#maximizing office space

[interiorergonomics]

Functional Workstation Desk Clusters

In what ways can functional workstation desk clusters be thoughtfully designed? Being that they create ergonomic workstations which enhance productivity, they also promote employee well-being by;

addressing individual comfort

Increasing Workspace Capacity

Boost office aesthetics

reducing physical strain

supporting healthy posture throughout the workday

Read More on different office workstation layouts and shapes trending in modern office furniture industry.

[nirvanabuilders]

Maximizing Space and Layout in a Modern Garage Conversion

A garage conversion can breathe new life into an underused space, turning it into a stylish and functional part of your home. Whether you’re creating a home office, guest suite, or cozy living area, a smart approach to layout and space optimization is key. Here’s how to make the most of every inch during your garage remodeling & conversion, ensuring a space that’s practical and welcoming.

Plan for an Open Layout An open layout can make a converted garage feel more spacious and inviting. By minimizing walls and partitions, you can create a versatile space that accommodates different activities. For example, an open-plan living room can double as a home office or workout area. Open layouts are perfect for maintaining a modern aesthetic, allowing light to flow throughout the space and making the room feel larger.

Focus on Multi-Functional Design When space is limited, every feature should serve more than one purpose. In your garage remodeling & conversion, consider incorporating multi-functional furniture like fold-out sofas, Murphy beds, or built-in desks. These pieces allow you to adapt the space based on your needs, whether it’s hosting guests or creating a quiet work-from-home corner. By prioritizing flexibility, you’ll maximize the functionality of your converted space without sacrificing style.

Use Smart Storage Solutions Storage is often a challenge in garage conversions, but with some creative thinking, you can keep the space organized and clutter-free. Consider adding built-in shelving, wall-mounted cabinets, or floating shelves to maximize vertical space. A custom storage wall can hold everything from books to workout gear while keeping the floor area clear. These solutions not only help optimize the layout but also maintain a clean, modern look that’s ideal for any garage remodeling & conversion.

Maximize Natural Light Natural light can transform a garage conversion from a dark, enclosed space into a bright, welcoming area. During your garage remodeling & conversion, consider installing large windows, glass doors, or even skylights to bring in as much natural light as possible. A bright space feels larger and more open, making it ideal for a modern design. If privacy is a concern, opt for frosted or tinted glass to maintain a balance between light and seclusion.

Define Zones Without Walls To keep the open feel while still creating distinct areas, try using design elements like rugs, furniture arrangement, or partial dividers to define different zones. For instance, you can use a sectional sofa to separate a seating area from a workspace, or a bookshelf to create a subtle division between a bedroom nook and a living area. These techniques help maintain flow while giving the space structure, making your garage remodeling & conversion more versatile.

Invest in Proper Insulation and Ventilation Comfort is key when converting a garage into a living space. Since garages are not usually built for living, adding insulation to walls, ceilings, and floors is crucial to maintain a comfortable temperature year-round. Proper ventilation is also important, especially if the space includes a bathroom or kitchen area. A well-insulated and ventilated space not only feels more like home but also ensures that your garage remodeling & conversion adds value to your property.

Choose Space-Saving Fixtures and Appliances If your conversion includes a small kitchenette or bathroom, look for space-saving fixtures that keep things compact without compromising functionality. Wall-mounted sinks, compact appliances, and corner showers can fit seamlessly into tight areas. These choices help free up floor space, allowing you to create a modern, uncluttered look that aligns with the rest of your home’s design.

Blend the Design with the Rest of Your Home For a smooth transition between your converted garage and the main house, use design elements that match your home’s overall style. Whether it’s matching the flooring, paint colors, or hardware finishes, these small touches make the space feel like a natural extension of your home. This attention to detail ensures that your garage remodeling & conversion doesn’t just add space—it enhances the overall flow and aesthetic of your property.

Make It Your Own with Personal Touches Ultimately, your garage conversion should reflect your unique style and needs. Add personal touches like artwork, plants, or custom lighting fixtures to make the space feel warm and inviting. A few well-chosen decorative elements can transform a practical design into a room that feels truly special, making your garage remodeling & conversion a success.

By focusing on layout, storage, and smart design choices, you can turn your garage into a space that’s as functional as it is stylish. With the right approach, your garage remodeling & conversion can provide the perfect blend of modern design and everyday practicality. Ready to start transforming your garage? Begin planning today, and make the most of this exciting opportunity to expand your home’s living space.

[mtcremovalsposts]

[productiveandfree]

Optimizing Your Home Office for Maximum Productivity

Nearly one-third of the U.S. workforce works remotely at least part of the time, which means nearly 91 million people are in need of a workspace in their homes. Suffice it to say that if you are trying to fit a home office into your living space, you aren’t alone.

Your home office doesn’t have to be expensive or extravagant — but it does need to be effective at helping you focus on your tasks. Here is how to put together your home office to maximize productivity:

Choose the Right Space

Ideally, your home office will be quiet, private, and comfortable. The best option for a home office is an unused guest bedroom; the second-best option is another closed-off space away from your home’s high-traffic areas. If you don’t have a bedroom to spare, you might consider transforming a shed or garage into your dedicated workspace. As a last resort, you should carve out a corner of your bedroom, where you have total control over the décor and can close (and perhaps lock) the door against interruptions.

You need to think critically about a space before you select it for your home office. How much time and effort are required to make the space livable? Are there enough outlets to power all your work-from-home tools?  Can you envision yourself happily spending hours on end in the space? If you can, you might try experimenting with different locations, working from a mobile device or laptop, to make sure you fully understand the advantages and disadvantages of each potential home office area before making your decision.

Equip Your Office

Once you have a space picked out, you can begin acquiring and arranging your office furniture. You will need a desk that can accommodate the equipment you regularly use to complete your work, and you will need a desk chair that provides appropriate support for your frame. Likely, you will also need storage solutions to organize paperwork, gadgets, or other bits and bobs necessary to your work.

You might be tempted to invest in office furniture that is trendy or aesthetically pleasing. While the look of your office does matter somewhat — you should strive to create an office space that suits your taste as you will find more enjoyment while working — you should avoid sacrificing function for form. Your objective in acquiring office equipment is to ensure your furniture and tools support your workflow.

Clean and Declutter

A cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, as the saying goes. Efficiency experts agree that a messy work area impedes one’s ability to focus on the tasks at hand, so when you are setting up your home office, and regularly afterward, you should take the time to clean up.

