#ACID Transactions

[rajaniesh]

Unveiling the Power of Delta Lake in Microsoft Fabric

Discover how Microsoft Fabric and Delta Lake can revolutionize your data management and analytics. Learn to optimize data ingestion with Spark and unlock the full potential of your data for smarter decision-making.

In today’s digital era, data is the new gold. Companies are constantly searching for ways to efficiently manage and analyze vast amounts of information to drive decision-making and innovation. However, with the growing volume and variety of data, traditional data processing methods often fall short. This is where Microsoft Fabric, Apache Spark and Delta Lake come into play. These powerful…

[underratedbreadcrust]

Chance Equals Fortune — Prologue

Squid Game | The Salesman x F!Reader

Summary: parasites. that is the only thing he thinks of when he meets the players he is meant to recruit. but what happens when he meets you and you are nothing of what he expects.

an au where the salesman lives and becomes a player.

Warnings: swearing and classist thinking. in the future there will probably be canon-typical violence and i'm still debating on smut.

a/n: happy new years! i'm sorry i couldn't upload this earlier i had to deal with some long distant relatives. however, due to popular demand here is the gong yoo fic as promised. this was originally supposed to be under 1k words...

Words: 2.1k

next part>>

Click. Click. Click

Those are the sounds of pristine perfectly polished black shoes on concrete. The soles of the shoes worn by a handsome-looking businessman echoed loudly, causing the sounds to reverberate into the jet-black sky. As he walked beneath the faint luminescence of street lights, case in hand and his head held high, his eyes searched for the next prey to fall victim to his silver tongue. The same mouth that twisted dark truths into sweet promises others couldn't dare reject. Never once has his articulate way of speaking failed to deliver the precise words necessary to provide his superiors with a new batch of fresh meat to satisfy their sadistic tendencies. To him, it was all the same. One less piece of vermin in the world, and more importantly, one less leech to drain the well-oiled machine that is society.

Today was no different as he strolled along the sidewalk of a small park near the outskirts of Seoul. While he walked, he felt indifferent towards the small details, like the light breeze swaying the tree branches above or the faint smell of dog shit wafting through the air. Having trained himself to ignore anything and everything that could be a possible distraction from his mission. What was his mission again? Ah yes, currently that would be you.

His steps immediately halted as he spotted your figure in the distance, a dark shadow looming over a bed of flowers and a trail of smoke emitting from the cigarette between your fingers. There you are. He squared his shoulders as he fixed his expression into one of casual ease. Now, all he had left to do was to convince you all of the problems that have stemmed from your pathetic life could be solved in the blink of an eye. That your worries could dissolve as quickly as skin in acid.

He began to move again, taking long strides to where you were standing. In the time he took to reach you, he jotted some quick mental notes.

One. Your relaxed stance oozed confidence and uninterest despite being a young lady positioned in one of the most crime-infested spots of the city in the dead of night. Meaning you either had a weapon on you or had sufficient defense skills, possibly both. He must tread carefully.

Two. You were positioned next to a tall fountain, atop stood a small marble figure of a gumiho. The spot infamously known for the shady transactions dealing with drugs and other nefarious crimes. Perhaps you were waiting for someone? He'd have to keep an eye out for any newcomers that could interrupt his process.

Three. Your mouth was...moving?

His steps faltered. There was no other person around within a 3-mile radius whom you could be conversing with, nor did you have a phone in hand. How odd. In his time as a recruiter, he has encountered all kinds of people. Drug addicts, the mentally ill, and one memorable case a delirious man on the brink of death, hallucinating from hunger. You, however, seemed perfectly sane. Keyword…seemed. He shook his head, quickly putting a halt to his thoughts. He had no time to ponder over whatever weird traits you may have, he came here to do one job. He resumed his trek towards you and was soon standing mere feet from you.

Show time.

“Excuse me miss, may I have a minute of your time?”

You remain standing still, making no indication that you had noticed him. Your eyes were distant while you continued to murmur but no sound came out. He wasn’t sure if you were ignoring him or if you really were that unaware of your surroundings. Now that won’t do.

“Miss?” He tried again tentatively, his head tilting curiously as he stepped in your line of sight. “Are you alright?”

Finally, your eyes shifted into focus, taking a moment to adjust. For a brief moment, it appeared as if you were lost. However, that moment soon passed and your eyes narrowed, annoyance filling your features.

“Why did you interrupt me?”

The bite in your tone was enough to make him raise an eyebrow. Perhaps you really weren’t in the right state of mind after all. “Interrupt?”

You scoffed, ignoring the question you brought the cigarette back to your lips. Taking in a long drag before you released the smoke right in his face. His mouth turned downward in displeasure.

“Do you need something?” You snapped, your jaw clenching as you slid your free hand in your pocket. He caught the way your finger twitched as you did so. Weapon it is then.

His face instantly changed back to that previous pleasant expression, his lips curving into a kind smile though with a lack of warmth in his eyes. Instead replaced by an empty, clinical look.

”I don’t mean to be a bother ma’am, but I’m here to offer you a proposal you’re sure to like,” he states in a neutral tone, having uttered a variation of those words dozens of times. “A way to better improve your current economic situation.”

Your body tenses as your eyes dart over his figure eyeing the suitcase, no doubt analyzing him as a threat. “Look I already said I’d pay him back!” He watches as you chuck the cigarette to the ground and stomp on it. “If he keeps rushing me like this then don’t expect to get a single won out of me! I don’t give a shit who he is!” Your volume rises as you take a step back, ready to sprint if needed.

He raises his arm in surrender. “That’s not what I’m here for. As I’ve stated, I only want to help.” His mind is conjuring up the best way to ease the tension.

He hesitantly takes a step forward.

Your eyes immediately look back down. “What’s in the case?”

Another step.

“I work for a group of people whose only interest is to help those who are struggling. Our objective being to ease the burden of the majority.” He swiftly places the case at the base of the fountain, unlocking the latch but leaving it closed. “See for yourself.”

You were the one to take the final step, closing the gap between the two of you. You gave him one more skeptical look before you focused all of your attention on what was in front of you. Slowly, both hands reached out and flipped the top wide open. Your eyes widened as you took in the contents of what was inside, or more specifically, the big wads of cash.

You remained silent, frozen as a statue as you simply stared. In an instant, you whipped your head in his direction. You took the time to study him, your mouth slightly agape and a certain look in your eye he couldn't quite place. A couple of seconds passed, you clamped your mouth shut and swallowed thickly, licking your lips before you finally managed to whisper, "What do you want?"

His mouth quirked upward in a smirk. Got you. "I'd like to play a game."

You belted out a high-pitched, contorted laugh. A childlike glee completely overcoming you. "Ab-so-fucking-lutely," you grinned from ear to ear, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

It dawned on him what that look in your gaze was...

Unstable.

A jolt of thrill shoots down his spine. "I'm sure you're familiar with the game ddakji," he reaches until he grabs the two colorful squares, carefully placing the red one on the ground, "for every time your square manages to flip mine, I will pay you 100,000 won."

You nod enthusiastically, your hand shooting out as he draws his hand in at the same time. "However, if you lose...you must pay me back the same amount."

You snatched the piece from him. “Deal.” You don't waste a single moment in hurling it, the force of the impact causing the sound to ricochet like a gunshot. The square goes flying, becoming a red blur. It stays in the air for a couple of seconds, but that time is enough for the experienced recruiter to know that you've already won. By the time it hits the ground, he doesn't even have to look to know it's flipped.

You look up expectantly at him.

He glances at her, jaw clenching. Well, this isn't how it usually goes. Before he can move to pay you, your voice cuts through the silence. "From the look on your face, you didn't want me to win, correct?" The lack of response on his part encourages you to continue. "How about, instead of doing whatever the hell you were thinking, I propose a new rule," you lean forward, your eyes sparkling with mirth, "we both keep throwing until one of us loses. If I win...you give me everything that's in that case."

