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milfsloverblog · 19 days ago

Note

hola!! I would like to request larissa x reader where they broke up years ago and when larissa sees reader again she finds out reader has a daughter who looks just like her 👀 lots of angst please

All the Quiet Things

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Ngl, I usually wouldn’t write fics where a kid is involved, but reading this request my brain was immediately flooded with angst ideas…. I hope you’ll enjoy it, I sure enjoyed working on it! Oh and happy pride month!

She tells herself it’s the books.

There’s a stall in Greymoor Square that sells rare volumes. Bindings cracked from age, typefaces long since faded. The woman who runs it speaks only in riddles and won’t haggle for anything less than a poem. It’s charming, Larissa tells herself. Worth the hour’s drive, if only for the atmosphere.

That’s why she’s here.

She repeats it like a mantra as she steps onto the cobbled main street of the town just past Jericho. Her heels click sharply against stone. The air smells of baked bread, cherry blossoms, and something sweeter underneath. Something she refuses to name.

It’s early yet. The market is just waking.

Sunlight stretches pale across the awnings, catching on glass bottles filled with syrup and honey. Someone’s tuning a fiddle in the corner. Wind stirs the edges of paper signs.

Larissa inhales. Exhales. Keeps walking.

She should be back at Nevermore, revising staff evaluations, fielding calls from the board, dealing with that absurdly smug fencing instructor who’s started teaching metaphors alongside parries. Instead, she is here, in a town she once passed through and never returned to.

The lie still holds.

Barely.

She stops at a table of marmalades, nods politely to the vendor, pretends to study the jars. Her gloved fingers pass over labels—plum-rose, blackberry-thyme, fig and burnt orange. The colors are rich and glimmer faintly in the morning light.

She does not buy anything.

Instead, she drifts. Watches the life of the market unfold in pieces. An elderly man arguing about tomatoes. A pair of girls balancing loaves of bread between them. A woman with a sleeping child tucked against her chest, the tiny hand curled in soft trust.

Larissa’s stomach turns.

She pauses at a flower stall. The scent is almost overwhelming: lilac, sage, and freshly cut mint. She remembers the smell. Not the exact one, but the shape of it. You once carried mint on your fingers, tucked wild herbs into your pockets. You used to tell her she smelled like winter, and you were determined to warm her up.

She hadn’t thought of that in years.

Hadn’t let herself.

But now the memory presses forward uninvited, and she cannot push it away.

Because someone said your name.

It had been nothing, really. A casual remark over coffee in the staff room. One of the teachers, cheerful and unobservant, had mentioned passing through the Greymoor market the weekend prior.

“Oh, and I could swear I saw a woman who used to work at the Academy years ago… What was her name? The one with the clever mouth. You know, the one Principal Weems was always—well. Never mind.”

Larissa had smiled. Tilted her head. Raised one perfectly plucked brow.

“You must be mistaken,” she had said.

But her tea had gone cold in her hand.

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

And this morning, after the groceries, her car somehow veered west instead of north.

And now, now she is here. Pretending not to search for something she has no right to find.

She rounds a corner and sees the bookseller’s stall in the distance.

Her breath stutters. Not because of the books.

Because someone just turned away from the herbs stall, and she would know the shape of your shoulders anywhere.

There are moments the mind saves for after the fall.

Not the arguments. Not the leaving. Just the quiet before it all began to end.

It comes to her now like mist curling through an open window. Soft and familiar, tinged with the ache of what she never gave.

You used to come to her only after dark.

Never earlier than midnight, never later than two. The hours when the halls of Nevermore slept, and her corridors belonged to no one but ghosts. You never knocked. You didn’t have to. The door was always unlocked, cracked just slightly as if her restraint had slipped at the last minute.

She remembers the sound of your steps.

Barefoot on stone. Careful. You used to hum to yourself on the nights you thought she wasn’t listening.

She always was.

Her quarters were colder than they should’ve been. A high-ceilinged thing with windows far too large, draped in velvet so deep it swallowed moonlight whole. You hated the curtains. She used to watch you wrinkle your nose at them, mutter something about feeling like a kept secret.

And you were.

She made you one.

Every time you touched her, she felt seen in ways she didn’t know how to bear. You peeled her open with fingertips and laughter and soft, unrelenting trust. And what did she give in return?

Nightfall. Shadows. Silence.

You’d crawl beneath the covers beside her, skin warm from sneaking across cold floors. Your body always found hers instinctively, one knee slipping between her legs, one hand brushing her hip like you had every right. You’d smile into her collarbone and call her headmistress in that irreverent way that made her shiver.

She let you shift her. Literally, sometimes. Those were nights she gave in to the instinct buried deep in her kind, the one that allowed her to change shape and body, to take on something heavier, harder. You liked that. She did too. Not because of what she became, but because it was still her, and you never flinched.

But even then, in the dark, there were boundaries she never let you cross.

No hand-holding outside.

No pet names. Not where anyone could hear.

And always—always—you left before dawn.

She told herself it was protection. That if the wrong person knew, your job would be in danger. That you didn’t want that kind of attention. That the board wouldn’t understand. That she was sparing you.

But the truth lived deeper.

She didn’t want to risk herself.

It was easier that way. To keep the thing sacred only in secret. To let love bloom behind curtains, never in daylight. She convinced herself you understood. That the way you curled closer afterward, pressing your forehead to her sternum like it was the only place you slept well, meant you were content.

But she remembers the last night.

You’d said it like it didn’t matter.

“I won’t do this forever, you know.”

Your voice had been soft, almost sleepy. You were lying on your side, hair mussed from her pillow, fingers tracing idle circles over the inside of her wrist. Larissa had stilled. Not enough for you to notice, not enough to seem afraid, but she had felt something tighten.

You didn’t look at her when you said it. You looked at the drawn curtains, the ones you always hated, as if they were the ones holding you captive.

“I can’t keep being nothing in the daylight.”

And Larissa, she didn’t answer.

Not with anything that counted. Just touched your hair, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, and pretended the moment hadn’t happened. She thought, maybe, if she stayed quiet long enough, you'd stay too.

But you didn’t.

You left before dawn, as always.

Except you never came back.

She had told herself it was for the best. That you’d moved on. That some bright-eyed suitor had offered you a life that didn’t involve shadows and silk-draped secrets.

That it was easier this way.

It’s what she clung to—until now.

Because now, in the center of the market, the crowd parts for just a moment—and you’re standing not ten paces away.

Older. A little.

Your hair is longer. Or maybe shorter. She can’t tell. Her breath has stilled in her throat like a bird caught behind glass.

You haven’t seen her yet.

You’re studying a jar of jam like it contains the answer to something complicated. The sun lights your cheekbone in the exact way it used to when you turned toward her bedside window. She feels the past stretch toward her like an echo trying to find its source.

It hits her all at once:

You’re real.

You’re here.

You suddenly lift your eyes.

And the world stops.

Larissa doesn’t remember stepping forward. Only that your face is exactly as she remembers, and nothing like it at all. Softer around the edges, perhaps. More tired. Or maybe just sharper, carved by five years of silence and everything they didn’t say.

Your expression changes.

Not shock. Not warmth.

Something colder. Something closed.

Her breath stumbles. She swallows it.

“…Hello,” she says.

It lands with all the grace of a stone dropped in water.

You don’t smile. Don’t look away. You just set the jar down on the table—deliberate, controlled—and straighten.

“Principal Weems,” you say, voice dry as paper.

That stings more than she’ll let show.

She gives a small nod, trying to hold herself upright beneath the weight of her own cowardice. “You… look well.”

“Do I?”

There’s no warmth in your voice. No invitation. But you don’t walk away.

Larissa seizes on that small mercy and steps closer. The space between you is measured now, not by feet, but by regret. The kind that yawns wider the longer it’s left untouched.

