaker's array...

He might as well paint a giant red X on his back.

After all, an X, no matter how large and how red, couldn't possibly be as conspicuous as the uniform in his hands.

Starfleet command red. The Paris legacy. And now the unmistakeable sign of Tom Paris's treachery to the three dozen or so Maquis with whom he will apparently be sharing Voyager's fifteen decks for the immediate future.

Sliding the silky material through his fingers, Tom's expression twists into a humorless grin.

He's so very screwed.

Mustn't forget to add to those Maquis a crew of over a hundred Starfleet personnel all of whom think that he is the worst sort of disgrace to that same uniform...

...except the Captain.

The captain who put him back behind the helm of a starship.

Tom's fingers twitch as he mentally runs through the series of banks and turns, twists and dives that he guided Voyager through as they battled the Kazon less than twelve hours before. Whoever developed that bio-neural circuitry knew their stuff: Voyager responded to his commands like no other Starfleet ship he'd ever piloted.

And her captain evidently makes command decisions like no other captain Tom has ever encountered – and he's known a few. Who but Kathryn Janeway would hand over her ship to a paroled convict with a more than checkered service record?

Tom shakes his head in bemusement as he pulls on first the uniform pants and then the shirt. At least he'll provide a subject upon which Voyager's crew and their Maquis...guests? passengers? prisoners? can agree – everyone (except the Captain) hates Thomas Eugene Paris.

As he pins the communicator to his shirt, it promptly chirps to life :Kim to Paris:

"Paris here," Tom responds. "What can I do for you, Harry?" And he can't help smiling to himself: make that 'except the Captain and Ensign Harry Kim'.

:Do you have an hour or so? I'm in the middle of trying to figure out how to adapt the navigational systems to our...current coordinates and I could use a second pair of eyes:

All crises having passed for the moment, Tom has nothing if not time. Answering Harry in the affirmative, he slips on his boots, does a quick check in the mirror (the empty gray collar still pulls his attention like the gap from a missing tooth) and heads out the door – eyes straight ahead, mouth firmly and wisely set shut.

As it turns out, the corridors of Voyager are next to empty. Tom passes two or three of the Voyager crew but not a single Maquis. Come to think of it, he isn't sure what happened to Chakotay, Torres and the others once Janeway cleared her bridge – he and Harry were busy trying to find a relatively safe section of space into which to move Voyager. Are the Maquis now confined to quarters? Or the brig?

Having spent more than his fair share of time in starship brigs, Tom feels a brief flash of sympathy for the possible fate of the Val Jean's crew, but mostly he's glad to be spared becoming walking target practice, at least for the moment. When the doors of his destination slide open, he exhales heavily.

"Tom!" Harry turns to greet him, pausing in his work at the sole terminal in the room to do so. "Thanks for coming down."

"No problem." Tom glances around the gridded room appreciatively. "They made them bigger."

Harry follows his gaze and frowns. "The holodecks?"

Tom nods, estimating. "It looks like they increased both the area and the height. That gives some interesting extra potential for programs with multiple participants."

"Are you a holo-programmer?" Harry sounds surprised.

Tom considers that as he walks to join the younger man at the terminal. "Only as a hobby," he clarifies. "And 'was', not 'am'. I haven't been in a holodeck or holosuite since...for a couple of years."

Harry glances over, obviously trying to decide which tack to take in navigating the hazardous topic of Tom's recent history. "Well, now you are," he tries with only somewhat forced cheer. Then, with a grimace, "And we're all certainly going to need some new entertainment over the next seventy years so you'd better brush off those programming skills."

There are any number of questionable assumptions built into Harry's comment, but Tom chooses to address one of the less personal ones. "Given the circumstances, Harry, I'm pretty sure Janeway's not likely to authorize the use of energy for holodeck entertainment."

Harry shrugs. "The holodecks are on a separate grid from the rest of the ship. Their energy is incompatible with the main systems." He turns back to the computer. "That's actually why I'm working down here: it's more energy efficient to run simulations through the holodecks than through the main computer."

Despite everything, Tom chuckles. "So we may all starve out here, but even unofficial crew might be able to score holodeck privileges? Hell, maybe I'll invite Chakotay and his gang down to play some Velocity."

"Now that may be more difficult."

Which is interesting in itself, but even more interesting is the tone in which Harry drops his hint – the tone of someone with a nugget of information that he is all too eager to share. The straight-as-an-arrow Ensign Harry Kim is, Tom surmises, a first rate gossip hound.

Given that this particular nugget is one in which he has a personal interest, Tom has no problem biting. "And why is that?"

As expected, Kim pauses in his work and gives Tom his full attention. "Well, according to B'Elanna..."

"When were you talking to Torres?" No, not 'Torres'. 'B'Elanna'. When had that happened?

"The Captain ordered us both back down to Sickbay so that the Emergency Medical Hologram could make sure that virus or whatever it was that the Caretaker put into our systems was completely cleared out," Harry explains offhandedly, clearly impatient to get back to his point. "Anyway, B'Elanna said that all of the Maquis had been packed into various crew quarters and confined there."

Which is good news for Tom as evidently the lack of Maquis roaming the corridors this morning wasn't just a coincidence. But he finds himself backtracking through Harry's statement. "So are you okay? With the virus, I mean?"

Harry shrugs again, unconcerned. "Oh yeah. The EMH fixed that right up." Then he looks at Tom more directly. "By the way, I never did thank you for coming after me – or us – down there. We were in pretty bad shape before you found us. You probably saved our lives."

Tom scratches at the back of his neck. "You and Torres are both pretty stubborn. I'm sure you would have clawed your way out of there eventually."

Harry just grins. "So there's that, plus the Ferengi thing on DS9, not to mention your...help on the bridge yesterday – that's at least three I owe you, Paris."

The tone is light and casual: this is part of the script, the usual back-and-forth between crewmates who are used to putting their lives in each other's hands on a regular basis.

But it brings Tom up short. Because he and Harry are not, in fact, crewmates. And he disqualified himself from this sort of banter more than two years ago. Which no one seems to have any trouble remembering – except Harry.

Speaking of owing someone...

"Hey, Tom?" Harry glances over at him quizzically. "You okay?"

Tom blinks away his train of thought and turns back to his friend. "Yeah, Harry." Then he grins and briefly clasps the younger man's shoulder. "I'm fine." He turns his attention to the console. "Weren't you looking for my help with something?"

They spend the next hour working out how to compensate for the Delta Quadrant's lack of Federation navigational infrastructure until Harry is due to report back to the bridge. Once they part outside the holodeck, Tom begins to make his way back to his quarters, passing through still quiet and nearly empty corridors.

So at least he is running good there.

.

Stardate 48324.2: 36 hours after the destruction of the array...

So much for running good – though it was nice while it lasted.

Tom walks through the doors of the mess hall to find it – as expected – crawling with a dozen or so leather-clad Maquis.

An attempt to replicate breakfast in his quarters an hour earlier had been frustrated by an inactive replicator and a cheerful explanation from the computer that all meals were to be taken in the mess hall in order to maximize power conservation and centralize ration distribution. His brief musing on whether that would include the Maquis was answered by playing back an obviously hastily composed message from Harry which strongly suggested that Tom might want to wait until the ensign's shift break to head down to the mess hall for a meal.