"And what if I win?"

Your mouth twists into a devilish smirk. "Don't worry, you won't."

His eyes look you up and down, scanning you. His hands twitch in anticipation at the challenge, adrenaline manifesting itself as electricity in his veins. His bruised ego from losing the first round combined with his competitive nature was enough to make him agree. This was not part of the plan. He could just give you the money, the card, and go about his day like he has so many times before. He has no reason to play along other than he just wants to beat you.

"Alright," his previously fabricated smile now becoming genuine, "my turn."

With renewed vigor, he launches his square and as expected, it flips. He lets out an arrogant chuckle as he fixes his suit and stands up straight, his lips stretching into a satisfied smile.

This cycle continued for multiple rounds, the money long forgotten. The need to succeed fueled the violent fire between the two of you. After a while, he lost all track of time, fixating all of his attention solely on the game.

By now, his hair was disheveled and sweat dripped down his forehead. He panted as he recovered, his arm muscles aching from the consistent use. It was taking more energy than he was willing to admit in order to keep going but like hell if he'd let exhaustion be the cause of failing.

On his turn, he prepared himself to once again launch the disc. He readied himself, drawing his arm back and—

His eyes suddenly flickered to your lips, where your tongue darted out lick them. He watches intensely at your now damp, chapped lips, mouth slightly parted as you breathe heavily from fatigue.

In his moment of distraction, the square slips from his hand. He scrambles quickly to catch it but it's too late...

He's lost.

There is a long pause of silence, before your high-pitched cackle cuts through the air. His eyes widen in shock, the realization slowly setting in.

How...

He breathes out deeply through his nose, trying his best to compose himself. What the hell was that? How on earth could he have lost? He Never. Loses. He doesn't have any longer to dwell on the fact as you practically skip in joy to the case, already counting the amount. All of this because you managed to distract him.

Your voice soon interrupts his thoughts. "Maybe the next time you want to win, you might try not to let your eyes stray so far..." you say as you wink.

How did you even notice? Wait...was that on purpose? He clenches his fists until they turn white, the thought making his blood boil. He has half the mind to kill you and call it an accident just to quell his anger.

He closes his eyes in frustration. No, I can't ruin the games.

He takes in a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Once he knows that his voice won't betray any conflict he feels, he speaks again, "you know, there are other games such as the one we just played. And for much larger prizes as well."

He's back in his element, his persuasive tone of voice exuding reliability. He hands you the card, explaining how it works, how to enlist, and so on.

By the time he finishes his speech, you look mostly convinced. After inspecting the card more closely, your stare finds his, "I appreciate what you have done and thank you for the opportunity. I will consider your offer. If I do accept know it will only be due to a singular fact," your head leans closer, voice lowering to a whisper and your breath fanning over his, "I never lose"

On that note, you step back and walk away, never once turning to glance back at him. You soon disappear into the dark Seoul night, shadows blending with that of buildings and trees.

He lets out a small huff in amusement. If that is true, then he's excited to see how you'll fare in the games.

please don't be a silent reader i love reading comments and hearing your thoughts.

[elodieunderglass]

hello elodie. please enjoy this high expression of grass fandom in the form of an entire chapter on cricket pitch grass : link dot springer dot com / chapter / 10.1007 / 978-981-99-2913-9_6 what do you think the funniest alternative cricket pitch groundcover would be

Article here: https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-981-99-2913-9_6

This was published in Springer Transactions in Civil and Environmental Engineering. The article's abstract starts off with a completely new series of words:

One of the main reasons for a fast and bouncy wicket is uniform, deep-rooted grass growth in turf pitches. 

It has long been understood that academic language makes all things preternaturally serious, and writing in this style conveys things with accuracy and precision. It is also well-known that any description of cricket, whether oral or written, is almost impossibly silly. Writing about cricket in academic terms instantly creates a sort of battery-acid cocktail! The "fast and bouncy wicket" spontaneously reacts with the seriousness of the premise, and curdles, instantly. I think everyone should drink this.

After reading the abstract alone I genuinely can't recommend another plant for cricket pitches. The considerations are hyper-intersectional, they're intersectional on dimensions I can't even comprehend, there are factors reaching into the seventh dimension of spacetime. We have to consider so many factors: pace, bounce, spring, tension, wickets, stickiness. I can talk about rhizomes, but I am utterly undone by cricket. You can explain to me the difference between a googly and a doosra as a form of psychological torture and I will simply look up at you, like a weasel in a trap, saying back to you, "I will escape from this and learn nothing." What other groundcover should we plant for cricket pitches? I am already gone. I am leaving. I have evaporated from this place by transposing my molecules. I think we should pave cricket pitches in trampoline material

[oddsconvert]

I really wanna see Joshy being forced to stay awake for days. He gets so desperate to sleep that he even sweet talks Felix, ya know, desperate times.

Exhaustion clings to Josh like a leech. It feeds off his vigour and drains away any remnant of lucidity. He teeters on the edge of collapse; his body totally spent and mind shrouded in fog. Just as his heavy eyelids flutter shut for what must be the millionth time, a shock of electricity winds around his throat like a serpent, jolting him awake with a warbled cry. Josh’s hands fly to his throat, tingling and near-numb fingers scratch and desperately rip at the collar strapped to his neck. He chokes on a silent scream as hot-pain streams through his veins. 

“Eyes on me,” Felix orders with a sickly-sweet grin, he fidgets with the shock collar remote in his palm before pocketing it. “Oh, am I boring you, darling?”

Josh can barely see Felix through the tears brimming his bloodshot eyes. His jittering body slumps and his head lolls against his chest, drool slipping from his lips.

“Please -” Josh croaks, his voice coarse like sandpaper. He gulps down a sob. “Please - I - I can’t-”

-can't stand to stay awake for a second longer. Countless days and sleepless nights have blurred and bled into one waking nightmare. Josh can't remember when he was last allowed to simply fall into the sweet surrender of sleep, nor can he remember how it feels to just let his eyes slip shut and his brain switch off - his only true escape from Felix.

It had never occurred to him that sleep was a luxury that he could have denied…

“You can. You will. Remember this is your choice, my sweet. Not mine.”

What’s left of Josh’s mind races. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. He isn’t afforded choice, that was a long-learned lesson, taught through blood, sweat and tears. If he had the freedom of choice, he wouldn’t be here, huddled in the corner - fatigue eating away at him. The other night, when Josh begged Felix through breathless, hiccupping sobs that he didn’t want to sleep with Felix, he couldn’t sleep with Felix, he was terrified of the thought of going to bed and what that would bring…did he have a choice then?

Josh’s eyes suddenly and uncontrollably roll into the back of his head, his body growing limp once again. Felix clicks his fingers against the bridge of Josh’s nose to snap him back. Josh groans in weary frustration. 

“If - If you… llloved me, you’d let me sl-sleep-” Josh mumbles without a thought to the words leaving his lips. He doesn’t clock the way Felix sees red in that moment, steam nearly blowing out his ears.

“Stop that,” Felix snarls. Fists clenched tight. “What have we talked about, Josh? About you manipulating me-”

How is it that Josh always winds up the villain and never the victim? His attempts at survival and bids for peace deemed calculated and cunning? If he had the wherewithal, maybe he’d think of his mum saying it’s like “the pot calling the kettle black” and snicker to himself… instead he blinks blankly and at a snail's pace.

“You know the deal,” Felix chastises, “It’s quite simple, really. Nearly as simple as you-”

That hits Josh like a blow. Like a sucker punch to the gut. He slumps further against the wall, his head rolling back as if his neck were made of lead.

“You sleep with me, or not at all. It’s your choice, baby. Deprive yourself into a slow madness… or just let me hold you through the night.”