“I didn’t expect—” she starts, then stops herself. She can’t say she came looking. Not like this. Not when she barely deserves your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect to see me? Or didn’t expect to see me here?”

The market bustles around you, oblivious. Somewhere nearby, a fiddle begins to play. It’s light, cheerful. Out of place.

Larissa draws in a breath. “I heard your name. A colleague mentioned seeing you. I… didn’t believe it at first.”

Your jaw tightens, just slightly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back this way,” she adds.

“I didn’t,” you say flatly. “Not until recently.”

A beat.

She wants to ask everything. Where you went. What you’ve done. Who you became without her.

But you speak again before she can find the words.

“You look exactly the same,” you say, tone unreadable. “I guess time doesn’t touch you the way it does the rest of us.”

Larissa flinches inwardly. “That’s not true.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

Her throat closes.

There are a thousand things she could say. Apologies she’s rehearsed in the silence of her chambers, explanations that don’t excuse but still try to make sense of her choices.

But you glance to the side. Just slightly. As if checking for someone. Your posture shifts, not in fear, not in nerves, but in the guarded way of someone who has something precious nearby.

A little girl—no older than five—comes sprinting toward you across the square. Pale curls bouncing, face alight with joy. You bend slightly as she flings her arms around your waist, and you catch her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you have always done it.

Like you are her mother.

Larissa can’t breathe.

The child turns and looks up at her. Wide blue-grey eyes. A dimple in her left cheek. The shape of her nose, her chin, the curl of her lashes…

Larissa staggers a step backward.

“She looks like me,” she says.

You don’t answer right away.

Larissa can’t move.

Because suddenly, the past five years shift. They realign. Every breath, every sleepless night, every echo of your body in her bed.

It all collapses into this one impossible truth:

She hadn’t just left you behind.

You hold your daughter a little tighter.

It’s instinct. Not fear. Just the kind of silent tether a mother keeps when the ground starts to tilt.

You don’t look at Larissa. Not right away.

Because you can’t.

Not when her eyes are locked on the child like she’s seen a ghost. Not when her voice trembles with that awful, fragile kind of disbelief.

“She looks like me,” she says again.

You breathe through your nose. Slow. Measured.

You’ve practiced this.

You’ve practiced everything.

The way you kept your voice steady through the morning sickness. The way you signed the birth certificate without a second name. The way you buried that old photograph, the one where you lay half asleep, curled into her bare chest, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You buried it all.

But it still breathes.

Your daughter shifts in your arms, resting her head against your shoulder. Her curls brush your cheek. You close your eyes.

She smells like sun-warmed linen and lemon soap and the apricot pastry she insisted on having for breakfast. She smells like home.

You open your eyes and finally meet Larissa’s.

She’s pale. Paler than you’ve ever seen her. Her lips parted. Her hands slack at her sides.

You don’t want her to look at your child like that. Like she’s a riddle. Like she’s an answer. Like she’s a revelation Larissa didn’t earn.

So you speak. Soft. Sharp.

“Don’t.”

It stops her cold.

Her mouth opens. Maybe to ask. Maybe to apologize. But you cut in before she can do either.

“You don’t get to look at her like that.”

Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.

Just slightly.

Larissa notices. Of course she does.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “God, I didn’t—I didn’t know you were—”

“Pregnant?” You exhale. “Neither did I. Not when I left.”

The words sit heavy between you.

“I wasn’t hiding her from you,” you add. “I just didn’t know she existed yet.”

Larissa stares. Frozen. Like if she breathes, the world will split open.

You look down at your daughter. Your voice softens without meaning to.

“I left because I was tired of being a secret, Larissa. Not because I stopped loving you.”

She looks like she might fall over. Like the ground has opened and nothing is holding her up anymore.

“I would’ve stayed forever,” you say. “If you’d let me exist in the daylight.”

The silence that follows is raw. Almost sacred. The kind that only lives between people who were once everything.

Your daughter stirs, blinking up at you.

“Everything okay, Mommy?”

You brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Smile, soft and instinctive. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”

You glance back at Larissa. Her face is shattered.

You should walk away. You know you should.

But something stops you. Not pity. Not cruelty.

Just history.

Just love. Old and threadbare, but not quite dead.

So your voice gentles when you speak again.

“I didn’t plan to hurt you.”

You shift your daughter higher on your hip, thumb smoothing the back of her dress.

“I didn’t plan any of this.”

You start to turn away. Then pause.

And when you meet her eyes again, something quiet lingers there. Not forgiveness. But not quite blame, either.

“If you’re wondering,” you say, “I named her Solene. she’s kind. And she’s bright. And she likes to sing when she thinks no one’s listening.”

A breath.

“She got that from you.”

A silence.

A heartbeat.

Then you’re gone.

The car door slams harder than she means it to.

Inside, the silence is too much. The stillness. The absence.

Larissa grips the steering wheel with both hands, but it’s pointless. Her palms are damp and shaking. The leather is warm under her fingers, but she’s cold. Icy, bone-deep cold.

She stares straight ahead.

The market is still busy. Families move between stalls, children tugging their parents toward sweets and painted wooden toys. Laughter floats through the air. Bread, flowers, the sharp salt of feta samples. It all smells like life continuing. Like nothing has happened.

But something has.

You.

And the child.

Her child.

Larissa shuts her eyes.

“She looks like me,” she had said.

And it was true. God, it was true. Those wide grey-blue eyes. The dimple. That nose. That mouth. It was like someone had taken the smallest, most human parts of her and carved them into new life.

A daughter.

Your daughter.

She presses her forehead against the steering wheel.

You didn’t tell her.

Not because you wanted to hurt her. Not because you meant to hide it. You just… left.

Larissa feels the ache of it now. The terrible symmetry of what she did to you—hiding you behind drawn curtains and late-night shadows—and what you had to do in return. Raising a child alone. Bearing the weight of both your griefs in silence.

She had no idea.

All these years, she thought you walked away out of pride. Out of anger. That you’d found someone new. That the pain she’d tried not to feel was mutual, deserved, symmetrical.

But you didn’t know you were pregnant.

And you still chose to walk away, because Larissa never once gave you the sun.

She breathes through her teeth.

Something hot and acidic swells in her chest. Grief, yes, but something else too.

Longing.

Want.

Not for the past.

For now.

For that child who looked up at her like she was no one. For that child who should’ve known her. For the curve of your voice when you said she sings when she thinks no one’s listening.

She should’ve heard that.

She should’ve known that.

Larissa shoves the door open and climbs out.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t lock the car. Doesn’t glance at the market square. She just walks—quickly, eyes darting, scanning for any glimpse of your silhouette, your hair, that soft blue dress your daughter wore.

She doesn’t care how foolish it looks. How desperate. How loud.

She needs to see you.

Not to apologize.

Not to explain.

To ask.

To beg.

Let me try.

Let me meet her. Let me know her name. Let me hold her just once. Let me be the thing I never thought I was allowed to be.

Let me be her mother.

She turns a corner and sees the crowd begin to thin.

Shops give way to cobblestone alleys and quiet cafés. She slows slightly, eyes searching every step ahead.

She has no idea what she’ll say when she finds you.

But she knows she won’t let it end in silence again.

She sees you half a block ahead.

Near the bakery. That little one with the peeling paint and the lavender hanging in the window.

You’re slower now. Your daughter’s hand is wrapped tightly in yours. She’s walking on the low stone edge of the path, carefully balancing herself as you guide her. You glance down every few steps, steadying her with just a brush of your palm.

Larissa doesn’t call your name. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.

She just walks faster.

You hear her steps before she’s close enough to speak.

You stop walking. Don’t turn around—just stand still, spine straight, hand still curled protectively around your daughter’s. You murmur something to the little girl, and she hops gently off the stone ledge. You gesture toward the bakery door.