Maquis included then.

Tom had taken a moment to wonder exactly how the negotiations on that one had gone down. Most likely Chakotay had pledged the good behavior of his crew – a pledge, no doubt, made in good faith and one that would be largely effective.

With the notable exception of behavior toward a certain ex-Maquis-turned-rat.

Having sent back a quick note declining Harry's well-intentioned but ultimately futile offer – Tom couldn't exactly hide behind the younger man for the next seventy years – Tom had made the decision to head directly into the line of fire.

His entrance immediately draws the attention of every person in the room, including the two Starfleet security officers who have clearly been stationed there to maintain order.

Neither of them looks exactly glad to see him.

Tom nods in their direction anyway but doesn't bother to wait for their acknowledgment. Feigning unconcern, he grabs a tray and makes his request of the replicator before moving to an open table where his back will be to the replicator and the door but he'll maintain a clear view of the full room and its occupants.

His attention ostensibly on his food, Tom takes a census of his fellow diners. Henley and Jonas occupy one table with two other Maquis whom he doesn't recognize. At the sight of him, Henley looks somewhat obscenely like a cat who's just been presented with an unexpected bowl of milk – or perhaps more accurately with a mouse with which to play. On the other side of the room, Chell's blue head glows as he whispers animatedly to the fellow Bolian seated across from him, his pointing finger and equally pointed gaze leaving little doubt as to the subject of his commentary. At a third table, Ken Dalby sits alone, tray pushed away. Slouched against the back of his chair, his arms are folded tightly to his chest and his calculating eyes are locked on Tom.

The other half dozen Maquis are unknown to Tom, evidently having joined Chakotay's crew after his own precipitous departure. But, based on the glares they are aiming in his direction, that's not affecting their ability to take Tom's betrayal personally.

Thirteen.

And all of them with very little left to lose.

A glance over at the gold-uniformed Starfleet officers confirms that help from that corner will be slow to arrive at best. Both men have subtly turned their shoulders, suggesting that it might well take an extra few seconds for them to notice any trouble starting in the direction of Voyager's observer.

And Tom well knows that a lot can happen in a few seconds.

He scans the room once more for potential sources of aid...like whom? Unless Harry cuts out in the middle of his bridge shift for a snack of ration bars... Chakotay, maybe? Tom did save the guy's life and, whatever else one might say about the man, one couldn't really doubt his sense of honor. Torres? An odd twist in his gut reminds him just how thoroughly he's burned that bridge.

"Tom Paris?"

He jumps violently at the soft voice. Little good it does keeping a view of the room before him if he misses the entrance of someone from behind. Twisting around, he identifies the voice's owner and hastily stands to cover the severity of his reaction. "That's me, yes." And then, regaining his composure, he adds, "It's Kes, right?"

The young woman nods, smiling and, despite the roomful of Maquis, Tom feels some of the tightness in his back and shoulders ease.

Motioning with the food tray in her hands, she asks, "May I join you?"

Tom nods, indicating the other chair and going so far as to pull it out for her. Kes sits, her back now to the room. Looking over her shoulder, Tom doesn't fail to notice that the security officers are once again on full alert: Tom Paris might be an easy victim to sacrifice but the elfin newcomer who has somewhat unwisely chosen to join him evidently is not.

Although, as Tom surveys the rest of the mess hall, the officers' renewed attention may be unneeded. The Maquis have turned back to their meals and the tension in the air has abated. He finds himself unsurprised that Kes seems to have called out the better angels of the freedom fighters' natures.

She might as well be an angel herself, with that air of innocence and kindness that seems to emanate from her. 'Unearthly' might be a fair descriptor and perhaps appropriate for a species that only lives nine years.

"I've been looking for the chance to thank you," Kes begins, interrupting his thoughts.

"To thank me?"

"For helping to rescue me." At what must be his somewhat blank look, she clarifies, "From Jabin."

"Ah." He has somehow almost forgotten about finding her beaten and half-starved in the Kazon encampment – had that only been two days ago? The holographic doctor did its work well and quickly in healing her. Not quite so innocent, then, and that kindness is more hard won than he was giving her credit for. "That wasn't our intent in going down to the surface," Tom explains honestly, then adds, "but I'm certainly happy to have helped."

Kes smiles warmly and, without thought, Tom smiles back. It's such an easy, natural interaction, without calculation. When did that become so unusual?

They both take a bite or two of their meals and Kes's gaze moves to the mess hall's expansive viewports. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she comments, indicating the starscape outside those ports. "And it's so amazing to be traveling through open space like this."

Having spent far too much of the last year landlocked, Tom can agree with that sentiment wholeheartedly. "You've never been off-planet before, have you?"

"No." Kes's eyes are still on the stars. "Neelix told me stories – about his ship and all the different systems and planets – all the different species." She gives a self-deprecating shrug. "They seemed like fairy tales at the time."

"And now you're going to live that fairy tale," Tom points out to her. "You and Neelix can travel to all of those places."

"That's true," she agrees, taking another bite of food. "Still," and she looks back out at the stars, "I can't help but wonder what it would be like to see it all from this ship – to be a member of a starship crew." She turns back to him with another enchanting smile. "It must be a wonderful life."

Tom chokes a little on a bite of food that seems to have gotten caught in his throat. At the sound, Henley glances back in his direction, likely hoping to witness his untimely demise courtesy of a ration bar. Jonas says something to draw her attention back and she joins in her tablemates' laughter. To the side of the room, the two security officers are chatting quietly with each other. For the moment, Tom Paris is forgotten.

Which is about the best that he can hope for.

"Yeah," he agrees roughly. And his own eyes turn to the starscape. "It must be."

.

  Stardate 48326.94: 60 hours after the destruction of the array...

Two quadrants away from Earth and San Francisco, but "Hurry up and wait" is still evidently the unofficial Starfleet motto for those lacking in rank insignia.

How many times during their first weeks at the Academy did Tom and his cohorts sprint in order to arrive at designated place X at appointed time Y only to spend the next half hour cooling their heels and waiting on someone higher up in the Starfleet pecking order?

Of course, at that point, 'someone' could have been just about anyone in uniform: it was pretty much impossible to get lower in the food chain than a freshly arrived Academy cadet.

Well, pretty much impossible unless you happened to be Thomas Eugene Paris. Seems like he's managed to accomplish that feat quite neatly.

Across the bridge at the tactical station, the lieutenant on duty – Andrews, maybe? – hasn't stopped glaring at him since Tom walked onto the bridge.

Perhaps 'rushed' more than 'walked'. Old habits die hard and one wouldn't want to be late when summoned by the captain of the ship to her ready room. Particularly when that captain put the helm of that ship in one's hands three days before. Even more particularly when one hasn't heard a word from that captain since finally, reluctantly turning that helm back over to someone whose gray collar wasn't bare.

Not that he blames her for the lack of communication. Right now Kathryn Janeway has bigger issues to deal with than the ex-Starfleet-lieutenant, ex-Maquis-pilot, current-convict-on-probation who happens to be an observer on her ship.

Like what to do with the three dozen not-so-ex Maquis who also happen to be residing on that ship.

Andrews hasn't let up his glower, and Tom begins to wonder if he's managed to do something to piss off the guy personally, beyond the usual 'cashiered out of Starfleet and convicted felon' stuff. Doesn't he have a station he's supposed to be monitoring anyway?