Josh knows. He’s not the fucking idiot Felix makes him out to be. He knows deep down that he’ll never win the battle of the wills - not against Felix. He’s grasping onto consciousness by a string: his eyes feel like acid has been poured into them - his body feels like it might crumble to dust. Josh has to give Felix what he wants, to get what he needs. It’s a transaction. Nothing more. That’s what he’ll tell himself. 

A memory foam mattress. Warm blankets. A night’s sleep. Is it worth it?

He forces himself onto all fours, even as his muscles scream and throb in protest. He crawls across the filthy floor until he reaches Felix and crumbles at Felix’s feet. His pounding head rests against Felix’s leg and he dares to close his eyes. A chesty sigh stretches into a yawn.

“I-I’m sorry…for-for playing up…” Josh mutters miserably. “I-I don’t know what came over me - I don’t know why I do this, I just -....take me to bed? Please?” He blinks up at Felix, batting his long but tear-drenched lashes.

Felix hums, carding his hand through Josh’s locks of hair, “Change of heart, my beautiful boy?”

Josh nods, but it just makes his nausea increase ten-fold. “I - I want to sleep…with you. In our bed. I wa-want you to hold me…through the night.”

For a second, Josh thinks that maybe Felix is right - he might be manipulative. He’ll say whatever he has to, to get whatever he wants. He’s playing Felix like a fiddle and he prays it’s working. Josh pulls himself to his knees, his eyes shining at Felix and his hands together in supplication.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll be so good. I’ll be…complaisant-”

“Complaisant?” Felix purrs, and he palms himself through his trousers. Josh has to fight back bile. But this is the price he has to pay. “You better not be teasing me, baby.”

“You’re too good to me,” Josh sniffles, “Too patient. I don’t deserve it-”

“No. You do not.”

Felix scoops Josh up into a bridal carry, as though he’s as light as a feather. It makes him feel so impossibly small and frail. The sudden swooping motion makes his stomach churn and the world twist. 

“And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

[bellobambino]

https://www.tumblr.com/bellobambino/778743635884769280/luigi-selling-weed-lol-christmas-lights-are

How you know it was weed? It didn’t catch it at first glance lol

because i used to buy and sell weed on venmo. the christmas tree or christmas lights represents trees you light up, its just a way to log what it is without tipping it off to any police.

its not very subtle. especially when you have like 40 fucking transactions from different people all saying the same thing its obvious ur selling.

theres one that says 'those colorful boys', and id assume this person paid luigi for acid or maybe molly idk.

listen i thought we'd find out mateo was selling adderall to johns hopkins kids but this was pretty glaring

[chaifootsteps]

honestly at this point you could pair the top infruriating lines ranking with a Stolas' worst nightmare faces ranking

for me if I was limiting it to 5 I'd probably go

5 a lot of times when he smiles honestly, but this one probably captures it best: https://64.media.tumblr.com/10aeb49593e61509e8323a88da033558/68b71969e02cbedc-8b/s2048x3072/2da1cd043e3d6b3b9a1617ad1b3e4a4fa5ca7e28.pnj

4 the 'and not the voice that says I'm not enough!' reflection shot in the bathtub in the full moon duet. I just don't understand what they were going for in that shot - maybe that Stolas is hanging on by a thread or something? it's way too far though so it just comes off creepy

3 cheating with this one but most of the angry expressions Stolas pulls in the apology tour argument; it's just nonstop unlikeability from him from start to finish. the amount of anger he displays is just so at odds with the situation - he's acting like Blitz chewed him out and rejected him out of nowhere despite the only "relationship" they ever had being a transactional fucking that he coerced Blitz into because he had all the power. the angry smile when Blitz says relationships are boring is a contender but I also hate this frame: https://64.media.tumblr.com/72a12feaf6e439d0670756e1057b93b9/e4822d8fca271cfc-fc/s1280x1920/c4d4bae33f4ca1387e1409f259a9784538b2e5bd.jpg

Also the little flappy hands when he implies the class difference is all in Blitz's head (way to gaslight), the bit where he snaps at him about sounding like Striker (the accompanying line makes that one worse) and the petty delivery on 'your freshest ex' (he's not your ex, Stolas, not even close)

Like way to make him such a petty jerk I'm cheering for Blitz even harder

2 this frame: https://64.media.tumblr.com/306e7f801fff142d57bee633abdfa9c6/90d50e1d22f5b44b-e8/s400x600/c03e4f8a2f96de0cc9c7add6749cc1e367187d90.jpg - less for Stolas' face and more that they decided to include this in a montage where the viewer is supposed to feel bad for Stolas. I dare anyone to look at Blitz's expression and that shot as a whole and not see it as the creators capturing a moment immediately after Blitz was SA'd (and Stolas clearly wants to force him into more sex he doesn't want, going by that pose and 'pity me' smile). fun acid test, actually - I'd love to know what people who don't know the show would guess is going on here. so yup, the context bumps it all the way up to #2 for me

honorary mentions: the 'passionate fornication' line (only not including it on the list proper because Stolas was an antagonist then, intentionally) and also

1 "I'm not turning her against you, Stellaaah!' coupled with that awful look on his face as he pants angrily down the phone while squeezing the life out of his butler. for me this is #1 because it really sums up all the problems with Stolas as a character within a single frame

Thank you for this comprehensive and informative list, Anon. My blood pressure was a little low and this nudged it right back up to where it ought to be.

[themoonlitsojourner]

She has regrets.

But they are not the regrets you think they are, she would not rewind the clock by years, would not take back that one night or the hundreds leading up to it.

She'd go back a few months. To the hospital, or maybe even the hotel room. But Tara knows who she was, then, how this had all felt and where her head was.

At that time, it had been a taunt. The cheap plastic test with its smiley face.

"You will never shake me. I am never going away."

It had been just another brick stacked on the wall.

So Tara punched mirrors and swore under her breath and cried, the burning acid that'd stained her face all that week. All last week. All the week before.

Because of course. Of freakin' COURSE she was pregnant, right when she thought she'd clawed her way to some SEMBLANCE of freedom but she wasn't free.

"I am always going to be here with you. In you."

For three more days, Tara punched mirrors, and cried, and lay curled up like a dead bug in gross, hotel sheets.

When she was done, she got up. Showered. And walked into a bar.

It was depressing, how easy it was. They were impressed by her speed, her ability to multi-task, and her extensive knowledge of liquor. They believed the age on her ID. Tara got the job.

Just like that.

Alcohol and bar food, late night poker and a round for the staff after closing, where her coworkers lifted eyebrows at her grenadine. Tara shrugged. Stirred her soda idly and watched the straw go around.

"My dad died in a car crash. Hit by a drunk. Nobody in my family's had a drink since. But, you know, Dad was a big fan. Collected wine and mixed his own cocktails and such. A hobbyist. Tending reminds me of him."

And they nodded, soft edged with sympathy, and Tara smiled with twisted, wry lips.

(The memory ends up cataloged next to another night, stepping out of the grocery store and reaching into her coat pockets. Coming to and they were already there.

In her hands.

In her mouth.

Muscle memory. A lightning strike. She doesn't remember. Biting down on. The cigarette.

Flicking the lighter.

Tara stared for long seconds into the jumping flame. Crisp paper between her teeth.

Hunching over the trash can and spitting it out, thrusting her hand into her pocket and throwing the whole box, all of it.

Leaning back and wiping her mouth.

Her right hand hung at her side. She lifted it and tossed the lighter too. Opening her fist over the black void. She gripped the insides of her empty pockets.

And left.)

The customers liked her tricks, all show and slight of hand, dextrous wrist movements. Miguel laughed too loud and tried to get her to teach him, leaning haphazardly over the bar. Tara politely declined and passed him a water.

A woman sitting on the other end of the bar cleared her throat.

"What can I do for you?" Tara slid over, hands on her side of the bartop.