“She’s hungry,” you say as Larissa slows to a stop behind you. “We came here for bread and I let her get distracted. She loves the cheese twists.”

Larissa swallows. “You do too.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

“She’s five,” Larissa says, quietly.

“Four and a half,” you correct. “Birthday’s in November.”

There’s silence. A breath too long. A breath too charged.

You sigh.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Larissa’s voice is hoarse. “Because I didn’t get to say anything.”

You don’t turn around. Not yet.

“She asked who you were,” you say. “I told her your name. That’s all.”

“And if she asks more?”

“She won’t. Not today.”

Larissa nods. She deserves that.

You shift slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Your eyes are tired. Not just from today. From years of it.

“She doesn’t know,” you say. “Anything. She doesn’t know you exist.”

The words land with a weight she can barely bear.

“And it wasn’t to punish you,” you say again. “I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I didn’t want to give her a ghost.”

That’s what Larissa had become, after all.

A name unspoken. A grief unshared. A memory too sharp to explain to a child with nothing but questions.

“But now I’m not a ghost,” Larissa says. “I’m here. And I want…”

You turn fully now. Still holding your daughter’s hand. Still standing between them.

Larissa’s voice cracks.

“I want to know her.”

You say nothing.

“I want to learn her favorite color. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to know she came from something… from someone who would have loved her so much if she’d only known.”

You blink, and something shifts in your face. Not forgiveness, not yet. But a fissure. A place where something old has started to melt.

“I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Larissa steps closer.

“I’m asking you not to shut the door. I’m asking you to give me a chance to meet my daughter. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Just…” Her voice breaks again. “A beginning.”

Your daughter tugs lightly on your sleeve.

“Mommy,” she says. “Is she sad?”

You crouch to her level, brushing a curl from her face.

“She’s someone I used to know,” you murmur. “And maybe… maybe someone we’ll get to know again. What do you think about sharing your cheese twist?”

The little girl looks at Larissa.

Then nods.

Larissa doesn’t move.

You rise slowly and tilt your head toward the bakery. “Come in, if you want.”

Larissa breathes. For the first time in minutes. Maybe in years.

You’re not promising anything.

But you’re not walking away.

Not this time.

————————————————————————

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#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems x y/n

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

Text

Unauthorized Documentary 1.5

Summary: Shenanigans, hi-jinks, Shemar being better(?)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff?

Warnings/Includes: pranks, dumb Matthew, Shemar is superior

Word count: 2.3k

a/n: he's backkkk lol seriously i love writing these

main masterlist

Fuck. Another Episode.

The camera opens on the breakroom. Cast and crew members sit at various tables, mid-coffee sip, mid-bite, mid-trying to have a peaceful moment before dealing with Matthew Gray Gubler.

Then, a loud throat-clearing.

The camera swings to Matthew, standing on top of a chair, hands clasped before him like some kind of enlightened prophet. The room collectively groans.

“Friends,” he begins, his voice rich with self-importance. “Colleagues. Unfortunate souls who have suffered my presence.” He pauses, letting the words hang, scanning the room as if expecting nods of understanding. There are none.

“I come to you today, a changed man.”

AJ leans in, whispering to you, “Didn’t he do this last month?”

You nod, barely suppressing a smirk.

The camera cuts back to Matthew, still deeply immersed in his speech. “I will be better. I will be stronger. I will—”

Shemar, arms crossed from the back of the room, cuts in. “Did you actually do anything different, or are we just supposed to pretend this means something?”

Matthew visibly falters, blinking rapidly caught off guard. He opens his mouth, closes it, and tilts his head as though re-evaluating everything.

Then, slowly, he recovers. “…It’s about the gesture, Shemar.”

Shemar scoffs. “The gesture?”

Matthew, dead serious: “Yes.”

Shemar: “Dude, if I walk up to someone, slap them in the face, then hold a press conference about how I’m the real victim, does that count as a ‘gesture’?”

Matthew gasps, offended beyond belief. “That is so unfair. When have I ever slapped anyone? Metaphorically.”

AJ looks on with an unamused face and deadpans, “Yesterday. When you ‘accidentally’ threw that script at my head.”

Matthew waves a hand dismissively. “That was an artistic outburst.”

The blonde woman rolls her eyes, “You literally yelled ‘catch, loser’ before doing it.”

Matthew deflates slightly but powers through, reaching into his pocket. “Which is why I’ve prepared these!”

He dramatically pulls out a handful of handmade friendship bracelets.

The camera zooms in. They’re horrific. Some have letters spelling out questionable phrases like “SORRY 4 CHAOS”, “GUBLER IS LOVE”, and simply “FAVORITE”. One is just beads and a single dried bean.

Lola leans in, squinting. “Is that a… kidney bean?”

Matthew looks deeply proud. “It’s a symbol, Lola.”

She stares at him. “A symbol of what, exactly?”

Matthew falters. “You know… forgiveness.”

Shemar snatches a bracelet from Matthew’s hand, inspects it, and reads it aloud. “‘To Shemar, The Hot One. Love, MGG.’”

The entire room erupts in laughter.

Matthew snatches it back. “Whoops. That one wasn’t supposed to be in circulation.”

The camera zooms in on your face. You look directly into the lens, like a character in The Office, completely done.

—

After his, frankly, atrocious attempt at an apology, Matthew takes a new approach to get back in the good graces of the cast and crew.

Matthew’s method acting phase was, to put it lightly, a nightmare for everyone involved. It started innocently enough—he just refused to wear anything that wasn’t a cardigan. At first, people thought it was a joke. But by day five, when he showed up in three layered cardigans despite it being 85 degrees outside, the concern was real.

Then came the statistics.

“Matthew, are you eating lunch?” You asked, expecting a normal response.

Matthew didn’t even look up from the book he wasn’t actually reading. “Did you know that 62% of actors refuse method acting because it’s inconvenient to their daily life? But I, as Spencer, must remain committed—”

You blinked at him. “Okay, that’s a no.”

The worst part? He wouldn’t break character. Ever.

Cut to you, just trying to order coffee from the on-set vendor like a normal human being.

The barista was already waiting for your order when Matthew, standing beside you, adjusted his fake glasses and cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said in full Spencer Reid voice, “caffeine increases dopamine transmission by an average of 35%, which is why—”

You did not blink. You did not move. You just stared at him.

“…I’m just trying to get a latte, man.”

The barista, clearly terrified, did not intervene.

By the time week two hit, Shemar had had enough. He devised a plan.

“Man,” Shemar said loudly one day on set, standing just within earshot of Matthew but pretending not to notice him. “Derek Morgan is just so damn cool.”

Matthew’s back was turned, but you saw him physically tense.

“The confidence,” Shemar continued. “The swagger. The way he’s the absolute best part of the show.”

Matthew’s hands curled into fists. His breathing got heavier. You could see the war happening in his brain.

Then—

“I MEAN—” he blurted out, spinning around wildly. “I am fully committed to Reid, but also, yeah, Morgan’s pretty cool—wait. Damn it.”

You and Shemar erupted in laughter as Matthew gasped in horror, realizing his method acting had crumbled before his eyes.

Cut to Matthew later that day, begrudgingly sipping coffee in a hoodie instead of a cardigan.

The method-acting phase was over.

—

Tension between Matthew and Shemar had been simmering ever since the method-acting fiasco, and now? Now, it had boiled over into an all-out battle for dominance.

It started as a small argument over who was more loved on set, but within minutes, it had escalated into a full-scale, no-holds-barred competition to determine the true favorite of the cast and crew.

Everyone immediately gathered around. This was better than an actual episode of Criminal Minds.

Challenge #1: Who Can Carry More Things at Once?

Shemar, confident as ever, didn’t even hesitate. He casually picked up six chairs, the entire coffee cart, and someone’s backpack. He made it look effortless, strolling across the set like he was on a catwalk.