It should go without saying that you should keep your home office clean with regular chores like vacuuming and dusting. You should also engage in weekly decluttering: primarily filing or throwing away documents and returning gathered objects to other rooms in your home. You should try to keep your desk free of anything you do not need consistently, like a coaster for your beverage or a calendar.

Reduce Distractions

You chose a space far from the hubbub of your home, and you are relentless about reducing clutter — but these aren’t the only distractions that can prevent you from being productive in your home office. If you want to make certain that your mind will focus only on your work, then you might want to consider the following:

Sound. Being physically separate from others doesn’t fully prevent them from interrupting your focus. You might consider soundproofing, especially if your office is in an uninsulated space like a garage or shed. In addition to acoustic panels, you might lay thick rugs and cover windows with heavy curtains, both of which will absorb excess sound.

Air. When you are in a closed room, the air can quickly become stale and polluted by contaminants. You might consider placing an air purifier somewhere in your home office, so you can reduce the likelihood of respiratory irritation, like asthma or allergies, and neutralize irksome odors, both of which might take your mind off your work. Living plants can also help keep your air fresh and clean, though you should try to avoid cluttering your windows or desk with excess greenery.

Media. Your computer, television, and phone are distraction machines. If possible, you should prevent yourself from using these tools in non-work capacities during working hours, perhaps by installing apps that limit your access. If necessary, you may need to store your phone and TV away from your workspace while you are on the clock.

You aren’t the first remote worker to struggle with productivity at home. With tools and strategies to help you focus on your work — and with plenty of practice — you should be able to find a way to function productively in your home office.

Katie Brenneman

Katie is a passionate writer specializing in time management, marketing, and education-related content. When she isn't writing, you can find her with her nose buried in a book or hiking with her dog, Charlie. To connect with Katie, you can follow her on Twitter.

Share in the comments below: Questions go here

[storekar4]

Storekar: Revolutionizing Self-Storage in India

Explore Storekar's innovative self-storage concept in India, offering secure and affordable storage units to maximize your living area. From cherished and valuable items to office documents and fine art, tackle space crunch with nominal monthly rents, end-to-end logistics, and optional packing and pick-up services. Experience clutter-free living in metropolitan cities while ensuring tax compliance. Discover the convenience of Storekar for efficient and secure storage solutions.

[dlyarchitecture]

[noirandchocolate]

RICE Alzheimer's Research Institute

Terry died on 12 March 2015, having given his PCA a run for its money.  Open about his diagnosis, he has helped to unlock the secrecy and stigma that often surrounds dementia.  His legion of fans is undoubtedly grateful that despite the inevitable progression of the PCA he was able to fight his ‘embuggerance’ and continue to produce a number of both well-received and well-reviewed books.  Terry was also a great example to me in emphasizing how important it is that, in caring for people with any type of dementia, we always look for what people with a condition like PCA can still do, rather than what they can’t: by maximizing what is possible, a person can still live well with dementia for a significant time.

–Professor Roy Jones, Director of RICE (taken from “Terry Pratchett: His World”)

I wanted to post something for the Glorious 25th about the Research Institute for the Care of Older People (RICE) in Bath, where Sir Terry Pratchett received treatment for Post-Cortical Atrophy, the type of Alzheimer’s disease that eventually took his life. From the organization’s website:

RICE established one of the first memory clinic services in the UK in 1987 – a service which has since been widely replicated and is now considered standard and best practice by the NHS. In fact, RICE now runs the NHS Memory Clinic in Bath and North East Somerset on behalf of the local clinical commissioning group and local authority through a sub-contract with HCRG Care Group. To date, we’ve assessed, diagnosed, treated and advised 12,000 people with memory problems and their families in our memory clinic. 

Most of RICE’s clinical services and research activities take place in our own purpose built, specialist centre located on the Royal United Hospital site. The building of the RICE Centre was possible as a result of generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations, and members of the public. RICE moved into the ground and first floor of the centre in 2008. Following the success of the DementiaPlus Appeal and further generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations and members of the public, RICE converted the attic floor in 2019 to create more office space. This has given us access to much needed additional rooms and offices which will enable us to grow and run more services and activities. We’ve worked hard to ensure that the areas of the centre visited by our patients meets their needs and we regularly receive feedback on how much our patients enjoy their visit to our centre.

RICE not only provides clinical services to patients, but also conducts research into aging and dementia, including performing clinical trials for new drug treatments for memory-related diseases and developing other “techniques for diagnosing, managing, treating and understanding dementia and memory changes in older adults.”

Lady Lyn Pratchett is the patron of the organization, and the website includes a page about how people can donate funds or volunteer at the clinic and participate in fundraising events.

SO, if you’d like to help fund Alzheimer’s research on this Glorious 25th of May–or at any time–in honor of the Man in the Hat, take a look!

[mixelation]

i was trying to rotate the reborn au konoha chunin exams and got stuck on "does kushina have to dress up" for SOME REASON followed by "what is uzushio formal wear" and then i wrote a whole scene. kill me

Kushina invited her over for breakfast, after Minato had left for work and after Naruto had dragged his feet over to training ground 12 for morning drills with Kakashi, but before either Tori or Kushina strictly needed to be anywhere. 

Tori didn’t really like being invited anywhere before 10 AM. She simply wanted to maximize time in her pajamas. But the Uzumaki-Namikaze household was a place she had permission to teleport to, and so there was no one but Kushina to judge her for showing up directly from bed, still in her PJs. 

“You and Minato….” Kushina started, eyeing Tori’s bed head as she poured her coffee, “took very different approaches to Hiraishin.”

Kushina set plates in front of both of them and then segued directly into complaining about all the red tape the Kazekage visiting was causing. The Chunin Exams were already an entire event during which Minato’s advisory committee got extra anxious about Konoha PR and representatives from the Daimyo showed up to be even more annoying, but the Kazekage also visiting made everything worse. 

Usually Kushina’s role would be to support Minato in his personal life, unless Uzushio or fuuinjutsu specifically were involved in whatever event and she needed to take a more formal role. But apparently for ultra public-facing events like the Chunin Exam, people started giving her a hard time about her public persona. 