"You speak Spanish." Dark eyes, inquisitive gaze.

"Yup."

"I heard you speaking Japanese the other night. You're fluent. Near perfect."

"Thanks." Tara filled a mug and handed it off to the waitress. She took a guess at the woman's regular order and sent it across the bar.

The woman accepted with distant hands, laser eyes. "How many languages do you know?"

"Fluently?"

"Yes, fluently. The way you know Japanese."

Tara turned her eyes to the ceiling, counting. "Eight."

The woman sucked air between her teeth. "And what about the languages you aren't fluent in?"

Tara laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Is there a point to this?"

"There is." A business card. Slid across the slick, freshly polished wood. Like a transaction. Drink for card. "Come in tomorrow, anytime between noon and one. You don't work afternoons, do you?"

"Nope." Tara examined the card. The... Embassy? The Office for Embassy Oversight.

"If you're who I think you are, Tara, you're... gifted. Supremely gifted."

Tara watched her over the card. "Thanks. I'll think about it." She slipped it into her pocket and headed to the other side of the bar.

She laid on her bed that night and held the card up, letting the ceiling light bleed around its crisp edges.

Yeah.

Something told Tara she wasn't who this 'Kristina' thought she was.

But she didn't work afternoons, and there was never anything on TV, and the fresh air distracted her from her pounding headaches, so Tara went.

Kristina smiled way too much for a government official. White teeth glimmered with curiosity, then mounting triumph as she ran a billion tests. Vocab. Sentence structure. Cultural context. The smile got wider and wider. Guess Kristina found what she was looking for.

"Tara." Hands steepled. Eyes flashing. "How would you like a job?"

Rolling her shoulders, Tara leaned back in the plastic office chair. "What kind?"

"Translation. Your auditory processing, response time, context accuracy, all of it is off the charts. Not to mention your ability to absorb new languages... Excuse me, but where did you learn all this?"

"I-" Snapshots and blurs. Humidity and ice. "I've been around. Army brat kid."

"Fascinating. Which reminds me, we'll need your parent's military records then, as well as all your past addresses and..."

Kristina said more. But the sheet of paper in front of Tara had lines and lines and places to sign that everything she said was accurate to the best of her knowledge, and Tara had half a dozen ID's, a hundred dollars, and nothing else.

"I can't."

Kristina stopped mid word, mouth open. She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't..." Tara shrugged and sat back. Her stomach churned and for half a second she thought it was something else. "I don't have any of these records or anything. It's... it's complicated."

Kristina stared down at the empty paperwork. "It's complicated."

"Yeah."

The second hand ran a full lap around the analog clock. Something like want swam behind Kristina's dark eyes.

"We have plenty of employees with complicated situations."

Tara watched her carefully. "I just have a passport. That's all I can get you."

There was a familiar steel in those eyes. The kind that wound tangled knots deep in Tara's middle, rooting in soft organ lining. The kind that had made her do stupid things. "We can work with that."

...Tara was two months in.

She took the job.

She didn't have to talk to people much, not even Kristina. She had half an office and her 'roommate' was on the phone every minute he wasn't translating, chattering in a musical Indian dialect. The work was easy, mindless, hear words translate words Tara didn't have to think.

So she didn't think.

The three month mark came and went, and Tara told her boss when she had to, who told her congratulations after a split second of mental scrambling.

Then four months. Then five.

In all honesty, Tara doesn't remember much of it, now. Work was distracting. She made enough money not to have to worry. The apartment was fine. Her body was strange and not her own, but when had it ever been? Days were weeks were months. And maybe it was terrible, but she didn't think about him, either.

A boy, the doctor said when she finally braved an appointment. She was having a boy. He was fine, he looked fine on the ultrasound, and that was that. Her chest fluttered dizzyingly whenever she felt him moving around, but apparently he was quiet, compared to most.

The time was uneventful. It blurred, stuffed into a blender and turned on pulverize.

Not even pain bled through. Not even deep red was enough to cut through the gray.

Until his wailing cry shatters the air and Tara sucks in a breath. Head suddenly light. Room suddenly terribly bright, all white walls and fluorescent. Loud direct voices, her own shuddering breathing, and his scream, high and clear and terrified.

Then they're setting him on her chest and all she is thinking is he's so small. Really small. Just...

It's too much. Being in this massive room with all this light noise cold when he's so small. She wants to cover him. Wrap him up in herself, duck her head and shield him from it all with her body.

Which, she guesses, is what she has been doing all this time.

"Talk to him," an underwater, distant echo says. "He knows your voice."

"Hey," and Tara can't remember the last time she spoke. Every day, words and words tumbling from her mouth, but none of them are hers. When was the last time she... spoke to someone? "Hi."

He's warm. Somehow, despite his size, he's warm. And he looks all funny, and wrinkled, but she knows he's cute, underneath it all. How would she know that?

"They'll be bringing in the birth certificate for you to fill out shortly."

Tara hadn't thought about this part. Just hadn't thought.

She leaves half the form blank.

What follows is... it's strange. Moments of a new kind of blur, a new routine. She has maternity leave. (These kinds of words are awkward and foreign in her mouth. She never thought of herself as very female.) Waking up at all hours, moving through new motions and tasks, taking care of this new human that's found itself in her life.

Spattered with moments of coming to. Clear moments, lucid as pushing your head out of the water. Salt dripping down her face. Ocean waves in her ears. Gasping for a breath that fills her head with clean oxygen and that's her son. She keeps coming to. Standing at the edge of his crib. That's her son. That's her son.

For a moment.

Tara returns to work, but she has an arrangement. She can't remember when she made it, in the months leading up, or if she did. Maybe Kristina just set up what she had to to keep Tara on her payroll. But either way, Tara gets her own office.

"You've more than earned it," Kristina informs her as Tara sweeps open the door.

It's small. Quiet. Tara can dim the lights. He can sleep in the playpen in the corner. And while he's still so small, so young, she can work on short translation assignments, and recordings. Easy to interrupt, for whatever he needs.

He wraps his hand around her finger. When she picks him up.

Over and over again, head briefly above water, hauling in breaths before going under again. Into the deep, deep blue silence. Until the next wave fades and there's a moment, a slim glistening moment, where she can taste air.

Her muscles get stronger. The gap between waves doesn't get longer, but she can ride it out longer. And underwater, she starts to think about the next breath of air. Tara starts to think.

Babies need time on their stomachs every day. Tara lies in front of him over her lunch break, feet touching the wall behind her. Eyelids sinking slowly shut.

He gurgles and lifts his head off the blanket she'd spread over the floor.

It's an exclamation mark going off inside her head, a firework in her chest. "I- Yes! Yeah, exactly, just like that." She laughs. Tara... laughs.

And he smiles back. She didn't... she didn't know he could. Yet. How long has he...? She can't remember if he's ever...

She wasn't paying attention. Was she?

Sitting at her desk, a couple days later. She should hold him more.

An obvious thought, a lightning bolt, Tara does most of her work sitting down. She could hold him. While doing that. Why not? He- babies like to be held. It's good for them.

He's awake, idly kicking his foot and occasionally waving an arm, a bit aimless, still, in his movements. Does his muscle tone change, when Tara picks him up? He's little, he's little still even though he's grown a lot (and unwrinkled), but it almost feels like he... just sort of melts into her arms.

His head ends up over her heart.

"Hey." They haven't talked much, really. Have they? He hears her talk all day. But she... doesn't really talk to him. "Sorry. I- I forget, sometimes. I don't- I actually don't talk to people much. Like at all. So it's... Sorry."

He wraps his hand around her finger and makes a sound the Google results would probably call a coo.

"Look, I'm gonna keep working, but you can sit with me. Okay? If you get sick of it, I'll- I guess you can cry. And I'll put you back. Okay?"