The crew cheered. Someone whistled.

Matthew, refusing to back down, stepped forward, determination in his eyes.

“I can do that,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing a single folding chair and attempting to lift it dramatically over his head.

His arms immediately started shaking. His legs wobbled.

“I—I got it,” he wheezed.

He did not have it.

Cue immediate collapse.

The chair clattered to the floor as Matthew went down like a sack of flour, landing on his back with a loud oof.

Shemar stood over him, arms still full of furniture, sipping his coffee. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Point: Shemar.

Challenge #2: The Fan Love Test

Shemar pulled out his phone, opened Instagram, and snapped a quick selfie. No effort. No filter. Just pure, effortless charisma.

Within minutes:

50,000 likes.

Hundreds of comments.

People begging him to marry them.

Matthew, meanwhile, had a vision.

He donned an old-timey hat, adjusted the lighting, and filmed a deep, avant-garde video where he dramatically monologued about "the nature of existence", pacing back and forth in a dimly lit hallway.

When he posted it, the results were… less impressive.

50 likes.

30 confused comments.

One person asked if he was okay.

Matthew stared at his phone, devastated. “They don’t get my art.”

Shemar looked over his shoulder, glanced at the post, and snorted. “Bro, you’re literally filming like you just got kicked out of a 1920s speakeasy.”

Point: Shemar.

Challenge #3: Who Can Make You Laugh First?

Shemar went first.

He didn’t even try. He just said literally anything, and you immediately laughed. Because let’s be honest, Shemar was naturally funny.

Matthew was not pleased.

“I see what’s happening here,” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll have to go bigger.”

Then, without warning, he launched into full-blown slapstick mode.

No lead-up. No explanation.

One second he was standing there, the next—he tripped over absolutely nothing and faceplanted straight into craft services.

Food flew everywhere. The sound was deafening.

The crew gasped.

You? You lost it.

You were laughing so hard you had to bend over, clutching your stomach, tears streaming down your face.

“Okay, okay,” you gasped between laughs. “Matthew wins that one.”

Shemar, standing beside you, deadpan as hell: “Not fair. He’s naturally a walking disaster.”

Point: Matthew.

Final Score:

Shemar: 2 Matthew: 1 (but, honestly, at what cost?)

As the crew dispersed, Shemar clapped Matthew on the back. “Nice try, bro. But let’s be real—I own this set.”

Matthew, still covered in food, sighed dramatically. “This isn’t over.”

Then, in true Matthew Gray Gubler fashion, he turned on his heel and walked straight into a door.

You burst into laughter again.

Shemar shook his head. “Man, you really need a handler.”

Cut to you, his handler.

—

Matthew had been humiliated one too many times. The failed challenges, the method acting disaster, the relentless Shemar superiority complex—he needed to reclaim his dignity. And what better way than through a perfectly executed prank?

Or at least, that was the plan.

The target? You.

The prank? Simple. Switch your coffee with decaf.

It was supposed to be harmless. A mild inconvenience at best.

It was not.

The camera cuts to you, mid-morning, sipping from your usual coffee cup. Your eyes are sharp, focused on your work—until, suddenly, they go wide.

Something is wrong.

You pause, staring at the cup like it’s personally betrayed you. You sniff it, take another slow sip, then visibly tense.

The room goes silent.

The camera cuts to Matthew, lurking nearby, watching nervously. He shifts on his feet. He knows he did something.

Then—you snap.

Cut to you storming across the room, coffee cup clenched in your fist, shaking violently.

“You think this is a joke?” you hiss, voice low and dangerous.

The camera cuts to Matthew, now visibly terrified. He steps back, hands up in surrender. “I—I didn’t think you’d notice so fast.”

You slam the empty cup onto a table.

“No caffeine?” you breathe, voice shaking with rage. “No. Caffeine? You think I can deal with your chaotic ass with no caffeine??”

Shemar, watching from the sidelines, murmurs, “Oh, he done fucked up.”

Matthew takes one look at your face and does what any logical man would do—

He runs.

—

Later that day, Matthew walks onto set feeling a little on edge. He hasn’t seen you since The Incident. He’s convinced you cooled off during the day, and after he got you a real coffee.

He is wrong.

Very, very wrong.

As he approaches his trailer, something feels off. The air is too still. There’s an uneasy silence lingering over everything.

He opens the door.

And freezes.

His trailer is completely empty.

No furniture. No decorations. No clothes. Nothing.

It looks like it’s been raided by the FBI. Or worse—Shemar.

The only thing left? A single note taped to the wall.

It reads:

"Revenge is a dish best served hot. Unlike my coffee."

Matthew lets out an actual scream.

Cut to you, watching from a distance, sipping your fresh, fully caffeinated coffee with pure satisfaction.

Shemar pats you on the back. “Damn. Cold-blooded.”

—

The day had been long. For Matthew, excruciatingly so.

The fallout from The Coffee Incident™ still loomed over him like a storm cloud. His trailer was still empty, his pride still wounded, and worst of all—you hadn’t spoken to him all day.

Not once.

And that? That was terrifying.

Now, as the day wound down, and with all of the cameras packed away, Matthew found himself standing a few feet away from you, nervously fidgeting. You were gathering your things, calm and eerily composed.

Too composed.

He swallowed hard, hesitating before finally working up the courage to approach you.

“Hey, baby…” he said hesitantly, dragging out the words in the most cautious tone imaginable.

You didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just zipped up your bag.

Matthew’s stomach twisted.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

“Babe?” he tried again, his voice slightly more desperate now. “You’re… you’re not still mad about the whole coffee thing, right?”

Silence.

His palms sweated.

He laughed awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I mean… you knew it was a joke, right? A totally harmless, playful, innocent—”

You finally looked at him.

Just looked.

No smile. No expression. Just a long, slow, unreadable stare.

Matthew felt actual chills.

He took an instinctive step back. “Babe?”

You sighed, finally speaking. “I don’t know, Matthew,” you said coolly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Was it a joke?”

Matthew’s throat went dry. He blinked rapidly, a nervous laugh bubbling out. “I—I mean, yeah! Of course! I wanted, uh, a real reaction, so I didn’t tell you, but like… I didn’t think your reaction was, um, real real…”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Are you sure about that?” you asked, voice calm, steady, but somehow worse than if you had yelled.

Matthew’s brain short-circuited.

He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

“…Yes?” he squeaked.

You hummed thoughtfully, then reached out—just a simple movement—and Matthew flinched.

“Oh my God,” you laughed suddenly, shaking your head. “You’re actually scared of me.”

Matthew, offended but still terrified, defended himself, “No, I’m not!”

You leaned in just a little, lowering your voice. “Then why are you sweating?”

Matthew instantly wiped his forehead. “I—I run hot, you know that.”

You grinned, finally smiling again, and suddenly, Matthew felt even more uneasy.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, patting his cheek lightly before stepping past him toward the door. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

He should’ve felt relieved.

He didn’t.

“…You do?” he asked slowly, watching you with deep suspicion.

You turned back, walking backward toward the exit, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Of course,” you said sweetly.

Then, before disappearing out the door, you added, casually, almost offhand, “…But you’ll never know when I’ll get you back.”

The door clicked shut.

Matthew stood frozen, staring after you, his entire soul leaving his body.