“They want me to dress up all fancy whenever Kazekage-sama is around, including for the tournament,” Kushina said, rubbing her temples. “Minato told me to just wear whatever I want, but I know his advisors give him a hard time when I’m too informal at public events…”

Tori nodded along, sipping her coffee as Kushina complained. No one in Konoha cared much if the Hokage’s wife stood at his side in her Jounin uniform; that just made her one of them. But apparently when they had to appear as a pair for the Daimyo’s court, or more rarely for international events, there was some expectation of formal wear. Minato was expected to wear his ugly Hokage robes, and Kushina was expected to wear a formal kimono. 

(Minato didn’t get invited much to international events, not compared to other Kage. Mostly no one wanted to risk him marking things in their village or their shinobi with Hiraishin.)

“Dressing up sounds fun though,” Tori tried when Kushina paused in her complaints to finally take a bite of breakfast. Kushina wrinkled her nose as chewed. “I mean, it’s only every once in a while, right?”

“I like a pretty dress as much as the next person,” Kushina said after she swallowed. “But formal kimono? Yuck. Ugh, but I do think someone should be wearing traditional Uzushio clothes…”

Tori finished her breakfast at a normal pace as Kushina complained. Then Kushina shoved all her food into her face in record time and said: 

“Do you want to see some traditional Uzushio clothes?”

Kushina and Minato had a backroom they called an office but was probably originally meant to be a sunroom or breakfast nook. A long table was pushed against a wall with huge bay windows overlooking their back garden, and various fuinjutsu scrolls and notes were scattered across it. There were two chairs, and Tori could clearly see the line between Minato’s work space and Kushina’s: Kushina’s things were neatly arranged, and Minato’s side was absolute chaos. It would be cute, if Tori weren’t currently mad at dear Hokage-sama. 

There was a day bed tucked into one corner of the room, and the rest of the space was storage: piles of mismatched plastic boxes and old fashioned trunks, a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves, and a wardrobe. Kushina tossed open the wardrobe doors to reveal multiple kimono.

“I got these from Mito-sama,” Kushina said. “My grandmother was supposed to send me some of my mother’s when I got old enough, but… well, that couldn’t happen.”

Kushina plowed on without giving herself a moment to mourn, picking a kimono out and announcing it’s what she was thinking of wearing to the chunin exams. 

Uzushio formal wear didn’t seem much different from other older style kimono. The kimono Kushina spread out on the day bed was dark green with swirling gold thread to make a pattern of eddies, and it had a higher collar than normal. Kushina also set out a dark, brownish red obi, along with a gold obijime, a cord meant to wrap around over the obi. 

“This is the most Uzushio-specific thing,” Kushina said, holding up the obijime. From it hung dozens of small, rectangular wooden tags, which clacked together as the obijime moved. Tori leaned over, examining what was written on them. Uzushio fortune fuinjutsu— not real techniques, but good luck charms meant to protect metaphysically. Kushina had painted them all over her house. “A same-gender family member is meant to paint them for you. Mito-sama’s notes said most of these were done by her mother, and some by her sister, but when some of them wore out… well, it broke the gender rule, but she taught Tobirama how to redo them for her. Better someone of a different gender do it than you do it yourself. That’s how it works.”

Tori nodded. That made sense. Kushina had given her a few mini-lesson on the fortune fuinjutsu— Tori assumed because Kushina simply liked to talk, and also because some of the philosophy overlapped with her regular fuinjutsu philosophy— and the intentions of the fortune caster and her relationship to whom she was meaning to bring fortune was very important. If Tori understood history correctly, both Mito’s children had been boys, and Tobirama was the only one in her adoptive family with notable fuinjutsu skills. Better to break whatever gender preference for someone who loved and actively wanted to protect you, than to just get some unrelated woman.

“Are they different from the ones on your window sill?” Tori asked of the fuinjutsu. 

“Yes,” Kushina confirmed. “The traditions are all very complicated, even for me. There’s different ones for exterior rooms and interior rooms, for inside versus outside, for different types of clothes and for bare skin… honestly, I don’t know the clothing ones very well. I’m grateful that Mito-sama was very good at writing it all down for my family and hers, after… after Uzushio fell.”

Naruto had, for his own formal occasions, his own Uzushio-style haori fringed with fortune fuinjutsu tags. Minato had been the one to decorate it for him. Or— well— Minato had painted some tags and Kushina had sewn them in. Minato had also been, historically, the one to fix up Kushina’s inherited tags. She simply hadn’t practiced it much herself. 

It had been on their to-do list for a while to commission Minato his own Uzushio-style clothes, which Kushina would theoretically decorate for him. But neither of them much liked dressing up unless they had to, and he basically always had to wear his Hokage robes on any occasion where formal wear was required. 

“We keep joking we’ll finally get around to it the day before Naruto’s wedding,” Kushina said with a laugh. “And at that point, with the gender rule, he’ll be old enough to do it for Minato…

“Anyway,” Kushin continued. She shifted the obijime in her hands. “This is the one I wear the most, since it matches basically everything. A bunch of these tags should be replaced.”

She held it forward to Tori, like she was offering it to her. 

“Um,” Tori said. She stared down at it. This thing had come from Uzumaki Mito’s mother. Surely Kushina didn’t want her just handling it?

“I want you to do it,” Kushina said, pressing it further towards her. “It’s best if a woman does it, you know. I have Mito’s scrolls and the right brushes already prepped. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“But you said…” Tori started. Kushina had very specifically said family. That’s why she and Mito weren’t just finding random female fuinjutsu users instead of Tobirama or Minato. 

Kushina frowned. “You’re my precious student, you know,” she said. “And I want you to.”

Tori still hesitated. This was important. This meant something to Kushina, to any Uzumaki. Since when was Tori a person anyone sane would look to for help or protection?

Would she protect Kushina?

All data points to yes, Tori decided. 

She accepted the obijime.

[centrally-unplanned]

Oh I did wanna log the thought: since Trump's campaign was so often vague and contradictory on its agenda, there was an uncertainty around what his administration would actually be. "Soft" and "hard" versions abounded in the take market. Now that we have the EO's, what does that suggest?

I think it is pretty bad, I would rank these as 80 percentile on a soft-to-hard scale. He was talked off the ledge on the maximal tariff stuff, it looks like - he is still gonna do some, which will suck, but I think the smart money is not on "20% tarifffs on every import" and they do look more like bargaining tactics now on some cases like the Canada/Mexico ones. On trade & economics we didn't get anything too crazy.