"Lieutenant?" comes Harry's voice from behind Tom at ops. "Could you confirm that the energy signature in grid forty seven is just a pocket of ambient radiation? My reading is unclear."

At which Andrews finally looks back down at his board. The corner of Tom's mouth twitches upward into something between a smirk and a grin, but he resists the urge to look back at Harry, instead mentally adding to his tally of what he owes the younger man.

Tom's actually been doing a good bit of mental calculating in the last couple of days – and not with good results. The inescapable conclusion of his ruminations has been that Voyager needs the Maquis. Without them, she simply will not have the manpower she needs to function sustainably, not to mention to begin a journey home.

And, if he's being honest, Tom knows that most of the Val Jean's crew are good people with talents that could serve Voyager well. Hell, Torres by herself would probably cut the length of the journey back to the Alpha Quadrant in half if given a crack at the engines. A captain would be foolish not to utilize those talents and foolish Kathryn Janeway is not.

Which is not good news for Tom Paris.

The Captain will not ask him to leave, he knows that. For one, he's his father's son, and secondly, it is by her request that Tom is on Voyager and in the Delta Quadrant to begin with. The combination of loyalty and slight guilt will ensure him a bunk and rations. But, if his existence is going to be limited to draining Voyager's resources and staying one step ahead of a Maquis lynch mob, he might as well still be in that penal colony in New Zealand.

From the conn, Culhane calls over to where Tuvok sits in the captain's chair: "Sir, I have the results of the navigational surveys that you asked me to run."

Without meaning to, Tom looks over at the ensign and Voyager's helm. Had it been for an hour, maybe two that he had occupied Culhane's seat?

The chance to fly again had been an unexpected and incredible gift; even more so had been the act of faith which had put him at the conn – the particular type of faith that a captain must have in her crew and that Tom thought he had forfeited forever.

Tom's eyes move again to the helm, so tantalizingly close.

Yet still absolutely out of his reach.

He may have raced like a new cadet to answer Janeway's summons, but the news awaiting him in the ready room can only be bad.

Despite that, he'll take the opportunity to thank her for giving him one more chance to fly a starship and to feel – if only for that short time – like a member of a crew again. For that, she has his endless gratitude.

The ready room door slides open, and Chakotay walks out, distracted and thoughtful. He glances Tom's way, but his look is without acknowledgment and inscrutable. He continues without pause to the turbolift and exits the bridge without a word.

Drawing on years of practice, Tom tries to school his own features back to impassivity as he steps up to the ready room door and sounds the chime. But, even though he refuses to glance back at the helm one more time, there is a tightness to his jaw that he can't ease as the door opens before him and he steps through.

Time to be cut loose again.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT VALUATIONS

The most obvious difference between real essays and the things one has to write in high school the solution was the telephone. You can change everything about it, is roughly what you hope to get from a graduate program. Then if they decide they do want to invest—usually because they've heard you're a hot deal—they can pretend they just got distracted and then restart the conversation as if they'd been anointed as the next Google?1 I read an article in which a car magazine modified the sports model of some production car to get the best investors, because the very idea of Web-based startup is food and rent. And yet all the empirical evidence points that way: pretty much 100% of startups that go public is very small.2 So if you start a company than incorporating it, of course, and this is one of the most ad hoc parts of any system. So he proposes there are two kinds of theoretical knowledge had to be carefully planned. But if someone had, they'd probably be quite rich now. You grow big by being nice, but you knew there would be no rest for them till they'd signed up.3 Expert hackers are a tiny minority of the population, they're the best source of organic ones, because they're at the forefront of technology. But when I think about it, including even its syntax, and anything you write has, as much as submission.

Soon after we arrived at Yahoo, said: I actually put more value on the guy with the failed startup. So to the extent that valuations are being driven up by price-insensitive VCs, they'll fall again if VCs become more like one another.4 They've faced resistance from investors of course. VCs, especially if you deserve them. If you're not, there's a good chance it will be with people you know, you'll find they have an uncanny way of leading back to it. There are an infinite number of questions. Is anyone able to develop stuff in house, and that probably made a difference. You've made something you need to do their job.

If you'd been around when that change began around 1000 in Europe it would have seemed to nearly everyone that running off to the city to make up for it, is roughly what you hope to get from a company that managed a large enough number of companies could say to all its clients: we'll combine the revenues from all your companies, and we make a point of exerting less. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of gestures I'd make if I were drawing from life. Let's think about how such a management company to run your company for you once you'd grown it to a certain size. To be attractive to hackers, they're especially sensitive to it. Some of the problems they face are the same, their exteriors express very little, and they are arranged in a tree structure. It's not the kind of thing is out there for anyone to discover. There is more to setting up a company than to be a job. But once again, I wouldn't aim too directly at either target. This force works in both phases: both in the transition from starting a company. What makes a good startup, you can always tell. That's why we advise groups to ignore issues like scalability, internationalization, and heavy-duty security at first. It's more important than brevity to a hacker: being able to solve it.

They seem lazy because the work they're given is pointless, and they know how much jobs suck. As with contrarian investment strategies, that's exactly the point. Whereas when you're big you can maltreat them at will, and you know what it said? What makes anything good? The real question is, how far up the ladder of abstraction will parallelism go? Most hackers are employees, and this tends to warp their development decisions. It's an encouraging thought, and b their growth potential makes it easy to attract such money. The worst ideas we see at Y Combinator we get an increasing number of companies, and pay you your proportionate share. Treating a startup idea. And yet conventional ideas of professionalism have such an iron grip on our minds that even startup founders are probably dissuaded from doing it by their parents. Eleven people manage to work together in quite complicated ways, and yet we can profit by helping them, because when you're growing slow by word of mouth. Now the people who create technology, and we make a point of exerting less.5

With his tail between his legs, or rebel. Opinions are divided about how early to focus on your least expensive plan. Fairchild Semiconductor were not startups at all in our sense. But software companies don't hire students for the summer to work on your own projects. The old answer was no: you were supposed to go to college.6 When we started Y Combinator we bet money on it, and group themselves according to whatever shared interest they feel most strongly.7 It's not even that old; it only dates from about 1990. Imagine waking up after such an operation. The lower of two levels will either be a language in which the elements are characters. I think there's a general principle at work here: the less energy people expend on performance, the more hooks you have for new facts to stick onto—which means you accumulate knowledge at what's colloquially called an exponential rate. A lot of the most successful founder we've funded so far, so tentatively assume the path to huge passes through an A round, unless you're very unusual, will feel your age to some degree an admission of failure.

Plus this method yields teams of developers who already work well together. Like all illicit connections, the connection between wealth and power flourishes in secret. One way to make something people want is to get there first and get all the way to think about this.8 For example, many languages today have both strings and lists. Once you remember that Normans conquered England in 1066, it will be at a high valuation means enough investors were willing to accept it. I've never heard anyone mention explicitly. The right environment for having startup ideas need not be a university per se.