“…Oh, I’m dead,” he whispered to himself.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 @asobeeee

#spencer reid #criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #bau family #bau team #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #mgg

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nizhspo · 2 months ago

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wild encounter:

chapter seven: warm place

genre: haikyuu fic, pokemon alola island

pairing: tooru oikawa x fem!reader

links: m.list

the work-study is almost over.

you haven’t packed yet.

your suitcase still lives in the closet, dusty and crooked, untouched since the day kukui helped you haul it in. but the countdown hums under everything now: the final evaluations, the project reports, the late nights in the lab spent double-checking logs that you don’t want to stop writing.

everyone’s started asking what’s next.

not just suga and kiyoko, who both try to act casual, like it’s not weird that you won’t be here anymore, but kukui, too, in that way of his, light voice, sharp eyes.

and now, oikawa.

you’re sitting together on the hill.

the same one where it happened.

the same grass, the same hum of cicadas in the brush. the same lazy exeggutor somewhere behind you, asleep again, thank gods.

he lies back in the grass, hands folded behind his head. his hair’s a little longer now. his tan a little darker. you’ve memorized the slope of his nose. the curve of his lashes. the sound he makes when he’s thinking.

you sit beside him, knees tucked to your chest.

the sky’s still bright. just barely. that golden-pink that only happens right before full sunset, where everything’s bathed in the warmest version of itself.

he’s quiet for a long time.

then, voice low: “so… what’s next?”

you glance at him.

“not sure yet,” you say.

he hums. doesn’t push.

you run your fingers through the grass.

feel the warmth trapped in the soil. feel the weight of the island in your chest, heavier now than it’s ever been. it never felt like home at first, too bright, too humid, too unfamiliar. but now— now you know the names of every market stand vendor.

now you can tell the difference between a fomantis chirp and a ledyba hiss.

now you walk down the street and wave to people you didn’t know four months ago.

now you have people here.

now there’s him.

“you could stay,” he says, soft, almost like it’s nothing.

your heart stutters. you look at him.

his eyes are already on you. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t tease.

just waits.

you look out over the hill.

the sea is molten gold in the distance. wingull wheel overhead. the breeze is just warm enough to make your arms feel like they’re glowing.

you don’t say yes.

you don’t say no.

you just reach out and take his hand.

his fingers curl into yours.

the last light of the day spills over the island, and the world feels warm enough to stay in.

just like this.

for a while longer.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x reader #pokemon alola #pokeblogging #pokémon #tooru oikawa #kanon oikawa #oikawa torū #oikawa x you #oikawa fluff #tooru oikawa x reader

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uncleasad · 5 months ago

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On zero-days, shades of grey, and digital mobs

This week has been a month, hasn’t it?

I hope you are all holding up as best as you can and have safe spaces and support systems to lean back on.

Over the course of this week, I’ve had a front-row seat to witness digital mobs come after people and rip apart two extremely different online communities, and it’s disheartening to witness how quickly everything snowballed into hellfire, whether it was deserved or not.

I wish that in online spaces there were a way for a concerned party to contact a trusted third party that the victim/concerned party and the accused both felt would be fair and have that party mediate between them, instead of resorting to direct confrontation and call-outs.

Everyone is at their worst in this initial stage—angry, defensive, scared, embarrassed, ashamed, hurt—and fight-or-flight takes over. The person who believes themselves to be a victim is fighting mad, and the person who has been accused—whether they truly screwed up, made an innocent mistake, or it was all a misunderstanding—either wants to run and hide in their shame, or they stand their ground, also fighting mad. No good can come from a situation like this. Even less good can come from it if it all takes place in public, in front of everyone, and mobs start to form, piling on one or the other.

Mob justice is not justice.

No one will want to admit they were wrong, screwed up, made a mistake, if they know a mob is coming after them. If our goal is to have a good and just community, where people can learn from their mistakes, errors, and other screwups, become better people, and strengthen the community in the end, mobs are not the answer. (Few things, especially online, should be something that someone can’t come back from.) Mobs are the unleashing of anger at anyone and everyone in their path. They’ve burned down the town before anyone can hear other sides to the story, much less establish an objective truth. (I know; I’ve been part of one. I felt completely justified.)

We want to see everything in binary, in clean, clear black and white. The truth is, the world and most situations fall in shades of grey. Some things are fuzzy, and others we should evaluate on a sliding scale…did they know that X was wrong or hurtful? Was it intentional? Have they done Y repeatedly? (I don’t know if that person knew it was wrong. I do know they had done it to dozens of fics. I don’t know if they’ve done it again after being told it was wrong. It was 100% presenting unchanged works of others as theirs, out and out theft.* But because no one ever talked to the person or an intermediary, all we know is the account was…deleted? closed? put in time out? We don’t even know that, just that their page and the fics no longer loaded after a couple of days of reporting the stolen fics. But we got our blood and pound of flesh, so…)

If we could slow things down, we have a better chance of learning all the relevant information. If we keep things outside of the public eye initially, we have a better chance of a just and peaceful resolution that keeps our communities together, helps people learn and grow and become better contributors to society/the community. (Again, this outcome might not be possible in all cases. It also might not be a just result in all cases; some cases may call for more severe consequences, such as removal from the community.)

I know some of you are out there shouting “But what about accountability!? If everything’s kept quiet, no one knows/N is gonna do it again.” I have a process for that, too. Let’s switch gears in our analogies for a moment.

In software (and occasionally hardware) security, the usual process for reporting a security bug goes like this:

You report the security bug to the vendor via their security bug submission procedure (e.g., you email securitybugs AT tumblr.com [dunno if that is real] and tell them you’ve discovered a bug that lets you see someone else’s Inbox, and how to cause it)

The vendor acknowledges your report and you might go back and forth about how to trigger the bug, or, in some cases, whether it really is a security bug (our example bug really is, if it were real!), or how serious/easily exploitable it is, which is a proxy for how quickly it needs to be fixed

The vendor fixes the bug

The vendor ships the fix to everyone (in our example, updates the tumblr website or tumblr app, depending on where the bug was)

The vendor announces there was a bug and they’ve fixed it, and thanks the reporter

This is called responsible disclosure. It works great, and everyone is happy (except the bad actors who were using the bug to access other people’s inboxes!).

The opposite of responsible disclosure is known as a zero-day (or 0-day). That’s when a security bug is announced without a fix available. This happens in 3 cases: 1) when the bug is so serious that everyone needs to know NOW so they stop using the piece of software (or delete their information from the software, or whatever) to secure their information/lives, 2) after working with the vendor for some period of time following the established process, the bug reporter feels the vendor is taking too long to fix the problem or doesn’t feel the vendor is taking the bug as seriously as the reporter believes they should, or 3) the person who found the bug doesn’t believe in responsible disclosure (sadly, there are some security researchers in that camp).

(A Zero-Day, and especially Case 3, is basically unleashing a digital mob.)

Back to our online community situations.

In an ideal case, after the intervention of the trusted third party, both the victim/concerned party and the accused release statements. If the accused did indeed do P, their statement should be an apology, what they have learned, and so forth, and the victim probably will acknowledge the apology and note that the two parties have talked and they consider the matter settled, no need for mobs—but also forgiveness is not forced. If things were a misunderstanding, both parties might explain their sides, note they’ve talked it out and consider the matter settled, no need for mobs. Obviously, this varies by case—it’s not all black and white, one size fits all. As an alternative, the trusted third party might also make a report of the facts as best they can tell and the evidence presented.

To ensure things don’t get swept under the rug when a mediated solution is not possible, there are 2 failsafe options. First, our Case 2 from the Zero-Day; after a week or two—remember, we’re trying to slow things down and calm everyone down to allow for better understanding and reflection—the victim/concerned party can then publicly announce the situation and the failed mediation, and/or ask the trusted third party to make a report, perhaps including a transcript of the back-and-forth.

I feel like our online communities would be a lot healthier if we were able to inject just a little bit of real-world processes…a little bit of humanity, of deliberation, of mediation. Everything online is so toxic, and it doesn’t have to be.

I know this is a pipe dream, but maybe by putting it out there, it can do some good somewhere, in some community. After all, if we don’t have hope, what do we have left?

* All theft and plagiarism is wrong, full stop. But the degree of my anger depends on factors such as the extent, intent, and taking responsibility—and not doing it again. And, of course, are you an individual, a fan…or a scummy fic-hoovering AI company?