On everything else each thing was just...20% more extreme than expected. Pardoning everyone he could from 1/6, including those who attacked polices officers, that is cold. Trying to remove birthright citizenship for legal immigrants, everyone expect the illegal side but damn. The trans rights EO is "complete", it isn't a "get rid of this DEI stuff/preserve women's spaces" thing, it is categorical in its denial of existence. I think the "tech right" is currently pretty worried about their talented immigrant hires given how restrictive the situation looks to become. Almost every EO was expected, but more than half had something that was like "oh shit they went there".

I saw someone (Noah Smith I think) comment that it is a little ironic that "The Resistance" spent itself during Trump's first term when he was, until 2020 at least (very important caveat), pretty much in practice a normal Republican with an incompetence/trolling streak. Now they are burned out while the Trump admin they thought they were fighting in 2016 is finally here, ready to wreck shop in 2024.

Fortunately early days are always the most heady, we will see how this actually goes. Not a great start though!

[interiorergonomics]

Customizing Office Storage Cabinets

Customizing office storage cabinets for a modern workstation desk significantly enhances both functionality and aesthetics. They offer tailored solutions which cater to the 2-person workstation desk clusters and specific spatial needs.

Once you opt to customize the cabinets to either low or mid and full height cabinet option, they promotes efficiency by ensuring that all necessary items are within easy reach. They go further to reducing clutter, and improving workflow.

Additionally, bespoke storage designs can seamlessly integrate with the overall office decor. Here they can reinforce a cohesive and professional appearance which aligns with the company’s brand identity.

Such thoughtful integration not only optimizes space utilization but also extends the biophilic designs of greenery to office spaces using integrated planter cabinets. For sure, read more to learn how they contribute to a more organized, productive and office furniture aesthetics for a visually appealing workspace.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Vittoria Elliott at Wired:

Elon Musk’s takeover of federal government infrastructure is ongoing, and at the center of things is a coterie of engineers who are barely out of—and in at least one case, purportedly still in—college. Most have connections to Musk and at least two have connections to Musk’s longtime associate Peter Thiel, a cofounder and chairman of the analytics firm and government contractor Palantir who has long expressed opposition to democracy. WIRED has identified six young men—all apparently between the ages of 19 and 24, according to public databases, their online presences, and other records—who have little to no government experience and are now playing critical roles in Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) project, tasked by executive order with “modernizing Federal technology and software to maximize governmental efficiency and productivity.” The engineers all hold nebulous job titles within DOGE, and at least one appears to be working as a volunteer. The engineers are Akash Bobba, Edward Coristine, Luke Farritor, Gautier Cole Killian, Gavin Kliger, and Ethan Shaotran. None have responded to requests for comment from WIRED. Representatives from OPM, GSA, and DOGE did not respond to requests for comment. Already, Musk’s lackeys have taken control of the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) and General Services Administration (GSA), and have gained access to the Treasury Department’s payment system, potentially allowing him access to a vast range of sensitive information about tens of millions of citizens, businesses, and more. On Sunday, CNN reported that DOGE personnel attempted to improperly access classified information and security systems at the US Agency for International Development (USAID), and that top USAID security officials who thwarted the attempt were subsequently put on leave. The AP reported that DOGE personnel had indeed accessed classified material. “What we're seeing is unprecedented in that you have these actors who are not really public officials gaining access to the most sensitive data in government,” says Don Moynihan, a professor of public policy at the University of Michigan. “We really have very little eyes on what's going on. Congress has no ability to really intervene and monitor what's happening because these aren't really accountable public officials. So this feels like a hostile takeover of the machinery of governments by the richest man in the world.”

[...] “To the extent these individuals are exercising what would otherwise be relatively significant managerial control over two very large agencies that deal with very complex topics,” says Nick Bednar, a professor at University of Minnesota’s school of law, “it is very unlikely they have the expertise to understand either the law or the administrative needs that surround these agencies.” Sources tell WIRED that Bobba, Coristine, Farritor, and Shaotran all currently have working GSA emails and A-suite level clearance at the GSA, which means that they work out of the agency’s top floor and have access to all physical spaces and IT systems, according a source with knowledge of the GSA’s clearance protocols. The source, who spoke to WIRED on the condition of anonymity because they fear retaliation, says they worry that the new teams could bypass the regular security clearance protocols to access the agency’s sensitive compartmented information facility (SCIF), as the Trump administration has already granted temporary security clearances to unvetted people. This is in addition to Coristine and Bobba being listed as “experts” working at OPM. Bednar says that while staff can be loaned out between agencies for special projects or to work on issues that might cross agency lines, it’s not exactly common practice.

WIRED’s report on the 6 college-aged men between 19 and 24 that are shaping up DOGE in aiding and abetting in co-”President” Elon Musk’s technofascist takeover.

[alizha]

ｈｏｌｉｄａｙ ｅｎｎｕｉ

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

⁀➷ 𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 | 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝗎

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: SFW, no use of gendered pronouns, references to and depictions of anxiety and depression, kissing

Summary: You and Reiner have a meet cute at therapy, and you're both feeling afloat during the holidays.

❖ masterlist ❖ read on ao3

The waiting room outside Dr. Keller’s office still bears the cheerful remnants of Christmas, even though the holiday had already come and gone. You’re sitting in your usual chair near the corner, puffy coat hugged tightly around you. Truth be told, the festive decor meant to liven up the room only adds to your listlessness.

There’s nothing wrong with the place as it usually is. The corners and empty spaces of the waiting room burst with vibrant greenery, strategically placed, you suspect, by Dr. Keller herself to maximize patient contentment. You’ve been with her for two years now, so you have a sense for that sort of thing.

A tall fiddle-leaf fig tree stands proudly in the corner closest to you, its glossy leaves catching the soft light filtering in from frosted windows. Now, it’s adorned with twinkling multicolored lights that throw alternating cool and warm shadows on the sage-painted walls. They blink unwaveringly and silently, regularly changing patterns every minute or so, and you can’t help but feel sorry that they’re being wasted on someone who can’t appreciate them.

You’ve been in a bit of a rut since November, something of which Dr. Keller was well aware, of course. She assured you she’d be available through the end of the year, and you’d taken her up on that, keeping up with your weekly visits. At the beginning of the month, she asked you how your Thanksgiving went.

“It was fine,” you’d said. “Quiet. Just me and Elvira.”

“Ah,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Your cat. Still not expanding your social circle, I see.”