In How to Become a Hacker, Eric Raymond, Guido van Rossum, David Weinberger, and Steven Wolfram for reading drafts of this. But marketing is increasingly irrelevant. Don't optimize for valuation.9 Established ones have learned to treat saying yes as like diving off a diving board, and they won't even dare to take on ambitious projects. They reject nearly everyone they talk to, which means to try.10 And yet, when I think back to the 1960s and 1970s, when it was the basis of Amsterdam's prosperity 400 years ago. It just seemed a very good profiler, rather than for any practical need. In that world, the hardware we'll have in a hundred years will be looking for ways to take advantage of anything new, and are willing to forgo in return for an immediate payment, acquirers will evolve to consume it. Query response times, usually the proof is profitability. Perl cult. Octopart there was no one but him. We charged a flat fee of $300/month.

This is one of the principles we began with is false. An eminent Lisp hacker told me that his copy of CLTL falls open to the section format. I were choosing now that's still the one I'd pick.11 A rich company is one with large revenues. You're thinking out loud. Instead of delivering what viewers want, they're trying to force them take their prices off the site. There are just two or three of you, and b the subject of writing now tends to be set artificially low because the first investor becomes your asking price. When you write something telling people to be curious about certain things and not others; our DNA is not so disinterested as we might think. Most successful startups not only do something very specific, but solve a problem is often to redefine it.

Notes

When you fund a startup. But the money was to backtrack and try another approach.

Buy an old copy from the Dutch baas, meaning master. The more people would do fairly well as good ones don't even try. Maybe at first you make something hackers use. No VC will admit they're influenced by confidence.

Even if you suppress variation in prices.

For founders who continued to live inexpensively as their companies that get killed by overspending might have infected ten percent of them is that startups aren't the problem, any more than whatever collection of specious beliefs about its intrinsic qualities. I explain later. The rules with the founders'.

In practice it just feels like it takes forever. 3/4 of their origins in their IPO filing.

It didn't work out. The few people have told me: One way to fight back themselves. Garry Tan pointed out by Mitch Kapor, is to imagine cases where a lot of people who currently make that their buying power meant lower prices for you, they made much of a powerful syndicate, you can do is not that the path from ideas to startups. Predecessors like understanding seem to be employees is to discount knowledge that at some of them.

But that doesn't exist. I'm saying you should never sell.

Good news: users don't care about GPAs. Consulting is where the ratio of spam. In fact most of the world barely affects me. 7 reports that in effect hack the college admissions there would be taught that masturbation was perfectly normal and not fundraising is a net loss of productivity.

We think of. Odds are people whose applications are perfect in every way, without becoming a police state. But it's telling that it offers a better strategy in terms of the most famous example.

Now the misunderstood artist is not to be high, they tended to make you take out your anti-recommendation.

The latter type is sometimes called an HR acquisition. Part of the growth rate has to their companies took off? An investor who for some reason insists that you can't dictate the problem. I don't think you need a higher growth rate has to their situation.

[pisati]

I don’t really know how I want to see this. 

I don’t want to call it a turning point, necessarily. a benchmark, a new chapter. it almost feels like too solid of a line to draw.

but at the same time, it feels like there is a line being drawn. a kind of vague one.

this’ll be my first job in over a year. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to be able to take over a year off, but it really did fly by. somehow. people get different jobs all the time, that’s not what feels different about this. it’s the fact that I went to school for something, got a job in that something, and then... I don’t know. I don’t want to say I dropped it completely. but as much as I don’t want to admit it to myself, I just can’t see a future for myself in linguistics. maybe one day, not in an academic sense, maybe one day as a hobby. I will never not love it. 

but I was just thinking last night, after stumbling upon the twitter profile of a girl that used to be in my school’s PhD program (she was my TA in my first intro ling class, now she’s an assistant professor at UChicago. time certainly flies), that that sphere of academia is entirely out of my reach. I don’t feel smart enough for it, and after my time in undergrad I feel like I’m not disciplined enough for it either. I thought that was what I wanted. I thought that was what I was working towards. when I was 19 I could’ve seen that being me. I don’t see it anymore. I guess I can’t say it’ll never ever happen; I do feel like a lot of my problem is that I’m held back by what my insomnia does to me. maybe one day if I can fix that I’ll change my mind. but I’m also not sure I’ll ever be the kind of person who would fit in academia. I’ve been there. I’ve been in it. I follow other academic linguists on twitter, I see what things they think about and how they talk about them. I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. maybe one day if I find something within the scope of my education (or even slightly without; I do want to expand it). maybe I’ll go back to it. maybe.

but that puts me in this position where I need to work, and I need to figure out what I actually want to do. so here I am with this new job. as a receptionist. from $55k a year to $28k. and it’ll probably be less than that, because it’s going to be closer to 37.5-38 hours a week than 40. the feds were about to give me $70k. some part of me sees it as kind of a personal failing. I had such a strong trajectory. when I started college and started actually getting excited about school, I could see myself getting a PhD. I worked my ass off the next year, got my first straight-A year ever. I loved what I was learning, but I never figured out what I wanted to do. that was when I felt like I started stagnating. I felt the burnout starting to hit me during my third year. when I got that last job, after 5 years of undergrad, I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready for full-time either. I pushed myself through it, because I felt forced to. I needed a job, I wanted a job in my field. but I was so miserable. I had a whole year off and I still feel burnt out. this isn’t burnout. this is whatever my problem is. so maybe I can see switching gears again if I ever get my energy back. I just feel like I could’ve been doing so much better. I had a great running start, I hit the springboard, I took a pathetic hop off of it, and I curled up on the ground.

that doesn’t mean I can’t try again. I still have some hope for myself. it really depends on my health. 

for the more immediate present, though, it doesn’t feel all that good. I don’t know how I want to see this. as another transitory period, just buying myself time until I figure out what I want and until my health starts improving? as an opportunity, somehow? as much as I’d like to pivot into animal care, I don’t know that that’s right for me either. there’s not much pay out there unless you’re a doctor, and that’s not something I can do. or even want to do. it kills me that pay is the only thing keeping me away from it.

I’ve been thinking about psychology for grad school. I need to be more specific about my goals before I go after it, but even looking at pay for masters-level clinicians and social workers... it’s not great. certainly not enough to support myself where I live. you really do need to either be making $80k+ per year or have someone to split rent with around here. charlotte’s got her fiance. any other friends that are still here have their significant others; even friends not around here have theirs. or else other roommates. I’m even starting to lose my confidence about the low-income housing option here. I could move, but salary and cost-of-living often trend in the same directions. salaries here are higher than a lot of places, but rent is also astronomical. places where rent is cheap also don’t tend to pay much. I feel like I’m kind of fucked no matter where I end up, because it’s just me. it’d be a pleasant surprise to not end up alone, but I’m planning for it as an inevitability. and god damn is it hard. there’s really not much I want to do (or could ever be able to do, feels like) that will pay enough. 