#online communities #fandom #dispute resolution #accountability #digital mobs

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usafphantom2 · 3 months ago

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The F/A-XX 6th Generation Fighter Announcement That Never Happened

ByKris Osborn4 hours ago

F/A-XX Fighter from U.S. Navy

The Pentagon, the Navy, the aerospace industry, and much of the world closely watch the US Navy’s ongoing source selection for the 6th-Gen F/A-XX carrier-launched fighter. Due to the program’s secrecy, little information is available. It was supposed to occur days ago according to some solid reporting. So why the delay?

The F/A-XX Fighter: When Is the Big Reveal?

F/A-XX Fighter for US Navy

F/A-XX Fighter for US Navy. Navy graphic mockup.

Weapons developers, the defense community, and the public anticipate the expected announcement, and some might wonder why the decision is taking so long. The program is expected to move into Milestone B and transition to the well-known Engineering, Manufacturing, and Design (EMD) phase at some point this year, and only Boeing and Northrop Grumman remain alive in the competition.

Boeing is famous for the F/A-18 Super Hornet and was, of course, just selected for the Next-Generation Air Dominance F-47 6th-gen Air Force plane. Northrop is known for building the F-14 Tomcat.

Both companies have extensive experience engineering carrier-launched fighter jets, and both vendors are doubtless quite experienced with stealth technology.

It may be that Northrop has an edge with stealth technology, given its role in generating a new era of stealth technology with the B-21 and its history of building the first-ever stealthy carrier-launched drone demonstrator years ago called the X-47B.

Extensive Evaluation

Navy and defense evaluators will examine key performance specs such as speed, stealth effectiveness, thrust-to-weight ratio, fuel efficiency, aerial maneuverability, and lethality, yet there is an entire universe of less prominent yet equally significant additional capabilities that Navy decision-makers will analyze.

Requirements and proposal analysis for a program of this magnitude are extensive and detailed, as they often involve computer simulations, design model experimentation, and careful examination of performance parameters.

The process is quite intense, as the evaluation carefully weighs each offering’s technological attributes and areas of advantage against determined requirements. Requirements are painstakingly developed as Pentagon weapons developers seek to identify what’s referred to as “capability gaps” and then seek to develop technologies and platforms capable of closing those capability gaps by solving a particular tactical or strategic problem.

F/A-XX Fighter

F/A-XX Fighter. Image Credit: Boeing.

Navy developers likely envision a 6th-generation, carrier-launched stealth fighter as a platform capable of closing or addressing many capability gaps.

While little is known about the program for security reasons, the intent is likely to combine F-22-like speed and maneuverability with a new generation of stealth ruggedized for maritime warfare and carrier deck operations. Carriers are now being configured with special unmanned systems headquarters areas designed to coordinate drone take-off and landing.

This station requires deconflicting air space, accommodating wind and rough sea conditions, and ensuring a successful glide slope onto a carrier deck.

As part of a 6th-gen family of systems, the F/A-XX will be expected to control drones from the cockpit, conduct manned-unmanned teaming operations, and take-off-and-land in close coordination with drones.

Networking & AI

Boeing and Northrop have extensive drone-engineering experience and mature AI-enabled technologies. The Navy is likely closely looking at networking technologies. Each vendor platform must conduct secure data collection, analysis, and transmission to ensure time-sensitive combat information exchange.

This requires interoperable transport layer communication technologies to interface with one another in the air in real-time.

For example, the platform best able to successfully gather and analyze time-sensitive threat information from otherwise disparate sensor sources, likely enabling AI at the point of collection, will be best positioned to prevail in a competitive down-select.

F/A-XX. Image Credit: Creative Commons.

The F/A-XX will not only need to connect with each other but also network successfully with F-35s and 4th-generation aircraft and ship-based command and control.

This connectivity will likely require gateway applications. These computer technologies are engineered to translate time-sensitive data from one transport layer to another.

Key targeting data may arrive via a radio frequency (RF) data link. At the same time, other information comes from GPS, and a third source of incoming data transmits through a different frequency or wireless signal.

How can this information be organized and analyzed collectively to a complete, integrated picture and delivered instantly as needed at the point of attack?

This is where AI-enabled gateways come in, and the vendor most successfully navigates these technological complexities will likely prevail.

About the Author: Kris Osborn

Kris Osborn is Military Technology Editor of 19FortyFive and the President of Warrior Maven – Center for Military Modernization. Osborn previously served at the Pentagon as a highly qualified expert in the Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Army—Acquisition, Logistics & Technology. Osborn has also worked as an anchor and on-air military specialist at national TV networks. He has appeared as a guest military expert on Fox News, MSNBC, The Military Channel, and The History Channel. He also has a Masters Degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia University.

@Johnschmuck via X

#navy #f/a-xx #stealth #aircraft #us navy #aviation #carrier aviation #fighter #new cold war

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abboudlawfirm-omaha · 4 months ago

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Can I File a Personal Injury Claim for Injuries at a Music Festival?

Attending a music festival is an exciting experience, filled with live performances, a lively atmosphere, and the chance to create unforgettable memories. However, accidents can sometimes interrupt the fun, leaving you with injuries and questions about your rights. If you’ve been hurt at a music festival, you might wonder whether you can file a personal injury claim. This article explores the key aspects of personal injury claims related to music festival injuries and what steps you can take to protect your rights.

Understanding Liability at Music Festivals

Music festivals can present various hazards, from overcrowding and unsafe equipment to negligence by staff or other attendees. To determine whether you have a valid personal injury claim, it's essential to understand liability and who may be responsible for your injuries.

Event Organizers: Responsible for planning and managing the festival, organizers are expected to implement safety measures like crowd control, proper signage, and emergency protocols.

Venue Owners: The property owner or operator must maintain a safe environment for attendees, addressing hazards such as uneven walkways or structural issues.

Security Personnel: Security teams are responsible for monitoring the event and responding promptly to incidents that could compromise safety.

Vendors: Food, drink, and merchandise vendors must ensure that their operations do not pose risks, such as unsafe food handling or poorly set up equipment.

In some cases, the concept of comparative negligence might apply. For example, if your actions contributed to the incident, your compensation may be reduced. However, this doesn’t necessarily disqualify you from pursuing a claim. Consulting with a personal injury attorney can clarify your options.

Assessing the Viability of Your Claim

Not every injury sustained at a music festival qualifies for compensation. Several factors affect the viability of your claim:

Circumstances of the Incident: Was the injury caused by negligence, such as poorly maintained facilities or insufficient crowd control?

Severity of Injuries: More serious injuries are more likely to result in significant claims.

Establishing Negligence: You must demonstrate that the responsible party failed to meet a duty of care, directly leading to your injury.

A personal injury attorney can help evaluate these factors and guide you on the best course of action.

Calculating Damages

When pursuing a personal injury claim, it’s essential to quantify your damages accurately. Damages may include:

Medical Expenses: Costs for emergency care, follow-up treatment, and rehabilitation.

Lost Wages: Compensation for income lost due to missed work during recovery.

Pain and Suffering: Financial compensation for physical pain and emotional distress.

Mental Anguish: Injuries can have a lasting psychological impact, which may also be compensated.

Steps in Filing a Personal Injury Claim

The claims process for festival-related injuries can be complex due to the involvement of multiple parties. Below is a general outline of the process:

Consult an Attorney: A legal professional can evaluate your case and advise you on the next steps.

Gather Evidence: Collect photographs, witness statements, medical records, and any other documentation that supports your claim.

Send a Demand Letter: A formal request for compensation is sent to the responsible party or their insurance company.

Negotiate a Settlement: Many claims are resolved through negotiation before reaching court.

File a Lawsuit: If negotiations fail, filing a lawsuit may be necessary to seek fair compensation.