You’d resented that. After all, Dr. Keller had told you to to start with things that feel comfortable. And Elvira is very comfortable. Cats didn’t judge, didn’t require any special considerations. They aren’t a challenge—not like people are. People are hard.

“We’re aiming for connections that talk back and don’t require kibble,” Dr. Keller had said flatly.

A big ask, but technically, you managed that the week before Christmas. You’d seen your next door neighbor, Mrs. Leary, when she was taking out her trash. She’d said Merry Christmas, and you said it back. Given the criteria set out for you, you’d say that counts.

You glance at the two doors at the far end of the waiting area leading to the therapists’ individual offices. Dr. Keller shared a space with another doctor, Dr. Madsen, whose names glinted on the brass plates adorning each door. You can practically already hear what Dr. Keller is going to say when you tell her about Mrs. Leary.

“It’s a start, but why not challenge yourself? Go beyond polite exchanges. Did you ask her how her holiday was?”

Sighing, you flit your gaze from the miniature pine tree twinkling at the edge of the low, rectangular coffee table topped with neatly arranged magazines, all holiday editions. Fixating on the strands of tinsel catching the light, each glimmer feels oddly louder than it should in the empty waiting room as you attempt to formulate an answer.

Your desperate clawing through the recesses of your mind for something more substantial than, “It just felt like too much,” is interrupted by the soft chime of the door. You glance up just in time to see him—tall, broad-shouldered, and blond. The man you’ve seen here at the office in passing many times before. One of Dr. Madsen’s patients, you’ve gathered in the time since you started noticing him.

Today, he’s dressed more casually than you’re used to, in a red flannel sherpa over a cream cable-knit sweater. In his arms, he’s juggling a navy backpack and several—maybe four or five—mini rose-gold foil gift bags. He looks even warmer and more approachable than in his usual business professional fare. It makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, a combination of envy and a familiar pang of fear, as he approaches the front desk with apparent ease.

“Morning, Lily,” he says pleasantly.

The secretary flashes him a dazzling smile. “Reiner! So good to see you. Did you have a nice holiday?”

You fidget with the hem of your coat. She didn’t make it sound so hard to ask. Maybe, you could do it, too. Maybe.

“It was fine,” the man—Reiner, you think to yourself—says, absently pushing the small potted succulent on Lily’s desk a smidge further away from the edge. “Quiet, just the way I like it. You?”

“Not quiet at all,” Lily says with a bell-like laugh. “Family chaos. You know how it is.”

“Lucky you,” he says with a faint smile. He adjusts the bags in his arms, pulling one carefully out of the pile by dainty ribbon handles and setting it on the secretary’s desk. “Just had to run into the office for a bit, and my coworker was handing these out. Take one off my hands?”

“Gladly!” Lily exclaims, her face lighting up all over again.

You can’t help but stare at the cheerful, gold-speckled tissue paper peering over the top of tiny curling ribbons. Until you realize Reiner has been glancing around the room, and his gaze has landed on you. Immediately, you look down at your lap, twisting your fingers together awkwardly.

“Still got decorations up, huh?” you hear Reiner say. “Festive.”

“Yeah, I keep meaning to take them down, but they’re so cheerful. Why the rush?”

There’s a shuffling of feet and paper, and you catch a glimpse of red out of the corner of your eye a few moments later. You tilt your head slowly and meet the man’s gaze again. He’s sidled past the coffee table and standing a couple steps away from you—a cautious, non-threatening distance.

“Hey,” he says with a disarming smile. “You… uh, want one of these?”

Your hands instinctively clasp over your knees, breath hitching. Plenty of other patients have tried striking up conversations with you in Dr. Keller’s waiting room before, but no one’s ever tried offering you anything. And it’s not really that you mind it’s just—

You’re no good with people. People are hard.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. I don’t—,”

“They’re just leftover office gifts,” he says carefully, taking a small step closer and holding one out toward her, thumb and forefinger gingerly pinching the sheer pink handle. The gift bag looks dainty and small and oh so endearing in his hand. “One of my coworkers went a little overboard. They mean well, though. Chocolate, I think. Or maybe soap? I honestly didn’t look too closely.”

You shake your head quickly, shrinking slightly. “No, really, I couldn’t—,”

“Please,” he says, his voice softening. “You’d be doing me a favor. Everyone at the office shoved these on me because they said I looked ‘too gloomy’ this season. Guess they thought this would help, but I wouldn’t know what to do with all this.”

His eyes, warm honey hazel, look just genuine and pleading enough to make you hesitate.

“You seemed… gloomy?”

He laughs lightly, a soft rumble of self-awareness. “I guess so. Anyway, I don’t need all these. Someone would enjoy them. I’m Reiner, by the way. And you’re…?”

You murmur your name in reply, barely audible, but he repeats it warmly all the same.

“Well, maybe you could take just one bag? You don’t even have to keep it—you could re-gift it if you want,” Reiner says. “But if I go through the trouble of lugging them all the way home on the bus, they’ll just sit on my kitchen counter until I forget about them.”

His kindness (and perhaps, his admittedly attractive face) placates your nerves just enough for you to extend a tentative hand. He looks pleased, placing the handle of the back in your grip. Warm fingertips gaze across your palm, his touch light and fleeting before quickly disappearing entirely. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Thank you,” you mumble, your cheeks warming.

“No, thank you,” he says with a grin. “Saved me from carrying these around the rest of the day.”

He looks around for a moment before moving to settle into the plush taupe chair beside the fiddle-leaf fig. You try not to look at him again, staring instead at the rose gold bag in your lap, plus still racing as you wait. When Dr. Keller finally emerges from her door and calls your name, you duck into her office and burn under the inquisitive look she gives you and your glittery new acquisition.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

You’re relieved when you don’t immediately regret leaving your apartment on New Year’s Eve to walk down to the main strip. The street is in full holiday swing, bursting with life and swirling with laughter and music.

Walking at a leisurely pace, you take in the string lights crisscrossing above you, glowing in warm yellows and icy whites. The storefronts are still dressed in their seasonal finery, frosty-edged windows sparkling with fake snow and wreaths and glimmering ornaments. And up and down the walkways, food vendors lined the curb, their carts sending up fragrant plumes of spice and cocoa.