His other arm waves more of those silly circles. And Tara finds herself sort of laughing again.

"Okay."

He turns out to like it, and she starts holding him whenever she thinks of it, and he keeps falling asleep against her chest, and she hasn't been to the gym in forever but her biceps feel stronger by the day because she keeps holding him long after her arms ache.

His eyes are blue, because of course they are. What other option does he have? And the things she reads says they might change, a lot or a little, but so far they've been steady. And they're blue. But they're... it's a good shade of blue. Not familiar. So soft they're almost gray. A really gentle, rainy day sort of blue.

It's becoming familiar.

He's doing all the stuff he should at just past two months, working on lifting his shoulders along with his head, and he's started reaching for things. She should- she should get him some toys.

There's a wave of something, as she gets them both ready on her day off. He's already two months old. He's already been here, in this world, for two months. How has she not gotten him any toys by now? He has clothes, diapers, playpen, crib, carseat, and...

He doesn't even have a baby blanket.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Tara sets her keys on the table.

In the carseat, he smacks his lips together, almost humming. He kicks his legs a lot.

"I'm- It's my first time." Tara bends to touch his cheek. "And-"

Whatever she was going to say is broken off in a laugh as he twists his head to try to suck on her fingers.

"Whoops. That's... not what I meant."

Glancing up at the time and the sun coming through the kitchen windows, Tara breathes out.

Okay. He doesn't have a baby blanket. Or toys. She's never taken him out, either, has had groceries delivered these first couple months. But it changes today. She's gonna do it today.

The store is noisy and loud and his blue eyes are wider than she's ever seen them, and Tara has the embarrassing feeling that hers look exactly the same.

"Hey." Tara touches his hand, thinking maybe she should comfort him. Is he scared?

He looks at her, and something about the combination of such wide eyes and such chubby cheeks has her failing to stifle a smile and he smiles in return, kicking his feet, so maybe it's all good. Maybe things work out the way they're supposed to.

The cart and the baby in the cart and the shopping for stuff for that baby in the cart is overwhelmingly, dizzyingly grown up, and Tara keeps checking around like someone's gonna pull them over and check her ID. "Excuse me, kid, are you sure you're really old enough for all this?"

"No, Officer, not at all."

"Hey, um, puffs?" Tara checks her son's face like he might have an opinion on this kind of stuff. "Do you want puffs?"

He's too busy trying to fit his hand in his mouth to answer.

"Aw!" someone squeals behind Tara and she thrusts the puffs into the cart as if to get rid of the evidence of her own incompetency. "Look at him!! What a little sweatheart! How old is he?"

Her face is red. Tara can very much feel that her face is red because there is a very good chance this actual woman who clearly knows how to be an actual mother, complete with two kids and a baby, caught Tara trying to get her infant to make a decision for her. "Um, two months." Oh, and she just remembered he has actual months to go before even trying solids. Cross her fingers and hope this lady didn't see any of that.

"What a darling! Look at those blues."

"Yeah."

"What a lucky mother. He even has your nose!" And with a kind smile, she is gone. The sounds of her pleasant chatter with her older two kids drift over the aisle.

Tara and the baby in her cart look at each other.

The trip passes without incidence, is a success, and now the little guy has two baby blankets, a whole spread of toys he keeps getting too excited about and dropping, and a handful of baby foods for him to try once he's a bit older (including the puffs, there was no turning back). And Tara has now taken him out into the world, to the store nonetheless, and she doesn't seem to have failed at any of the little or giant tasks along the way.

Her son (her son) is still strapped into the carseat, back on the kitchen floor where they began, toothlessly mouthing a rubber ring.

Tara sinks to her knees. Touches his foot, just barely. Hand shaking.

"I'm your mom," she whispers to him. The room so quiet, she and he the only sources of sound. "I'm- you're my son."

This isn't news to him. He drops the ring in his lap and can't pick it up again.

Tara scoops the toy up. Fits it back into his hand. "I'm your mother. I'm all you got, okay? I'm all..."

That's it. She's it. No grandparents, no aunts and uncles, no family friends, no fuckin' father.

She's all there is.

"I'll do better." Her fingertips drift over the wispy hair lying soft against his scalp. "Cliff, I- I swear I'll do better."

[magicalgirlmascot]

Jaller Mahri meets Krakua at a supermarket while the latter is stressed abt something and his mask of Sonar gets him smacked full force by the Panic Frequencies so hard he ends up knocked out on the floor of the produce isle

Jaller tugged the ends of his sleeves down further over his wrists. The store was always freezing, especially in the summer when they cranked the air conditioning, but it was a good excuse to wear his jacket. The scale patterns on the backs of his wrists were easy enough to hide with sweatbands at school or during field hockey practice, but the grocery store had a stupidly strict uniform dress code. He just had to keep a close eye on his sleeves and hope for the best.

There was a dull ache in his head, pounding through his skull. It had been slowly building over the last forty-five minutes, but he couldn't do much besides grit his teeth and push through it. It was the Friday before a long weekend. The store was busier than it had been all week. There was no way his manager would let him take a few minutes to pop a couple ibuprofen when it was this jam-packed. Never mind that he was the hardest-working cashier they had, and that he hadn't originally been scheduled for this shift, and that he was working three hours and forty-five minutes which was just enough time that he didn't get any breaks at all but still had to basically work four hours. This place sucked.

Wordlessly, he started scanning the next customer's groceries. Normally he tried to give better customer service--at least a hello or good morning if nothing else--but today he couldn't bring himself to. If anyone had a problem with that they could deal with his stupid manager. His head throbbed in time with the tinny music being pumped through the store's shitty speakers. There was a vague, almost electric buzzing in the back of his head, a high pitched ringing in his ears. Probably the source of his headache, honestly. Did no one else hear this? How was no one else losing their minds?

Wait a second. Jaller's head snapped up from his mindless scanning. His new sonar power. That had to be what was causing the problem, right? He bit his lip, turning away to get a sticker for the customer's case of water bottles. It was getting worse. That had to mean whatever was causing it was getting closer. He lifted his head and scanned the crowd. No one stood out on the surface of it. People were loud, as usual, and the longer he took dealing with his line the grouchier the people in it looked. But the Piraka had looked mostly normal until you looked at them closely, and it didn't rule out any invisible bad guys. Or just Nuparu, but why he'd be sneaking around a crowded grocery store in the middle of the afternoon was beyond him.

"Hey. Hey!"

Jaller's head throbbed as he blinked at the person in front of him. The customer--a middle-aged woman he should probably recognize but didn't--had a deep scowl on her face, turning her credit card over in her fingers. "I'm in a hurry, here," she said, her voice dripping with acid.

The ringing got louder. Jaller clenched his teeth. "That's $42.73," he gritted out. "Do you have a loyalty card?"

He rushed her through the rest of the transaction and started scanning the next person through. This one was a fairly young guy, younger than Mr. Tahu at least (Tahu, it was just Tahu now, he wasn't Jaller's teacher anymore and that was weird). He looked like he was going to shake himself apart at the seams. There was something off about him. Jaller couldn't put his finger on what, just...something weird. His smile was strained, but so was Jaller's, so it probably wasn't that.

The sound got louder, more insistent, and it wasn't just a ringing anymore. Now it was a full brass section warming up. Jaller pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, but that just made things so so so much worse.

"Hey, are you okay?" the man asked.

He couldn't avoid it anymore. He had to know. Keeping his hands over his eyes so no one would see them glow, Jaller sent out a pulse of his sonar.

What he got back was an absolute cacophony. Alarms and instruments and insects and horns and rumbling and ringing and

When Jaller blacked out, his last thought was that he might finally get some silence.

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day nine!)

(woahh day nine look at us go!!)