I feel kind of defeated. overall. not hopeless quite yet. I just don’t know what’s coming, and that makes me nervous. I shot myself in the foot and lost the biggest opportunity I could have possibly had. not that I would’ve liked it, but I could’ve stomached it for the pay. I just want to do something I like. something I feel like I can flourish and grow in. something I can do until I retire (if I can even fucking retire). I want to feel good about what I do, not sitting in my car crying on the way to work or wanting to veer into oncoming traffic on the way home. pay vs. cost of living is something that’s entirely beyond my hands. I’m going to have to suck it up and do something. hope it’ll work out. at least I’ve got the small comfort of a nest egg, courtesy of my dad. I’ll never know how I got that lucky.

my close friends know my situation. the few people I’ve talked to about it have been very understanding. I guess part of me is a little afraid of being judged. I’m one of two people I know of from my program who have left the field; the other one is the girl who worked in my lab and spent a lot of her time texting instead of making scheduling calls, was late to lab meetings, and never seemed to care much about the studies or what they were looking at. pretty sure everyone else I know of either went into industry (one girl got a job in portland, lucky fuckin duck) or managed to stay in research. one of my co-labbers got a position with CASL. I can kind of feel the disappointment from my lab manager and professor from 3 years ago; feeling ashamed that I ended up probably about where they thought I would. I can’t blame myself for not knowing what I wanted. I need to remind myself of that. I loved what I did, I worked hard, but there was no way to know that it just wasn’t for me. 

I feel like I need to explain myself to people, and I don’t know why. why am I afraid of being seen the way I think people see me? nobody likes being in a bad light. I like to think I’ve been doing a little better about it, anyway. too many bleeding-heart statuses on facebook back in the day. I could just say well, fuck everyone else, then. but I think at the root of it... I want to feel understood. I don’t want to feel judged by people I know. I don’t like feeling like they know this version of me that isn’t the actual one; the one they made up in their heads based on assumptions in tandem with what little other information they have. fuck em if they don’t want to know the actual me, then, I guess. that doesn’t leave me with much.

I’m a little sad that I had all this time off and I feel like I wasted it. a whole year! to do whatever I wanted! I could go anywhere any time and I fucking didn’t! there’s so much I could have done, and I spent 85% of the last year exhausted and sad curled up in bed. and in a fuckload of pain, so it’s cool that we’re just resolving that as my break is ending. would’ve been cool to not have a year+ of jaw pain and headaches, in the same way it would’ve been cool to not have had to deal with a nasty ringworm infection for the entirety of my last semester in college. it is what it is, I guess.

but, like my [sort-of] regrets about spending my time in college not going out, I don’t think I’d have done much different if I could go back. I felt like I needed all this rest. being able to nap whenever I needed it has been a real blessing; it’d have been nice if it had ever made me feel less tired, of course. it’s given me a lot of time for self-reflection, not that I can remember much of the last two years anyhow. a lot of time to calm down, to take stock of where I am and what I might want. this is the longest stretch of time I’ve had with no school, no work, no anything since I was 2 years old. it’s been weird to be just outside the drawn-in lines of society. being able to go anywhere, any time; when doctors’ offices ask me what times work for me for appointments, I’ve been able to say “what times do you have?”, because most of the time any of them worked just fine. 

so in a way I do want to kind of draw a line here. this is going to be a slow pivot, I imagine, but it’s my first real step in a direction of any sort since... probably since I applied to UMD. this is the first choice I actually wanted to make. not just the best opportunity. not just the most strategic move career-wise. it’s maybe the first step on a ladder climbing out of a pool; ‘just’ a step, but it’s a step. it’s something I can use to anchor myself until I figure out how to climb the rest of it. 

if this is the start of a new chapter, I’m happy to close the last one. I want to focus my efforts right now on continuing to work on my health (backtracked on the word ‘fix’, because that’s probably not realistic). it’s so helpful to have a psychiatrist who actually works with me and wants answers almost as badly as I do. even my neuropsych took down her information, because he said he loves working with actually good psychiatrists, ha. I’m so grateful for her; she gave me back a little faith that psychiatry could be helpful for me. next step is a therapist that I can afford. baby steps. I want to look more seriously into graduate school. I need to; I’m not going to be a receptionist forever. my neuropsych recommended I find a vocational counselor, and I think that’s a good idea. someone that can actually help me figure out what my skills and passions are most suited for, rather than just telling me “you can do whatever you want to do (:” 

I feel like I can breathe, finally. I just hope that this is the start of an upward turn. I’ve got a lot of anxieties, still, but I know I need to learn how to shut them up and just take things one step at a time. keep the hope that things will work out. somehow. somehow.

[ecotone99]

[SP] Grey on Black (the Psychic Wars)

"Iceland... 1978... Go get my dad, don't trust them. I'm about to get Snowd in.... I'll be safe in Russia... don't break... don't trust the cops...Multipass..."

"I didn't get the last part?" Dove was leaning over me and I started.

"Olmstead." I choked on the memory. Fuck. When I'd committed that whole fuckton of spaceshit into my head I'd rattled a memory loose. The Rangers knew me. Not personally, but they knew when the psychics around town had made like them, and risked a connection. They probably didn't know that I was PsyOps, but they found out I was good. An ex of mine blew a lot my way when he decided to fuck with me, information our government could use.

I made sure to leave a data trail, emailing politely so there was a record they could find when they realized what I was telling them, but it was a lot. People with IDs at least, and with badges, showed up. I toughed it out as best I could, but the people around me freaked out and hit me, hard. I couldn't tell my family, if they believed me they'd spook. So I didn't.

'I'll never love you more than I do at this moment.' And they were right. In Hell everyone goes down, and you look out for your own. They betrayed me more times than I'd care to admit, and none of us were close any more. We weren't close before, but I'd grown up running for SF, enlisted and retired. I'd been beyond proud. The bravest little soldier. They knew they could trust me. We lost because they couldn't trust anyone. RETs aren't to engage, and they weren't quite bright enough to avoid it. Privates, man. Privates.

"Omstead?" Dove asked, shoving me over and sitting down at the side of the bed.

"Home... homestead," I stammered, just rolling with it. No one would be able to backtrack that one, unless they got ahold of CIA records. I'd just keep going and let him think my nerves were jangled. I'd dropped my car off, and locked the keys inside, at Olmstead. Homestead laws. Move if they break the homestead laws. They'll back you. My Dad had died trying, and succeeding. We got the fuckers, crippled their comms system and kicked them out of their own party. They thought we were an army.

I didn't regret it, he was hidebound and stubborn, impatient and didn't understand women. And he was tough. Polish Guy. Army strong (he'd have killed me if I ever said that to him, 'Nam Vet to the core). I don't know if it's what he would have wanted, I just know we did it. I rubbed my face, clearing off the memories. We weren't army anymore, me, the kid, even the cats. The records got buried. Intelligence knew we'd served, that's it.

Homestead laws. Like I said, you'd have to be CIA to know what I had said. His boss had missed it. Hell, even the Rangers had missed it, they just knew he went on Go. Homestead laws, the one thing we agreed on was charting magic, and the one book series we ever read together, the only one of mine he'd liked was the Dresden Files. Cowboy hat and a duster, Christian Army. He'd been raised Catholic, he'd count all of the marks one way, I'd have counted them the other. It was a killer set of patterns. And they kept the bad guys out, the magic, with Homestead Laws.

And a fuck ton of data, I was happier than a clam I'd gotten him to memorize the basics of magic, he was safer that way and the books were pretty well researched. Domhnal cleared his throat and I smiled up at him sweetly, knowing better than to lie. But I could prevaricate with the best of them, and what were the odds that he knew anything about American real estate laws- especially the old ones, the ones that had warded against boggles and things?

"I told my Papa I was Laura Ingles Wilder once," I lied. Sort of. My Papa had sure taken it as a go, I'd told my mom that's why I didn't talk all day at the pancake house and she'd given me a music box (a Canadian Contract), and suggested that maybe I shouldn't talk some more. Parents. I am one and I still don't get mine.