The crisp winter air bites at your cheeks, and you pull the sides of your knitted hat a bit further down over your ears as you reach the plaza at the end of the strip. A towering Christmas tree stands at its center, huge ornaments glinting under the twinkling of a thousand multicolored lights. Beneath the tree, a stage is set up for a local band playing upbeat, jazzy renditions of holiday classics.

You weave through the throng of people gathered around, your breath puffing in soft white clouds. Some of them are dancing, others simply swaying to the music or beaming as they hold hands or clutch steaming cups in their gloved grasps. Everyone seems to be in the companionship of others, though. Not like you.

You hadn’t meant to come out tonight—not really. The thought of spending New Year’s Eve surrounded by so many people had seemed suffocating in the lead up. Yet, staying home had felt equally unbearable. You’d spent hours pacing your tiny apartment, torn between the guilt of declining your family’s invitations and the overwhelming anxiety of going.

So, you’d landed here, out among strangers. Their chatter blurs into a comforting hum in your ears. For once, it doesn’t feel like you have a hundred pairs of eyes on you, watching, judging. Everyone is too busy counting down the hours until midnight to notice you. It’s unbelievably freeing.

You pause by the edge of the plaza and stuff your hands deep into your pockets. As the band starts up Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, your gaze wanders back toward the large center tree, and you squint at a tall figure with short blond hair. That’s when you realize you recognize him from the therapist’s office—Reiner.

He’s leaning against the metal railing around the tree, hands shoved into the pockets of his long camel overcoat. His stance seems relaxed, but his expression is distant, eyes staring blankly into the pavement a few feet away as groups and couples walk past.

Your heart thuds in your chest. Maybe he’s waiting for someone. He doesn’t seem like the type to spend New Year’s alone, so handsome and charming. But he looks almost miserable standing there alone, you wish you could extend some sort of comfort while he waits, at least. Keep him company until his friend (girlfriend?) gets back.

The thought of approaching him paralyzes you with fear. You consider slipping away, pretending you haven’t seen him. Then, Dr. Keller’s voice echoes in your mind.

“We’ve been working on this bit by bit,” she’d said at your last appointment. “Maybe instead of thinking about it as a huge change, we break this down into smaller, achievable goals. Maybe you set a goal to initiate one meaningful conversation—with someone at work or even a cashier at a grocery store. The important thing is that you try.”

You swallow dryly, jaw clenching. You’d promised you would try. Progress wasn’t about perfection, even if you really want it to be with Reiner. But you were being presented with the perfect chance here.

You should take it.

Your legs feel like lead, but somehow, you forced them to move. Each step toward him is like a tiny battle. By the time you reach the railing, your palms are damp despite the cold. You clear your throat, voice coming out small.

“Hi, Reiner.”

He turns, life returning to his eyes when he stutters your name. “Hey,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“I, uhm…” you hesitate, the words catching in your throat, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you either,” he says with a low chuckle. He glances around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Are you… alone?”

“Oh. Yeah.” The admittance tears through your gut like shrapnel.

“Me, too.”

“Oh.”

It comes out sounding surprised, which you don’t mean for it to. You wince inwardly as Reiner awkwardly lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck, the short of his blond rustling.

“Listen,” he says, shifting his weight and hesitantly meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Back at Dr. Madsen’s office. Well, I guess you go there for Dr. Keller. I didn’t mean to… uh, well, I guess I had seen you around and thought maybe it would be fine.”

You blink up at him, startled. “No, no, you’re not—,” you hurry to say, but then, you stop, unsure of how to continue.

You can feel the old, familiar instinct to retreat freeing up on you, the urge to politely escape the conversation before it gets too hard. You forcefully swallow down that urge and take a deep breath.

Baby steps.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you say. “I meant it’s not easy for me to talk to people, but you’re not, uhm… scary. Not like a stranger on the street or something.”

Reiner tilts his head, his plush lips quirking into a soft smile. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “I’m not sure I could handle being called scary tonight.”

His tone is light, joking, but there’s a quiet hint of genuine relief there. You can’t help but let out a soft, nervous laugh. He really was afraid he had come off badly in front of you, and the thought that even someone like him could feel that way relaxes you in a way.

“It was a bath bomb, by the way. The office gift,” you clarify when he looks at you inquisitively. “Not chocolate or soap.”

“Right,” he says, amused. “Good thing you checked instead of taking my word for it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the silence between you surprisingly comfortable. You fidget with the zipper of your coat, searching for something to say. This is the part you normally dread—the moment when the conversation could slip away entirely because you can’t bring yourself to go beyond the pleasantries.

Inhaling deeply, you push out the words, letting them tumble out. “So, uhm… how’s your New Year’s Eve going?”

As soon as you ask, you regret it. Your stomach sinks when Reiner’s expression shifts. Just a slight flicker as his faint smile fades into something wistful before he plasters the cheerful mask back on.

“Well, it’s probably not going all that well if I’m wandering around alone,” he says, his dry tone all but revealing his self-deprecation. “Just came out for a walk, really, and ended up here. But then again, you did the same thing, right?”

You duck your head, cheeks heating. “Yeah,” you admit. “I was supposed to go to a big family thing. I just… I didn’t have it in me. Guess neither of us is really winning at the whole social thing tonight.”

Reiner makes a low, teasingly dismissive sound and shakes his head. “I’m not much of a party guy either. But hey, I wouldn’t count you out just yet.”

You cock your head at him questioningly, and his smile widens.

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

You’re shocked. Your jaw nearly drops. Friends? You and Reiner? “Does—does this make us friends?”

Sitting in the same therapists’ waiting room every week, seeing each other in passing once in a while there. You thought being friends required a bit more than that, but Reiner doesn’t seem to think so. Has it always been this easy, and you just stressed yourself out for no reason?

“Sure. Then, we can say we hung out with a friend for New Year’s Eve. I’d say that’s a win,” he says. “I would like to be friends. If that’s alright.”

You look up at him, a hopeful glimmer in your eye. The word—friends—bounces around in your head, thrilling and terrifying at the same time. But Dr. Keller’s been urging you to take steps toward real connection for months. This could be one of those steps.

“It’s better than alright,” you say, the corners of your mouth stretching into a smile. “Dr. Keller’s been insisting my cat doesn’t count as a friend for ages, so it’s amazing, actually.”

Reiner perks up, his brow lifting. “You have a cat?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Her name’s Elvira.”

“I like cats,” he says. He leans in just slightly, but you get a full whiff of his scent, clean soap and the masculine fragrance of some variety of men’s shampoo.