The Importance of Acting Quickly

Every state has a statute of limitations, which sets a deadline for filing a personal injury claim. Missing this deadline could result in losing your right to compensation. Acting promptly after your injury ensures that evidence is preserved, witnesses are available, and deadlines are met.

If you’ve been injured at a music festival, it’s essential to take the following steps:

Seek medical attention immediately to address your injuries and document them.

Report the incident to festival staff, security, or the venue management.

Gather evidence, including photos, videos, and contact information for witnesses.

Consult a personal injury attorney to evaluate your case and discuss your options.

Navigating a personal injury claim can feel overwhelming, but understanding your rights and the process can make all the difference. By taking the right steps, you can focus on your recovery while pursuing the compensation you deserve.

#personal injury attorney #law #abboud law firm #personal injury

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itsmeglycine · 7 months ago

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Your art style is so pretty and you are so talented!! I love all of your Stardew fanart!

Do you take commissions? If you're okay with OCs x character shipping I'd love to commission you :3

Thank youuu! I'm flattered!!

Yeah I have no problems with Stardew OCs and self-shipping stuff. As for art commissions, I've only thought about it, but have not set up any. I could use the money actually... but there is this devastating payment issue.

Long story short, I can only receive payment via Steam digital gift cards. If it's not too troublesome...

More info under the cut. ↓

-About Payment

I am from Mainland China, and the only mainstream payment service that supports our region is PayPal, HOWEVER- Due to complicated bank policies and such, I will not be able to withdraw money from it, and I will not be able to spend the money via PayPal where I'm from. It will just remain numbers in my account, unless I go to some shady withdrawal third-parties that ask for too much of my personal information, and could very much be scammers...

We use Alipay and WeChat in China, but I cannot receive cross-border transfers when I'm not a registered vendor, and even if I did, I could still get into trouble.

There is one workaround I can think of, which is having you add me on Steam and send me digital gift cards, so the money will be automatically converted to my currency when I redeem it. If anyone is actually willing to go through the trouble... please leave me a reply to let me know?

-About My Art & Pricing Ideas

I am not professional, and have inconsistent styles and quality, as you can tell from my posts. I also do not have enough sample art. This makes pricing tricky.

I have, however, taken a few "name your own price" commissions from friends, which were paid after they evaluated the final result. Basically, I have no quality control and don't do revisions, so you can pay however much you think is a fair price. If you trust me enough with my skills, we can discuss more details in my DMs here.

Thank you for reading through all this!

#asks #oh my oh my what am i gonna do #i don't think anyone will be willing to....#i've gained so many followers through a few stardew posts it's scary #are y'all harvey stans or

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burnwater13 · 9 months ago

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Boba Fett speaking to Fennec Shand on board the Firespray. Caption reads: There's an advantage to people thinking you're dead. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 4, The Gathering Storm. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu could empathize with Boba Fett’s perspective. Letting people think you were gone or ‘one with the Force’ as the Jedi liked to say, had some significant advantages. First, no one was trying to borrow your starship to make a run to an interdicted planet. Second, they stopped asking about the credits you owed them for repairs, and finally, you really knew who your friends were if they cried or laughed when they heard the news. Knowing who you friends really were was invaluable.

Even with all that, Grogu understood how that wouldn’t really work with Fennec. She was unique. As soon as someone saw her armor, or witnessed her at work, the rumors about her passing would blow up like a Death Star during the Rebellion. She was just that good. The only problem was she knew it. Absolutely.

Why was that a problem? Well… say you were shopping in the market and you just wanted a gorg on a stick. Just something that simple. Then say, your dad was a Mandalorian bounty hunter who was super fussy about who could oversee your movements in public and only trusted a specific elite bounty hunter/assassin to do that while he was busy consulting with the Daimyo (armor polish selection, as usual). That meant Fennec was watching him like a sheik hawk, which he could deal with, but it also meant that the stall owners were getting sized up, evaluated, tested, and notified of their results all in a simple flick of her finger.

Grogu had seen so many eyes filled with tears. Heard so many entreaties to various deities. Had seen strong men fall faint on the ground when an eye brow twitched. Fennec had such a powerful presence that it was as if she was a Jedi without even having to bother with the Force. He almost envied her that. Almost.

He liked being able to haggle. To chat. To tell jokes with the various people he met in Mos Espa. They were nice people, by and large. They liked him. He had credits. They had food or armor polish (preset days happen). Grogu wanted them to be comfortable around him, but that was never going to happen if Fennec went with him whenever his dad couldn’t.

Imagine, you normally walk around with a Mandalorian in full armor, who happened to have a side arm, a bandoleer, a sniper rifle, and a couple of handy explosive devices. People look at you and they figure that either he’s your body guard or your his. Either way, people treat you with a good deal of respect, right up to the first time they hear your dad scold you.

“Grogu, buddy, do remember what happened the last time you ate three gorgs on a stick? You were in the privy for hours…”.

“Kid, you know that stuff is sticky and leaves tons of finger prints on my armor. If you get another blob of that you owe me some chores.”

“Do you have an ointment that helps with chafing? My son needs some for a bad case of swamp butt.”

Uff! Dad!

There was no way to retain that coveted 'fearsome but not feared’ persona that Grogu had been working on when your dad just blabbed to people about your backside.

That’s why, the first time Din Djarin asked Fennec if she could take Grogu to the market, Grogu had been over joyed. There was no way that Fennec was going to blab about his sore bottom, or the sounds his stomach made when he ate too much, or how messy he was when he ate certain foods. She didn’t share information with people. They shared information with her. If they didn’t just faint or run away.

That’s what happened though. They went to visit Grogu’s favorite meat on a stick vendor. A funny Iktotchi male with a very mellow voice. As soon as Fennec said, ‘You better not cheat the kid’, the poor man lost his voice and then crumpled up and collapsed to the ground. Grogu rushed over to heal him and as soon as his eyes opened, the vendor jumped to his feet and ran away. No one had seen him since then and Grogu worried that he simply left Tatooine because that was easier than being told off by Fennec.

So sure, Fennec could try to pretend that she was the most intense person anyone ever met, including Grogu, but why bother? As soon as she did the simplest thing, the jig was up. After that, Grogu asked his dad if the Majordomo could take him to market, but the Mandalorian asked him if he really wanted to spend that much of his life listening to Peli’s friend extol the virtues of gorgs on a stick without actually buying any. His dad had a point. No one had that kind of time. Not even people like Fennec, who couldn’t die.

#calendar prompt a day #the book of boba fett #grogu #din djarin #fennec shand #star wars #the mandalorian

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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Donald Trump’s newly installed leadership team at the Republican National Committee on Monday began the process of pushing out dozens of officials, according to two people close to the Trump campaign and the RNC.

All told, the expectation is that more than 60 RNC staffers who work across the political, communications and data departments will be let go. Those being asked to resign include five members of the senior staff, though the names were not made public. Additionally, some vendor contracts are expected to be cut.

In a letter to some political and data staff, Sean Cairncross, the RNC’s new chief operating officer, said that the new committee leadership was “in the process of evaluating the organization and staff to ensure the building is aligned” with its vision. “During this process, certain staff are being asked to resign and reapply for a position on the team.”

The overhaul is aimed at cutting, what one of the people described as, “bureaucracy” at the RNC. But the move also underscores the swiftness with which Trump’s operation is moving to take over the Republican Party’s operations after the former president all but clinched the party’s presidential nomination last week.

Trump’s campaign took over operational control of the RNC on Monday. On Friday, former North Carolina GOP Chair Michael Whatley was elected the RNC’s new chair, and Trump daughter-in-law Lara Trump was elected as co-chair. Both had Trump’s endorsement. Additionally, Trump senior campaign adviser Chris LaCivita was named as the RNC’s new chief of staff.