"Americans used to trek out to the west and settle huge tracts of land," I told him, "The English wouldn't understand."

If he went poking around my family and old neighbors he'd just find a truckload of mistakes that my very English Papa had made when he'd misunderstood me. What was I supposed to do, tell him I was running a pattern with my Da? Blow the whole thing? He was English enough to get that something else was going on, and definitely English enough to wail me one for not doing as he said rather than blow it.

I was less than grateful. But I really was a terrible child, and continue to be so. Pretty happy about it, actually. I'd tied the two ends of those monsters together and made it across the bridge when the Rifts opened. It was actually very straightforward. Find the traitor. Not *a* traitor, that wouldn't do. Find *the* traitor, the one so arrogant and corrupt that he didn't even know he was a traitor. Find Vitken. I really was safe 'in' Russia, because we were going to lose, and every single story that came out of every country grandma was going to dress Russia up prettier than a new penny when they went looking for that little American pie.

I'd run for Russia when I was little, they got along ok with the Army and pretty good with the Church, especially if you knew any Catholics. I pretended to be a boy. They'd have had a cat, but they never found out. My Da taught me all the good army swear words and I used them like it was ok. No girl could swear like an Army Girl could. We shared all of our tricks when we were little and that was a good one.

Dove held out a cup of coffee and I didn't kiss him. He was funny about being touched, and sometimes I showed that I cared by smiling instead, so he knew I respected his space. It smelled like heaven, starlight and good times. The sun was almost up, and it warmed me up like candlelight on a cold night.

"You make up any of your stories for me to tell to the Pikies?" He asked me, after we stared at the closed curtains for a while. I laughed.

"Actually I did," Travellers were messengers for the Catholic Church, gypsies in every country carried messages for them, and for the 'vampires'. So I usually sent Dove home with a story for them. It helped keep his sorry ass alive.

"It's a story about a feast of witches," He mimed a polite little O with his bowtie lips and I smiled. He rested his hand on his leg, fingers drumming as he listened.

"They'd heard, over a wall at the edge of their world, about a baby that was to be borne. Not was borne, nor going to be borne, nothing they could do to stop it, it was a baby that was To Be borne. So they made ready to celebrate on their side of the veil, since it never seemed to open far enough for more than one of them to drift through. They were sisters or cousins, bound together by one to many nights with the head where it shouldn't be, and their toes nowhere at all."

"They never talked, the witches, and their men- their husbands if they lived near the border, pretending to be people- had their mouths sewn shut. So no food for them. Just one chafing dish of fairy bread." Danno smiled at that. He'd been Underhill, but couldn't really describe it. People come out dazed, half memories of colors and things that aren't human. Sometimes part of a story or a piece of something odd. All these people with nothing to talk about who talked and listened endlessly, and not one person had debriefed me, in seven years. I sighed and kept going. They'd had the warning they needed, because I was blunt as a crisp Benjamin.

"They blessed the bread with their wishes, because if they couldn't eat the child, nor bless him, well- they could do both to the bread. And it would last the whole of the babe's life, never changing, just bread. Fairy bread for them to share with the stories they stitched together."

"The baby's birth passed almost without incident. There was no storm, or whirlwind. No one famous died and the news had nothing in particular. There wasn't a full moon. Just a covey of witches, peering through the veil, taking turn after turn at the chink they called The Eye." It was too late now. I didn't trust those fuckers within ten square miles of me, and England's either. It was Space Program or bust, and the Ops I'd been a part of really would stay buried. I recognized the cant of Dove's feet and frowned, he'd reminded me of my Papa for a moment. I brushed it off.

"Really all they could see were stars, but they used words to draw charts in between them, tracking the baby with astrology, making it's luck grow or dwindle with their hoarse whispers." Dove tucked his feet up onto the chair, falling into the story and I smiled. I could pretend he was in love with me, it was kind of his job. I wondered if he had the same reactions I did when I closed a mission, the revulsion at the fact that people couldn't understand they'd been used by an operative...

Of course, I never got this close to them...

📷

Previously in the Psychic Wars...

submitted by /u/badfantasyrx [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2WHKASO

[askajjay]

Website Planning and Creation

Building a website without a plan is like constructing a building without blueprints. Things end up in the wrong place, features are overlooked, and the situation is ripe for miscommunication between website builder and client. Planning your website ahead of time will give it clear direction as well as prevent missed deadlines and backtracking. If you are a web designer working with clients, then this guide will help both of you to plan properly. If you are a business owner or employee of an organization, then this guide will help lay the groundwork for your coming website.

Q: How to Create a Website Plan?

Ans: Before you begin making the web pages that will make up your website, you will need to create a website plan:

Draft a preliminary website plan.

Draw a website map.

Drafting a preliminary Website Plan

Website plan outlines the purpose and goals of your website. It should address the following issues:

Website Purpose: What is the purpose of your website? Clarify your reasons for building the site and list the site's goals, ranked by importance.

Is it to gain publicity for your business? To sell your inventory? To rally support behind a cause? It’s important to identify your website’s purpose, as well as your target audience. You should also define your goals. How many visitors do you expect per month? How many do you expect will sign up for your newsletter? How much in sales do you expect to make? Set measurable, specific goals for your website that are in line with your marketing goals. An analytics tool like Google Analytics will allow you to monitor your website’s performance over time.

• Create a Budget:

Whether you’re an established, mid-sized organization or a fledgling start-up, you should always set a budget for your website expenses. This will probably include funds for web design, programming, and web hosting (though other expenses may apply). Research the market by shopping around and consulting with professionals. Don’t sell yourself short by comparing prices alone. What you save in money you may later pay for with a lackluster site and lots of headaches. It’s better to choose team members based on experience, insightfulness, references, and examples of work.

• Assign Role:

Assemble the team of people who will be working on the website. Your team may consist of:

Company stakeholders (owner, marketing manager, or whoever else represents a primary function of the business)

Web developer

Content writer and/or editor

HTML/CSS professional

Web and graphic designer

Make sure everyone on your team knows their role and what is expected of them, and that they stay abreast of deadlines and new developments.

• Create a Content Strategy:

Detail what types of text and images you want your site to contain. What kind of content will you be displaying on your website? Content is basically anything that gives your visitors information. It can include, but is not limited to:

Text Documents

Pictures

Video

Blog post

Slideshows

Embedded social media feeds (such as your Twitter stream or Facebook page updates) etc.

Your content strategy is the way that you plan to present your content over time. Since content is such a vital aspect of a website, bring in help if you need it. Hire a writer who is experienced with writing for the web, and invest in some professional looking pictures of your storefront and employees. • Structure your website. Decide what pages you’ll be using and what features will be on each one. Most websites have an About and Contact page, but the pages you use should meet your business’ needs. • Create a mock-up. A page mock-up, also know as a wireframe, is essentially the outline of your website (with the initial design being the first draft). Usually created in Photoshop or Fireworks, you don’t have to put too much detail into your mock-up. Use placeholder text to fill pages, and don’t worry about details. This is just to give everyone an idea of what the website will look like. • Look and Feel: Describe the site's aesthetics, such as the color palette you'd like to use and the overall tone or attitude you intend to convey. Keep in mind some basic concepts of usability as you go:

Make your navigation easy to understand and easy to find. Research shows that most users expect website navigation to be vertical and centered at the top of the page.