“Well,” you say, warmth spreading in your chest as you study him curiously, “we’re friends, so you should meet her.”

He looks at you with a mix of surprise and excitement when he says, “Now?”

Your lips part, pulse thrumming fast. You didn’t plan on now, but you also don’t see why not. Reiner was, in your own words, not scary. Maybe this was a good idea and not one of those ideas that landed women on primetime news for entirely the wrong reasons.

“Now,” you affirm with a nod.

Reiner practically beams. “Lead the way.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

About twenty minutes later, you’ve made your way back up the strip and into your neighborhood with Reiner in tow.

“Dr. Keller said what I’ve been feeling lately is actually pretty common,” you’re explaining as you fumble with your keys.

The faint tremor of nerves is making the metal jangle softly in the otherwise quiet hallway. You’re hoping Mrs. Leary is asleep and doesn’t hear you and Reiner briefly loitering in the hall.

“She called it holiday ennui. You know, that weird, in-between time after Christmas but before New Year’s where everything feels off.”

“I get that,” Reiner says as you get the door unlocked and swing it open. “It’s like you’re supposed to be celebrating, but it feels more like you’re waiting for something to end. Or start. I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” you say, stepping inside and flicking on the light to reveal your cluttered living room. “Sorry, it’s a little messy in here.”

The idea of bringing someone into your space—a near stranger, no less—is something you’d never imagined yourself doing. Not even a week ago. But here you are, walking into your apartment with Reiner. Even the sleek black cat perched on the armrest of your couch looks confused.

“Don’t worry,” Reiner says with a reassuring smile. “My apartment looks like a tornado hit it most of the time.”

You set down your back and start toeing off your boots. “That’s Elvira, by the way.”

Reiner carefully slips off his own boots and overcoat, considerately placing them next to yours on the shoe mat and hanger. Moving slowly, as if not to startle the cat, he pads across the living room and kneels to get a better look. “She’s gorgeous.”

Elvira doesn’t move, her green eyes fixed on him with an imperious stare. You bite your lip and smile.

“She can be a little standoffish, but I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”

Reiner nods. “Sounds like most cats I’ve met. They make you earn it.”

You settle into the far end of the couch and busy yourself with folding the blanket haphazardly thrown over it, your nervous energy bubbling up. “You’re, uh, welcome to sit. I’m sure Elvira won’t mind.”

He smiles gratefully and lifts himself up just enough before sinking into the other side of the couch. Elvira watches warily as Reiner sinks into the seat cushion, shifting her small paws as if deciding whether to hop down off the couch.

“It’s rough,” Reiner sighs thoughtfully, and you gather he’s picking up where your previous conversation left off. “That limbo during the holiday season. It’s been hitting me hard this year. Well, more than usual. I’m glad Dr. Madsen’s been available through the holidays.”

You fold your limbs cross-legged on the couch. “More than usual?”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I was diagnosed with depression last year. Started seeing Dr. Madsen about it around the same time. He’s been helpful. I mean, it’s not like a magic fix or anything, but it’s something.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

Of course, you’d known he was showing up at the same therapists’ office as you for a while, so there must have been a reason. When you think about the times you felt envious of the ease with which he seemed to carry himself, your first instinct is to tell him you could hardly tell he was struggling with anything, but that isn’t always what people want to hear.

Obvious or not, Reiner was getting help. That’s what was important.

“You’re… really good at masking it,” you settle on saying.

“Yeah, well. Years of practice, I guess,” he says. “It’s not like I’m trying to hide it on purpose. Just… everyone deals with it differently, right?”

You nod slowly. “Right.”

Elvira takes that moment to leap down from her perch right onto the center couch cushion between you, landing with a soft thump. You watch with interest as she leans in to sniff at Reiner’s outstretched hand.

“Looks like she approves,” you murmur, a smile touching your lips.

Reiner chuckles, turning his palm face-up to scratch under Elvira’s chin. “Just gotta give ‘em their space, you know? Can’t force anything on them, let them come to their own conclusions.”

The cat settles herself regally on the cushion, neatly curling her tail around her paws, and glances up at you. Perhaps cats didn’t judge the same way people did, but they were still good judges of character. And if Elvira had taken to Reiner, you were inclined to believe inviting him over hadn’t been a mistake after all.

You glance at the time on your phone and realize midnight isn’t far off. “Should we maybe turn on the TV for the countdown or something?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Reiner says without pausing from petting Elvira. “Can’t miss the ball drop, right?”

Leaning forward, you pluck the remote from the coffee table and click on the TV, flipping through a few channels before landing on a lively New Year’s Eve broadcast.

A glittering stage fills the screen, performers decked out in sequins that throw the spotlights shining down on them in a brilliant cacophony. After turning the volume up a bit, you set down the remote and absently reach over to brush Elvira’s fur. Your fingers caress warm, unfamiliar skin instead, and you realize with a jolt that you’ve touched Reiner’s hand.

With a sharp inhale, you jerk your hand away and snap your gaze to him. Both of you stammer out your apologies at the same time.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean—,”

“No, no, I’m sorry. She’s your cat—,”

You snap your mouth shut and look down at your socks, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. His hand is so big and warm, your stomach flutters recalling the fleeting touch. Reiner clears his throat quietly, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Looks like we caught the last performance,” he says.

“Do you usually watch this kind of thing?” you ask, sneaking a glance at him.

“Not really,” he admits. “Usually, I don’t even bother staying up for midnight. But I’m glad I’m doing something different this year.”

He gives you a tentative smile that makes your heart skip a beat, testing the waters. Instead of resuming his petting of Elvira, he relaxes into the couch and stretches out his arm across the backrest, hand resting gently on the cushion.

You return the smile and let your hand drift toward Elvira to scratch behind her ears. The cat purrs softly, tilting her head.

“Me, too,” you say quietly.

As the countdown looms closer, the broadcast on the TV switches to shots of the massive crowd gathered in Times Square. You lean in a little closer, your stomach performing flips as you pretend to adjust your position to better reach Elvira. But really, it’s more about closing the gap between you and Reiner.

You sidle in bit by bit until you’re close enough for his forearm on the backrest to brush against the nape of your neck, and an unexpected shiver runs down your spine. This is a thrill that makes your heart race in a way wholly different from trying to ask for help at a store. This is the kind you’re somehow enjoying, the kind you want to chase.