(read them all here!)

the next day at work, which was a saturday, you found yourself especially looking forward to bakugo’s appearance. you felt like you’d become friends with him— real, actual friends— after going to the party with him and kirishima. it was incredibly exciting.

you didn’t have many friends. it’s not like you minded; you liked being able to make your own plans and have time to yourself. but you were always accepting of new friends, particularly those that were your age— most of your current friends (more like close acquaintances) were twice as old as you, maybe even three or four times. so when you got home last night from the party, you were positively glowing, a rush of excitement washing over you (it helped that all of your new friends seemed like the type who were incredibly popular in high school; the kind of people everyone wanted to be around. and pro heroes. that helped too.) mina had actually texted you, asking you to hang out the following wednesday, which you happily agreed to.

you were snapped out of your thoughts by the familiar chime of the sweet little bells that announced the arrival of a customer. bakugo was grumbling, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he entered.

“are you doing alright?” you asked, already ringing him up.

“just fuckin’ exhausted.” he muttered. “make it a large today.”

“okay.” you hum, voiding the transaction and finding it the tiniest bit irksome that the one day you don’t ask for his order is the one day he changes it. you quickly brushed the feeling away. what a dumb thing to be irked by. “go ahead and sit down, it’ll be right out.” bakugo grunted an annoyed “don’t tell me what to do”, but obliged.

“is it from the party last night?” you ask as you hand him his coffee, which he promptly takes a drink from.

“yeah. those fuckers wouldn’t shut up in the group chat after it was over.” bakugo tched.

“ah, they must have kept you up, then.” you said sympathetically.

“no shit.”

“hey, speaking of, is mina a pro hero, too?”

“yeah.”

“what’s hero hero name? and her quirk?” you pressed.

“her quirk’s acid, and her hero name’s pinky.” he answered somewhat reluctantly.

“so do you call all your friends by their hero names?” you immediately regretted asking. after all, bakugo called kirishima shitty hair.

“hell no.” bakugo scoffed. “i called her pinky in high school and she made it her damn hero name after her first pick was rejected.”

“what was her first pick?” you ask curiously.

“alien queen or some dumb shit like that.”

“was dynamight your first pick?”

“no. they rejected my first two.” bakugo scowled, recalling the memory darkly.

“what were they?”

“lord explosion murder and king explosion murder.” you stared at him, dumbfounded.

it sounds exactly like your current one!! you wanted to scream, but you were too busy holding in your laughter.

“if you laugh, i’ll kill you.” bakugo hissed.

“i’m— i’m not laughing.” you managed to say between gasps, holding your hand to your mouth to block any sounds from coming out.

“i can see your shoulders shaking!” bakugo shouted.

“they’re not!” you didn’t even try to make your lie sound convincing.

“yes they are!”

“okay, okay, changing the subject now,” you snickered. “where did you go to high school?”

“hah?” bakugo seemed almost offended that you didn’t know what high school he went to. ���ua. the best hero school.”

“i went to middle school with someone who went there, i think.” you mused airily. bakugo narrowed his eyes.

“who?”

“his name was monoma. neito monoma?” you guessed, not quite knowing his full name. bakugo immediately looked irked.

“that asshole…” he seethed.

“yeah, he had an ego to him.” you reminisced. “but there was this girl who always managed to subdue him.”

“they were annoying as fuck. they were in class b.” he spat.

“were you in class b?”

“hell no!” bakugo seemed offended at this also. “i was in class a. the best.”

“ahh, right.” you nodded as though this were obvious from the start.

“shut up.” bakugo grumbled, taking another sip of his coffee.

“so how was work?” you decide to change the subject. you were having to do this an awful lot today, you noticed. he seemed especially grumpy.

“tiring as shit.” he tched.

“did you get any villains?” you smiled. you figured that if he was feeling down, an ego boost would make him feel better. he looked up from his coffee. you had him hooked.

“…yeah.” he answered. “yeah, i did.”

“how many?” now he grinned that vicious grin of his that could, frankly, be borderline sadistic.

“twelve. beat their asses. they didn’t even stand a chance.” he boasted.

“obviously.” you smiled, leaning against the counter, “because you’re the number one hero.”

“you’re damn right i am.” bakugo smirked. “one of ‘em tried to flee like a little bitch when he found out i was gonna beat his ass.”

“did he really?” you laugh. “you’ve got quite the reputation, then.”

“damn right i do.” you found yourself smiling as bakugo answered. sure, his ego was more blown up than the villains he’d encountered today, but you were happy he was at least feeling better. “i’m number one, ain’t i?”

“that you are.” you confirm. bakugo downed the rest of his coffee.

“yeah, well, i’ve gotta go.” he stood up. he narrowed his eyes and looked away, scowling. “thanks for the coffee, i guess.”

ah, he thanked you.

“of— of course.” you stammer, not expecting him to actually thank you but recovering quickly nonetheless.

“yeah, whatever.” bakugo turned to leave, then looked back at you briefly. he didn’t say a word, but you smiled and waved. he scoffed, looking annoyed. but he waved back, and you could see the barest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

“are you doing alright?”

“just fuckin’ exhausted.”

<- previous next->

(feel free to comment + leave ur thoughts :)

tags: @k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity

[wrenramblings]

Troubled Kids

a poem

TW for references to self-harm and suicide

When I was young for some reason I think for comfort I used to read terrible stories about children doing terrible things to themselves.

Like comparing two blackberries for creep of mold I would dissect the psyches of these children and rummage for neural fragments resembling my own—

look, here, a boy fifteen years old drowned in his bathtub of his own volition and I, too, fourteen at the time occasionally sat in the bath dissolving in acid by my own hand

or a young girl thirteen years old fancied the silver in her household the safety pins and, god forbid, the knives like a rag-doll she tore through her clumsy stitches again and again just to persuade the night: look, believe me, I am red.

Back home where every morning I crept through cobwebs to the bathroom, I dashed the curtain over to hide the tub from view; you see, the boy must have drowned in my bathtub I read all about it, my tub is haunted by him.

Downstairs in the tremor of terror I walked swiftly past the kitchen knives (general use items there was nothing I could do to cover them up) and although the girl certainly ripped at her seams with the old kitchen steel, the knives weren’t haunted yet— even then I knew.

I was not a troubled kid I knew lightning and her subsequent bellow as April knew rain

I was not afraid of the dark I did not understand its purpose but I knew its place.

Then girlhood like forbidden fruit and now the world is made of transactions and forewarnings— thunder means hole up dark means strike flint

yes there will be wonder first you must pay in whatever you can bear to part with, pray it is not yourself.

And that is the story, that is how all of us become troubled kids, that is how I picked up a blade and used it and did not reroute my fury kindly like a wayward traveler but beckoned it into the maw—

and deep in the blue briars and thickets of night, that is why we slice ourselves open from belly to throat: just to hear ourselves do it.

Just to convince the troubled kids of the forest:

look, believe me, I am red.

[lovetransaction]

Smiling makes more sense to Dean than any of the long meaningful therapizing looks that Sam keeps giving him or, god help him, Bobby's schtick about how being a Hunter means not being a person. Dean still feels like a person, just a fucked-to-hell one who can't stop seeing the long line of his inadequacies straight out the door and on till sunrise. Frank might not know him but Frank knows ... something, about what it's like, about your biggest life loss coming at age twenty-six and the one-foot-in-front-of-the-otherness of everything that comes after.

Frank's also something new and a little odd but Dean doesn't mind odd when it comes with a never-ending parade of pet names that are rolled in that sour candy coating so they're just this side of cloying, a little sarcasm to take the sugar off. He's not into psychedelics much but with Frank he's curious about the old guy's bag of tricks, so he says fuck it one time and drops acid with the geezer. It's, predictably, odd; Frank spools on and on about his routine and all the steps he's employed to keep on truckin' and by the time he's giving Dean that shiatsu massage he'd mentioned, Dean's still curious so he leans into it.