Whatley is replacing Ronna McDaniel, who stepped down last week after serving more than seven years in the post. Trump and McDaniel had been longtime allies, but the former president had soured on the chairperson as of late because he felt that she was not doing enough on “voter integrity”-related issues, and because she hosted Republican primary debates that she refused to participate in.

Trump advisers have described the RNC’s structure as overly bloated and bureaucratic, which they believe has contributed to the party’s cash woes. The RNC had about $8 million at the end of December, only about one-third as much as the Democratic National Committee.

Under the new structure, the Trump campaign is looking to merge its operations with the RNC. Key departments, such as communications, data and fundraising, will effectively be one and the same.

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avengineers · 2 years ago

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Third Party Inspection/NDT services In India

AV Engineers provides inspection to business organizations in plants & machinery (Solar, Cement, Sugar, chemical and Pharmaceuticals), power generation, marines, oil, gas, Petroleum installations, Pressure vessels, Boilers, Heat Exchangers and site inspections We also provide inspection services for power cables, transformers. our services include Vendor Development,Total quality management.Vendor pre evaluation, Inspection and Expediting Services,Pre-Shipment Inspection,NDT inspection and testing like Radiography and many more.

For more details please visit-

https://avengineersefp.com/tpi-ndt.php

#supplier #manufacturer #india #thirdpartyinspection #NDT inspection #vendor pre evaluation #boiler #Petroleum installations #Heat Exchangers

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indigosteeloracle · 5 days ago

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Graph Analytics Edge Computing: Supply Chain IoT Integration

By a veteran graph analytics practitioner with decades of experience navigating enterprise implementations

youtube

Introduction

Graph analytics has emerged as a transformative technology for enterprises, especially in complex domains like supply chain management where relationships and dependencies abound. However, the journey from concept to production-grade enterprise graph analytics can be fraught with challenges.

In this article, we'll dissect common enterprise graph analytics failures and enterprise graph implementation mistakes, evaluate supply chain optimization through graph databases, explore strategies for petabyte-scale graph analytics, and demystify ROI calculations for graph analytics investments. Along the way, we’ll draw comparisons between leading platforms such as IBM graph analytics vs Neo4j and Amazon Neptune vs IBM graph, illuminating performance nuances and cost considerations at scale.

Why Do Enterprise Graph Analytics Projects Fail?

The graph database project failure rate is surprisingly high despite the hype. Understanding why graph analytics projects fail is critical to avoid repeating the same mistakes:

Poor graph schema design and modeling mistakes: Many teams jump into implementation without a well-thought-out enterprise graph schema design. Improper schema leads to inefficient queries and maintenance nightmares. Underestimating data volume and complexity: Petabyte scale datasets introduce unique challenges in graph traversal performance optimization and query tuning. Inadequate query performance optimization: Slow graph database queries can cripple user adoption and ROI. Choosing the wrong platform: Mismatched technology selection, such as ignoring key differences in IBM graph database performance vs Neo4j, or between Amazon Neptune vs IBM graph, can lead to scalability and cost overruns. Insufficient integration with existing enterprise systems: Graph analytics must seamlessly integrate with IoT edge computing, ERP, and supply chain platforms. Lack of clear business value definition: Without explicit enterprise graph analytics ROI goals, projects become academic exercises rather than profitable initiatives.

These common pitfalls highlight the importance of thorough planning, vendor evaluation, and realistic benchmarking before embarking on large-scale graph analytics projects.

you know, https://community.ibm.com/community/user/blogs/anton-lucanus/2025/05/25/petabyte-scale-supply-chains-graph-analytics-on-ib Supply Chain Optimization with Graph Databases

Supply chains are inherently graph-structured: suppliers, manufa

#Youtube

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jcmarchi · 1 month ago

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Stackpack Secures $6.3M to Reinvent Vendor Management in an AI-Driven Business Landscape

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/stackpack-secures-6-3m-to-reinvent-vendor-management-in-an-ai-driven-business-landscape/

Stackpack Secures $6.3M to Reinvent Vendor Management in an AI-Driven Business Landscape

In a world where third-party tools, services, and contractors form the operational backbone of modern companies, Stackpack has raised $6.3 million to bring order to the growing complexity.

Led by Freestyle Capital, the funding round includes support from Elefund, Upside Partnership, Nomad Ventures, Layout Ventures, MSIV Fund, and strategic angels from Intuit, Workday, Affirm, Snapdocs, and xAI.

The funding supports Stackpack’s mission to redefine how businesses manage their expanding vendor networks—an increasingly vital task as organizations now juggle hundreds or even thousands of external partners and platforms.

Turning Chaos into Control

Founded in 2023 by Sara Wyman, formerly of Etsy and Affirm, Stackpack was built to solve a problem she knew too well: modern companies are powered by vendors, yet most still track them with outdated methods—spreadsheets, scattered documents, and guesswork. With SaaS stacks ballooning and AI tools proliferating, unmanaged vendors become silent liabilities.

“Companies call themselves ‘people-first,’ but in reality, they’re becoming ‘vendor-first,’” said Wyman. “There are often 6x more vendors than employees. Yet there’s no system of record to manage that shift—until now.”

Stackpack gives finance and IT teams a unified, AI-powered dashboard that provides real-time visibility into vendor contracts, spend, renewals, and compliance risks. The platform automatically extracts key contract terms like auto-renewal clauses, flags overlapping subscriptions, and even predicts upcoming renewals buried deep in PDFs.

AI That Works Like a Virtual Vendor Manager

Stackpack’s Behavioral AI Engine acts as an intelligent assistant, surfacing hidden cost-saving opportunities, compliance risks, and critical dates. It not only identifies inefficiencies—it takes action, issuing alerts, initiating workflows, and providing recommendations across the vendor lifecycle.

For instance:

Renewal alerts prevent surprise charges.

Spend tracking identifies underused or duplicate tools.

Contract intelligence extracts legal and pricing terms from uploads or integrations with tools like Google Drive.

Approval workflows streamline onboarding and procurement.

This brings the kind of automation once reserved for enterprise procurement platforms like Coupa or SAP to startups and mid-sized businesses—at a fraction of the cost.

A Timely Solution for a Growing Problem

Vendor management has become a boardroom issue. As more companies shift budgets from headcount to outsourced services, compliance and financial oversight have become harder to maintain. Stackpack’s early traction is proof of demand: just months after launch, it’s managing over 10,500 vendors and $510 million in spend across more than 50 customers, including Every Man Jack, Rho, Density, HouseRx, Fexa, and ZeroEyes.

“The CFO is the one left holding the bag when things go wrong,” said Brandon Lee, Accounting Manager at BizzyCar. “Stackpack means we don’t have to cross our fingers every quarter.”

Beyond Visibility: Enabling Smarter Vendor Decisions

Alongside its core platform, Stackpack is launching Requests & Approvals, a lightweight tool to simplify vendor onboarding and purchasing decisions—currently in beta. The feature is already attracting customers looking for faster, more agile alternatives to traditional procurement systems.

With a long-term vision to help companies not only manage but discover and evaluate vendors more strategically, Stackpack is laying the groundwork for a smarter, interconnected vendor ecosystem.

“Every vendor decision carries legal, financial, and security consequences,” said Dave Samuel, General Partner at Freestyle Capital. “Stackpack is building the intelligent infrastructure to manage these relationships proactively.”

The Future of Vendor Operations

As third-party ecosystems grow in size and complexity, Stackpack aims to transform vendor operations from a liability into a competitive advantage. Its AI-powered approach gives companies a modern operating system for vendor management—one that’s scalable, proactive, and deeply integrated into finance and operations.

“This isn’t just about cost control—it’s about running a smarter company,” said Wyman. “Managing your vendors should be as strategic as managing your talent. We’re giving companies the tools to make that possible.”

With fresh funding and a rapidly expanding customer base, Stackpack is poised to become the new standard for how modern businesses manage the partners powering their growth.

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