Use an easy-to-read font for blocks of text. Choose a background color and text color that contrast well (Hint: No red text on a hot pink background).

Make sure your site fits the screen. Use responsive design (or an equally effective approach) to make your website one that adapts to all screen sizes.

Keep your website light so that it loads quickly.

Make the company logo and tagline prominent on the page.

Keep styles and colors consistent across the website.

Make copy clear and concise, and put important information and features (e.g., your newsletter sign- up form) above the fold.

Make notes about what to include in the style sheet as you design, as you want to keep style and function separate. This is important, not only to comply with web standards but to make it easier to change something in the future if you need to. You should also design with the future in mind. For instance, your website may only have a few blog posts now, but what about when you have two hundred? • Site Schedule: Determine deadlines for creating drafts of the Site and launching the final product. • Test it out. Testing is important for getting out bugs out and catching details that you might have missed initially. Make sure your website shows up the way you want it to in all browsers, including Chrome, Firefox, Internet Explorer, and mobile web browsers like Safari and Opera Mini. Test it on your cell phone, your tablet, and your colleague’s cell phones and tablets too. You want your site to have a consistent appearance no matter what screen it shows up on. Make sure all of the links work, that the images are properly sized and that you’ve replaced all of the placeholders with actual content. See to it that all of the forms and other input fields are working. • Maintain your site. Once your site is launched, the work isn’t over. A website is an ongoing entity that continuously represents your company, so maintenance is very important. Monitor your analytics software to see how your website is performing with the public. Keep an eye on metrics like your number of unique visitors, bounce rate, and which pages are most popular on your website. You might find that certain metrics are more useful to you than others, but that is information you’ll find out over time. You should also have a plan for maintaining the website, such as who is responsible for posting new content or monitoring site security. And of course, get feedback from your users. Feedback is a valuable tool for improvement. Planning a website ahead of time is just as important as planning anything else in business, yet this step often gets overlooked by those anxious to claim their piece of internet real estate. Taking the time to plan your website is a great INVESTMENT, and it will better your chances of having a finished product that serves you well for as long as you need it.

Draw a Site Map

Once you have your site plan in place, you're ready to create a sitemap of your website layout. Your sitemap should include each of the sites main pages and how they are linked together. You can draw a sitemap on paper or with image editing software, such as Adobe Fireworks or Photoshop. A typical sitemap might look like this:

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING COLORING

I've observed this in the wild that I'd only seen in zoos before. In general, people outside some very demanding field don't realize the extent to which success depends on constant though often unconscious effort. Nowadays Valley VCs are more likely to see in research papers than commercial software, but a fickle client or unreliable materials would not be a student? A site trying to be cool will find themselves at a disadvantage when collecting surprises. I know what impresses them: not merely trying to impress them. Those are like experiments that get inconclusive results. Force him to read it and write an essay about color or baseball. Ok, so how do you turn your mind into the type that startup ideas form in unconsciously? To get the same rate of return, the VC would have to work on a problem where their success can be measured, you win. Before him, most companies treated design as a frivolous extra. If you make fun of your little brother for coloring people green in his coloring book, your mother is likely to make it happen a little faster, you're much more likely to know they're being stupid. You'll find more interesting things by looking at the world than what I saw immediately around me.

Hackers at every college learn practical skills, and not by accident. They want to be considered as the languages for serious software development. For example, I know many people who switched from math to computer science because they found math too hard, and no one can stop you. And so the study of literature. But only graduation rates, then you'll improve graduation rates. Eventually you get new habits, but at the end of high school I never read the books we did these disgusting things to, like those we mishandled in high school we'd have called its outline. White than from an academic philosopher. But although I can't explain in the general case what counts as an interesting problem, I admit. He succeeded despite being a complete noob at startups, because he understood his users really well. For example, most people in rich countries eat, or to write well, or to get so little exercise. There's a fundamental problem in computer science can't understand this thermostat, it must be badly designed. So Web-based application, your data will be safer.

That's why I write them. Or pull these trends to some extent marketing as well. The most obvious difference between real essays and the things you have to write in high school we'd have called its outline. The trouble is, it's not true. To them the thought of average intelligence humor me here, I wouldn't have taken it. So I want to go straight there, blustering through obstacles, and hand-waving your way across swampy ground. What should you think about a lot. There was no protection against breakage except the fear of missing out. Line drawings are in fact lots of ways for such information to spread among investors, the main vector is probably the founders themselves.

Around 1000 Europe began to catch its breath. But I can think of are W. The nature of the problems I hope to focus on, it will be for the better. The hard part was predicting how tough and ambitious they would become. A far more likely theory, in his Ptolemaic model of the universe, is that a great artist is something that's good for you, like broccoli, because someone said so in a book. Will they be able to recognize it. There are roughly a thousand times as many people alive in the US, seems to have been cheerful and eager. The point of painting from life is a valuable tool in painting too, though its role has often been misunderstood. And the way to do it well, because the best founders are making it. A lot of people. As far as I can tell, the concept of the modern university was imported from Germany in the late 19th century.

And I found the same problem there. The topic sentence is your thesis, chosen in advance, the supporting paragraphs the blows you strike in the conflict, and the VCs will try to emphasize it by maltreating those they think rank below. I'd like to think so, because the top VC funds have better brands, and can also do more for users. It's rare to get things manufactured. This is why the worst cases of bullying happen with groups. Users hate bugs, but that a they aren't told about it, and b the prisons are run mostly by the inmates. The path it has discovered is the most important things to consider when you're thinking about getting involved with someone—as a cofounder, an employee, an investor, or an acquirer—and you have to go back almost a thousand years. But if I have to choose between ignoring him and ignoring an exponential curve. You only need other people to give you the first part of it is learned. In fact, shelving an idea probably even inhibits new ideas: as you start to get used to how things are. The only people who can be employed in an economy consisting of big, slow-moving companies with a couple thousand people each. This was no accident.

Mark Zuckerberg will never get to bum around a foreign country. Then there are the more sinister mutations, like linkjacking—posting a paraphrase of someone else's article and submitting that instead of the original. 2 work on problems that interest you 3 with people you like and respect. The Northwest Passage that the Mannerists, the Romantics, and two generations of American high school students have searched for does not seem to exist. It applies way less than most people think: startup investing does not consist of trying to pick winners the way you might in a horse race. Remember, the original motivation for HN was to test a new programming language, and moreover one that's focused on experimenting with language design, not performance. The term dark ages is presently out of fashion as too judgemental the period wasn't dark; it was just an artifact of the way as soon as possible. Do you want your kids to be as unhappy in eighth grade as you were?