Twelve minutes later he's not altogether sure if his tianshu meridian is any better for the way Frank's rolling his knuckles against Dean's stomach, but sixteen minutes after that, Frank's fucking him nicer than a lot of people do and Dean mumbles, "i'm the one paying you, y'know," and Frank stares at him with one hand cupped at the base of Dean's skull and says, "listen, poodle, at our level of transaction nothing's a one-way street so lie back and let me get my kicks," and that sounds reasonable enough so Dean sinks his hips back further in the cot and lets it all be easy, for once, easy as it gets for somebody like him. His head jostles a little in the cup of Frank's palm with each rolling thrust and Dean opens and closes his mouth and looks up at the ceiling and doesn't see Amy's face and her cat eyes, or Bobby's face and his sadness, or anything at all. Maybe fire, rolling in. Maybe not. "Mom," he says, experimentally, and Frank slows for a minute, then gently moves his hand from behind Dean's head and covers his eyes with it.

"Thank you," Dean rasps. Frank doesn't say anything. His thumb sweeps along Dean's forehead once, twice. Sweet one way and sour the other.

---

going to lebanon : flash creations

[reve-de-sang]

lol to set my mind at ease about just how often i get that man in a Situation, i did a quick tally. it’s 7 stores that include a lestat pregnancy vs 19 without, so i’m not spiders georging it out yet. yet.(unstudied: how often other ppl tend to get lestat pregnant, but i will let that remain shrouded in mystery)

all the things below. also included ratings and dynamics, bc i don’t keep track and was kinda curious where the dicks end up and if anyone’s backdoor is particularly under stress

Stories With Lestat Pregnancy (7)

La Reine Claudia (loustat; explicit, switch) (referenced marius/armand) (more pending)

Celebrity Skin (loustat; explicit, dynamics pending) (magstat; explicit, top magnus/bottom lestat)

Marvelous Us (loustat; explicit, switch) (armandaniel; explicit referenced, discussed top daniel/bottom armand but possible switch)

Marvelous Us : sU suolevraM (the Darker Timeline Remix) (lesmand; explicit, top armand/bottom lestat)

Gordian (loustat; explicit, …it’s so complicated, but let’s go with switch lol)

the poets (loustat, loumand{?); teen, WIP pending switch [unstated], but evident top louis/bottom lestat due to pregnancy lol)

The Curse (loustat; explicit, implied switch, but depicted top louis/bottom lestat) (lesmand; top armand/bottom lestat) (nickistat, explicit, implied top lestat/bottom nicki, depicted top nicki/bottom lestat) (referenced omc/lestat with bottom lestat)

Stories Without Lestat Pregnancy (19)

Endless Well (loustat; explicit, switch)

Septicemia: Shreveport (loustat; gen, no dynamics stated)

Septicemia: H. Upmann (loustat; teen+, no dynamics stated)

Septicemia: Nobody ever loved me that much. (loustat, teen+, no dynamics stated) (implied lesmand; teen+, no dynamics stated)

Septicemia: Understudy (loustat; explicit, switch)

slipping the chrysalis (loustat; teen+, no dynamics stated) (claudeleine; teen+, no dynamics stated)

From This Day Forward (loustat; explicit, switch)

Flourish (loustat; explicit, switch)

Revelation (loustat; explicit, top lestat/bottom louis)

Exclusive (loustat; gen, no dynamics stated)

To Keep Me Warm (loustat; gen, no dynamics stated)

Shimmer (loustat; gen, no dynamics stated)

Burning Stable (loustat; gen, no dynamics stated)

Creation (loustat; WIP pending explicit[?], dynamics pending) (magstat; explicit, top magnus/bottom lestat) (armandaniel pending)

Acid on the Tongue (nickistat; gen, top lestat/bottom nicki) (magstat; explicit, top magnus, bottom lestat)

November Notebook: Down a Hundred Eighty Degrees (loustat; WIP explicit[?], dynamic pending) (referenced transactional magstat; implied explicit, top magnus/bottom lestat)

Sharpest Tooth (loustat; WIP explicit, dynamic pending) (lesloumand; explicit, top armand, bottom lestat, voyeur louis) (possible pending lesmand, explicit, dynamic pending)

[pending valentine’s story 2/2/25] (loustat; explicit, top louis/bottom lestat)

[pending valentine’s story 2/14[?]/25] (loustat; explicit, top lestat/bottom louis)

Septicemia: Experiment - Claudeleine (with implied loustat) (claudeleine; gen, no dynamics stated)

—

(lol to be clear i’m not opposed to writing louis in the family way, and I have one on a side burner. if you’re curious for something specific, shoot me a prompt, inbox & comments are open!)

[monocodoll]

hey i really love your vile ventures mod! i have a lot of suggestions for it. obviously you don't have to implement them because the mod's amazing as it is and you already have a lot planned for it, but i feel like they would add a lot to the gameplay.

for acid and shrooms it would be cool if there could be more moodlets describing how the trip is going. for example feeling one with nature, impending doom, ego death, thought loops, and more. it would also be cool if there were popups like from the deep conversations mod, where if a bad trip is starting you can try to stay calm which has a chance of stopping the bad trip or you can freak out which makes it worse (if you want your sim to suffer).

in general i have a lot of ideas for extra moodlets and side effects - constipation from painkillers/opioids/ketamine, derealization from weed/psychedelics, weight gain from lean, weight loss from cocaine, itchiness from painkillers/opioids, bruxism/grinding teeth from molly/adderall/meth, fucked up teeth and skin from meth, sexual dysfunction/negative moodlets after woohoo, comedowns/afterglows, nic sick, accidentally injecting an artery instead of a vein, and more

ketamine or over the counter deliriants or dissociatives would be really cool too. your sim could buy ket from a dealer or go to the grocery store for dxm/robo or benadryl. benadryl would probably be a guaranteed bad trip and your sim will get the disgusting surroundings moodlet from seeing bugs and spiders everywhere.

tripsitting other sims and influence their trip, if they're having a bad trip you can try to calm them down or you can even mess them up. you can also have someone accompany your sim while they're tripping too, and depending on relationship or traits that could either be good or bad.

psychosis would be fun (not), if your sim has a bad trip from psychedelics there could be a chance of getting a psychosis moodlet. they'd have to visit the doctor and be prescribed antipsychotics. antipsychs can't really be abused so instead of having them in your inventory there should just be a moodlet for "on antipsychotics", and after a while the psychosis moodlet will disappear. (or maybe you can go to a mental hospital rabbithole)

going cold turkey on benzos can kill you in real life. maybe having a xanax addiction moodlet can have a chance of giving your sim a seizure unless you taper it.

it would be nice if you could launder money without owning a business, maybe using cryptocurrency (possible new feature?), gambling/casinos, or buying from a business with dirty money and getting refunded with real money (this can increase heat level if you do it too much)

before opioid overdose fatal or non-fatal your sim will get a nodding off moodlet which drains their energy. during this time they can administer narcan/naloxone to reverse the overdose.

"sell drugs" interaction on the phone, where your sim can make a post telling others they're selling. for the next few hours you may get 1-5 calls from acquaintances/friends asking to buy, or they could ask if you could deliver it to another lot. using this interaction increases heat, but you can create a separate account which decreases heat gain.

if you're at a certain level of the drug dealing skill you will also get random phone calls from other sims asking to buy pickup/delivery without using the "sell drugs" interaction on the phone.

if another sim calls you first asking to buy drugs, you can seal the deal immediately. however you can't choose what to sell them, they will order and you have to decide whether or not their order is worth the hassle.

a dark web feature would be really cool. at a certain level of drug dealing you can access the dark web and buy all drugs, with the same stock everyday. each transaction will increase heat but heat gain will decrease if you buy a VPN and/or use cryptocurrency to anonymize the transaction. however there is a chance you might get scammed - you may not recieve your purchase or they might even steal your money.

i see you're planning on adding strip clubs in the future, it would also be fun if you also added prostitution. i'm pretty sure pimping and purchasing sex is illegal in real life but being a ho is perfectly fine - so in game being the pimp or purchasing sex will increase heat but being a ho has no consequences (legally at least... selling your body is very traumatizing, constant sex, becoming a sex object, shitty pimps)

more ways to persuade dealers and buyers. for example trading drugs for guns/vice versa, woohoo for drugs or guns, robbery, or blackmail.

robbery only works if you have a gun. if you succeed you will get lots of drugs from a dealer for free or lots of money without giving up product from buyers. obviously this isn't a flawless method. you might have a gun pulled out on you and you might be forced to give up your drugs and/or money, and heat will increase significantly. your relationship with the dealer/buyer will be damaged and you will be unable to buy from them or sell to them for a while.

Heyy Anon! Hope you are doing well. Sorry for the late response. I wanted to take time to respond to this as detailed as possible. Here are things I may implement into future updates from your list.

Dark Web

As I add more criminal methods to Vile Ventures I will establish a Dark Web mechanic where you can utilize your dirty money to purchase items. Lock picks, Social Security #'s, Fake ID's, etc

Drug Client Calls

It will most likely be a misc feature in a future update. But I will add a mechanic for cliens that have bought from you to give you a call to try to set up a deal with you. With them choosing the order.

Advertising Drug Dealing

Most likely will be a misc feature in a future update. But, I would eventually like to add an a mechanice where you can advertise your drug dealing online and then potentially get traffic that way.

Drug Robberies

Probably won't be implemented anytime soon. Maybe when I get to revamp the entire Arms Dealing part of the mod. But, I'll probably make a mechanic where you can steal from drug dealers. However, the consequence is that word will get around and you won't be able to buy from dealers permanently. Unless you use wiser methods. Like using Counterfiet Money to make your purchase. That way your reputation stays intact. Meanwhile if you pull out a gun several times to do a robbery, then eventually word will get around and no one will ever deal with you again.

Trading With Drug Dealers

Most likely will be implemented when I add more criminal elements to Vile Ventures. Although there is also Arms Dealing. And you could technically exchange guns for drugs. That mod I don't consider it complete. It was honestly a test run to see if I could even implement something like Basemental Drugs. I loved using the Arms Dealing mod as a test run, because there was no pressure of animations. Which was something I could not properly produce back then. But, I learned a lot ever since and I consider it absolute in comparison to Vile Ventures. I would eventually love to completely revamp the Arms Dealing and implement it into Vile Ventures. I may even add proper Shooting Animations for the guns.

[manic-badlands93]

I’ve dealt with so many health issues last year that are now bleeding into this year, that I was prescribed anti-depressants for my ongoing (3 months) chest pain that was deemed non cardiac when I went to the ER.

They’re all saying the same thing: “stress” and the only thing that’s stressing me out is these medical professionals unable to properly diagnose me.

I’ve “only” been on this medication for 6 days. I haven’t noticed any change in my chest pain or any other aspects. I hate that I felt like I didn’t have a choice in this. I mean of course I had a choice in taking the medication. But I fully and wholeheartedly believed that this, being the last resort, would help. And I’m so beside myself.

Every day I feel like is going to be my last. Not by choice. My chest feels like it’s splitting in two. No one believes me. I’ve seen so many doctors. “Acid Reflux” only for the GI to tell me that it’s not acid reflux.

Idk what to do anymore. It’s hard to focus at work. It’s hard to do anything fun. Because I’m just constantly thinking about this chest pain. I’m praying to all the gods out there to please let this medication work. Please. I literally can’t do this.

I know there are so many people suffering with chronic pain around the world. Some without insurance. Some without answers. Some without access to medication. My heart breaks for everyone. Out of the 15 med professionals I saw last year, only one seemed like she cared. Is that just normal? Is that just the medical system? Is this all transactional?

The pain is getting so bad that I think about going to the ER. I went 3 times last year. 3. All within a 3 week period. I’m too ashamed to go because they’re just going to get annoyed with me all over again. Use my anxiety against me as if I’m fabricating symptoms and taking time away from people who actually need immediate attention.

I cry every day. I’ve lost so many “friends”. I am just beyond thankful for my boyfriend who continues to provide me compassion and support every single day. I’m so thankful for my mom who I know I’ve emotionally destroyed through these last 8 months. I wish this could all disappear. I wish I could go back to normal. I wish someone had a clear answer for something. I wish I could travel without worry so I could see my boyfriend more than twice a year. I wish so many things.

Every day I worry it’ll be my last. That I’ll never get married. I’ll never have kids. All because these doctors didn’t try hard enough.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I’m just a stranger on the internet. I cant wait to finish work today so I can go to sleep. And pray. And pray. And pray. This all just goes away.

[o-lanterns]

memo to my stomach this is a one-way transaction. keep the change. all of the acid can stay inside you forever I promise. please understand.

[pie-of-flames]

Beatles Asks - 3, 7 and 13 please!

I'm gonna do these separately because it's a lot.

3. What’s your opinion on The Beatles wives?

This is a very broad topic.

Cynthia: I read Cynthia’s book John: A Biography. Of course, any book like this has to be take with a grain of salt, assuming some level of self-interest and faulty memories. Even so, my heart really goes out to her after reading this. I believe she and John were truly in love. The pics of them together are always really cute. But I kind of doubt they would have married if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Either John fell out of love or was too fucked up in general, or his mental issues were exacerbated by Beatlemania and later, heavy drug use, for the marriage to last long. He neglected Cyn and Julian horribly and was a gigantic asshole. For example, he hounded her to take acid and then, when she finally did and had a bad trip, he completely neglected her and left her alone to suffer. She says she even considered suicide during that trip. And don’t even get me started on the divorce. He really mistreated her. Granted, he was probably emotionally incapable of treating her with humanity, given his mental health issues. But he was just horrible and acted unforgivably.

Pattie: I also read the George part of Pattie’s book, Wonderful Tonight. She seems fine. I don’t have any feelings about her one way or another. They’re cute together. Both she and George were so young then. George was a shit near the end, of course.

Yoko: You know, who really knows what was going on between her and John? I do think they were genuinely in love. But I also think, in May 1968 when they got together, the relationship offered transactional benefits to both of them. She obviously wanted to snag a Beatle and become famous. She’d been stalking John for a pretty long time. And John desperately needed a “guru” to give he life structure and focus. He was really flailing after India, clearly in mental distress after losing Brian (and Whatever Happened In India™ which may have involved John feeling like he’d lost Paul somehow) and doing huge amounts of acid again. (Enter my theory that he had borderline personality disorder where you latch on to an Important Person to provide your identity.) Both of them were all on board with a codependent, all-consuming relationship. She doesn't seem like a particularly nice person, what with the stories about her ordering around Apple employees like they were her personal servants. She also seems very manipulative, but then again, so was John. Personally, I cannot stand her "singing" (I study classical singing, so...it's just painful to listen to.)

Skipping to the seventies, my impression is John wanted Yoko to control his life and she did,         although they also seemed to enjoy playing power games with each other. I don’t know why he went back to her after the Lost Weekend, but I assume part of it was a need to give up control to another person. It’s hard to tell if they were still in love in the seventies. I would love to find out what was really going on between them in this period because there’s such a drastic difference in opinions, like “happy, bread baking house husband” narrative vs. “depressed, in bed getting high and watching TV” all the time narrative.

Linda: I do think there was a bit of the starfucker in her but she and Paul were obviously in love and devoted to each other, as far as we can tell. No other thoughts. I don't really know much about her. I’m grateful for all her photos of Paul. :)

Later Paul wives: no opinion, I don’t know enough.

Olivia: same. I'm glad she and George were able to have Dhani.