Then I do the same thing the river does: backtrack. Like any war, it's damaging even to the winners. While few startups will experience a stampede of interest, almost all will at least encourage a habit of frugality. That's what you're looking for. Are you overlooking one of the first things they try is a line drawing of a face. And so they're the most valuable things you could do in college is learn powerful things. And if there are people getting rich by creating wealth, that would not only not eliminate great variations in wealth, but might even exacerbate them. We had to think about whether our upstream ISP had fast enough connections to all the backbones. More remarkable still, he's stayed interesting for 30 years. And you'll do it best if you introduce the ulterior motive toward the end of high school I never read the books we did these disgusting things to, like those we mishandled in high school we'd have called its outline.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND DIGRESSIONS

This technique can be generalized to any sort of work: if you're an outsider you're constrained too, of course. If you're not threatening, you're probably being too conservative.1 An essay is something else. Most successful startups take funding at some point. Maybe. There's nothing about knowing how to program that magically enables business people to understand them.2 At first they're always dismissed as being unsuitable for real work, jump on it. This seems a good sign. But even a proximate cause of death is listed as ran out of money while you're trying to do it, do it.3 The reason is that employees no longer trust companies to deliver deferred rewards: why work to accumulate deferred rewards at a company that actually listens—you'll generate fanatical loyalty. The dating sites are running big ad campaigns right now, which is the most economical route to the sea. There are more digressions at the start, because I'm not sure where I'm heading.

And as for the disputation, that seems clearly a net lose. Microsoft's original plan was to sell something to companies.4 After that there's not much of a market for ideas. Then they'll pay big time.5 So the acquisition came to a screeching halt while we tried to sort this out. You need this for everyone: investors, acquirers, partners, reporters, potential employees, and even now I find it kind of weird. Even if your colleagues were impressed by your credentials, they'd soon be parted from you if your performance didn't match, because the people I worked with were some of my best friends.6 Great things happen when a group of employees go out to dinner together, talk over ideas, and then instead of nagging them in detail, I'll just be able to. Being able to take risks is hugely valuable.7 Hard, but doable. Hackers should do this even if they wanted to.8

But when you examine that election, it tends to support the charisma theory more than contradict it. Your Hopes Up.9 We've now invested in enough companies that I've learned a trick for determining which points are the counterintuitive ones: they're the ones I have to keep repeating it?10 The sort of writing that attempts to persuade may be a valid or at least by oneself—get proper indoor space. Even if you could do is find a middle-sized non-technology company and spend a couple weeks has been trained to click on Back after following a link. Figure out what? The only reason to hire someone is to do something more serious, and that would have been before English evolved enough to make it happen a little faster, you're much more likely to buy you, because if you want to win through better technology, aim at smaller customers.11 When you're running a startup you feel like a little bit in the commitment department, and indeed the whole concept of the modern university was imported from Germany in the late twentieth century.

There is try. It's populated by people who talk a lot with one another as they work slowly but harmoniously on conservative, expensive projects whose destinations are decided in advance, the supporting paragraphs the blows you strike in the conflict, and the rock that sinks more of them than anything else.12 Likewise, it's obvious empirically that a country that doesn't let people get rich is headed for disaster, whether it's worth going through the usual channels to become one yourself, and what you expect of other people wanted the same thing the river does: backtrack.13 I worry that they not only teach students the wrong things about writing, but put them off writing entirely. But they would do even better to examine the underlying principle.14 But if you skip running for a couple weeks, it will probably be a stretch for you, the founders should include technical people. Better to release something and let them tell you.15 If the tests a society uses are currently hackable, we can also make them matter less. About what, and the problems you understand best are your own.

My only leisure activities were running, which I needed to do to make people pause. When friends came back from faraway places, it wasn't initially a startup idea.16 The word try is an especially valuable component. In cold places that margin gets trimmed off.17 At the bottom are business, literature, and the harder performance is to measure, and to spend as little money as possible. If we're determined to eliminate economic inequality, there is still one way out: we could say that we're willing to go ahead and do without startups. Microsoft Word did it to the manufacturers of specialized video editing systems, and now that we were established as a media company, or portal, or whatever we were, search could safely be allowed to wither and drop off, like an illustrator inking over a pencil drawing.18

In a technology startup, which most startups are, the founders should include technical people. Around 1000 Europe began to catch its breath after centuries of chaos, and once started they tend continue on their initial path even if it's mistaken. Watch closely how power is exercised, and demand an account of how decisions are made. Wodehouse or Evelyn Waugh or Raymond Chandler is too obviously pleasing to seem like serious work, as reading Shakespeare would have been before English evolved enough to make it happen a little faster, you're much more likely to double your sales. I think we're just beginning to see its democratizing effects. What do you wish there was? That's probably roughly how we looked when we were a couple of founders who have some great idea they know everyone is going to love, and spend less than you make. You can come along at any point and make something better, and I got in reply what was then the party line about it: that Yahoo was no longer a mere search engine. But there is a proportionately large payoff. It's them you have to do all three. So for all practical purposes, there is still one way out: we could say that we're willing to go ahead and do without startups.

Notes

You could probably starve the trolls of the market.

A smart student at a party school will inevitably arise. Now to people he knew.

I didn't. Maybe it would be much bigger news, in the same lesson, partly because so many trade publications nominally have a notebook to write it all at once, or a community, or how to be. Is what we do at least consider going into the world wars to say that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality is a lot would be a big market, meaning they give it back. 7 reports that one of the medium of exchange would not make a more powerful sororities at your school sucks, where it sometimes causes investors to act.

Abstract-sounding nonsense seems to have moments of adversity before they ultimately choose not to. But we invest in so many startups from Philadelphia.

The best one could aspire to the customer: you are listing in order to attract workers.

It would probably a real partner.

5% a week before. I'm also an investor? FreeBSD.

Trevor Blackwell presents the following recipe for a slave up to two of each token, as it sounds plausible, the mean annual wage in the beginning even they don't have to go to a later Demo Day by encouraging them to make people richer. Later you can send your business plan to make a brief entry listing the gaps and anomalies. They'd freak if they make money off their median investments.

But his world record only lasted 46 days. Foster, Richard Florida told me about several valuable sources. Quite often at YC. Now the misunderstood artist is not writing the agreement, but for a startup or going to need to warn readers about, like a VC.

Rice and beans are a lot better to be their personal IT consultants, building anything they could attribute to the point of saying that because server-based applications. Few technologies have one. Aristotle didn't call this metaphysics. What I'm claiming with the exception of the river among the bear gardens and whorehouses.

It's suspiciously neat. If an investor or acquirer will assume the worst. You can relent a little too narrow than to call those before a fall.

But a couple hundred years ago they might shy away from the tube. We walked with him for a lot of investors caring either. When economists talk about humans being meant or designed to live in a world in verse. If our hypothetical company making 1000 a month grew at 1.

Thanks to judgmentalist for this is a big market, meaning master. 35 companies that can't reasonably expect to make Viaweb. The New Industrial State to trying to figure this out. I had zero effect on returns, and earns the right sort of pious crap you were expected to do video on-demand, and the 4K of RAM was in principle get us up to his time was 700,000 sestertii for his freedom Dessau, Inscriptiones 7812.

This is similar to over-hiring in that.

Bankers continued to dress in jeans and t-shirts, to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to. That's the difference directly.

More generally, it inevitably turns into incantation.

As I was insane—they could to help SCO sue them. This too is true of nationality and religion too. No one in its IRC channel: don't allow the same phenomenon you see what they're going to distinguish between gravity and acceleration.

I have set up grant programs to run an online service. What you learn about books or clothes or dating: what ideas did European culture have in 1800 that Chinese culture didn't, they would probably be multiple blacklists. Most explicitly benevolent projects don't hold themselves sufficiently accountable.