Reiner seems to notice, his gaze flickering briefly to you before settling back on the screen. Unimpressed by the shrinking space on the couch, Elvira lifts herself up in a long stretch before leaping to the ground and padding away, leaving Reiner’s warmth, solid and steady beside you. He scoots an inch closer to you, tucking you into the crook of his arm, and your nerves ebb away.

You turn to look at him just as the crowd on TV begins changing, “Ten! Nine! Eight!” only to find he’s already looking back at you. The movement of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip draws your eyes down, and you guiltily drag them back up, throat suddenly dry. The scant air between you feels charged with something you can’t quite name.

As the countdown continues, Reiner leans in even closer. You can see the patterns in the gold of his irises as he searches your face for some sign that he’s pushed you past your comfort zone. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, your heartbeat wild against your ribcage.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Out of the corner of your eye, the screen erupts into a colorfully dazzling display of fireworks and lights, and a mix of cheers and music fill your small living room. But you barely notice as you close the last bit of distance between you and Reiner and press your lips firmly against his.

He kisses you slow and hazy, with lips that taste like cinnamon cider. The pleased sigh he lets out against your mouth is only a faint whisper, as delicate as the tickle of his stubble against your chin. He brings his hand up to your face, warm fingers now cool against your burning skin as he skims his knuckles down your chin.

Auld Lang Syne plays out from the TV, muffled in your ear beneath the rushing of your pulse as your every nerve alights. Reiner doesn’t rush the kiss, languidly plucking at your lips with his, as if he might scare you away otherwise. His thumb strokes along your jaw, the gesture so gentle that fondness stabs you through the chest.

You reach up to tangle your fingers into the soft of his hair—dragging him closer, slanting your head to deepen the kiss. Encouraging him to be bolder. Reiner groans.

He slides the hand on your jaw around the back of your neck, and heat ricochets through your veins. You add fuel to the fire, wrapping your arms around him, startled by your own brashness. His tongue rolls against the seam of your lips, hot and wet, and your breath hitches, opening yourself to allow him to tenderly explore your taste.

Just as you’re starting to notice the lightheadedness creeping up on you, a dizziness resulting from equal parts excitement and lack of air, Reiner parts from your lips and ducks his head to trail warm, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your neck. When he reaches your jaw, his tongue flickers out to lave at your ear.

A tiny whimper falls from your lips, and you nestle yourself into the juncture of his neck, panting into his flushed skin. The scent of his shampoo invades your senses again, leaves you fuzzy and yearning. Reiner’s fingers skate down the length of your spine to wrap his hand around your waist.

Somewhere in the far flung corner of your mind, you vaguely register that persistent, gnawing uncertainty that screams at you to flee. But the more present part of you drowns that instinct. It compels you to melt into the comfort of Reiner’s arms, hoping that he’ll let you stay pressed against him for a little while longer, even as your tongue twists into knots. You’ve been very good at asking for what you need.

“Been wanting to do that for ages,” he sighs, sounding breathless.

“Happy New Year, Reiner,” you say softly into his ear.

His lips curve into a smile against your hair. “Happy New Year.”

[hephaestiions]

day 21 of @hprecfest — a fic rated M | previous recs

author rec! more importantly: tacky rec! evocative, poignant & mature (heh), @tackytigerfic's works are charmed slices of aching life. tacky has a gift for making a meal out of the mundane: their style is imbued with the hush of a glade, something quiet that burrows under your skin and expands there. writing about magic lends itself to the excitement of outlandish predicaments— fuck or die marriage bonds, werewolves, time travel— but i love how tacky takes these improbabilities as opportunities to explore the vulnerable and common humanity that fuels love, friendship, desire, grief. i'd take a chance on tacky's spin on every ship, every trope & every circumstance, purely because i'm convinced they'd take as good care of me as a reader as they do their brilliant, complicated, messy characters.

i chose tacky's M-rated works because i think they best demonstrate how narrative pleasure can, and often does, lie outside the graphic. for an action-oriented, fast-paced reader like me, fics that hold my attention through careful tension & hard-earned payoff are especially enthralling. everything tacky writes, regardless of rating, is glorious & an instant recommendation, but when i think of especially fascinating work with a rating that doesn't usually hold space in my preferences, it's these:

between the power lines (M, 3.2k)

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.

an elaboration & attestation to my personal maxim: to fall in or out of love with someone, take a trip with them. glory be that these two do, glory be that it's the former. this fic stretches and softens with every word, like resin in the sun.

the long fall (M, 3.6k)

It's supposed to be a simple house renovation, and maybe it's just the paint fumes, but Harry is feeling dizzy around Draco Malfoy. And what's the real meaning of family, anyway?

vignettes from a life & love that glow hotter with every change. every word exchanged carries the weight of so much history, care & consideration. the dynamic is sweet & achy, a take on new parenthood that leans entirely into the uncertainty & joy of changing realities.

last offices (M, 6.7k) (mcd)

It didn't seem fair that Malfoy was dead, and Harry was supposed to just keep on living without him.

i reread everything before reccing, but i couldn't bring myself to reread this one because of the sharp, acute devastation of it. pain, regret, grief, dialled up to the extreme and done shatteringly well. the non-linearity of this fic is especially cruel; the heartbreak is never allowed to settle. 100% recommended!

our little life (M, 7.2k)

Sometimes Harry dreams. Only they're not really dreams at all, and Malfoy is always in them. It's time travel, but not as we know it, and Harry just needs a good night's sleep.

entire lives woven into snippets of togetherness, the call of something distant yet inevitable. harry dreams of universes with draco, which is to say, harry dreams of universes where he's loved. also includes the absolutely stellar line: Harry wondered if there was any possible universe in which Malfoy wasn’t an absolute dick about his dad.

take the moon (M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. This isn't the story of the marriage. This is the story of two hurt and damaged men who learned how hard they could work for the sake of love.

two men who don't quite know how to allow what they want fully into their lives, a slow crunch of yearning, the even heat of a dynamic that holds itself away from the brink, brilliantly satisfying when they give into the fall.

in conclusion: a stellar author with a flair for the understated whose works call to be savoured. as always, if you love them (it's tacky, who doesn't?), let me know!

[fearfulfertility]

CLASSIFIED OPERATION SUMMARY

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date Initiated: [REDACTED]

From: Assistant Director [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

To: Director [REDACTED]

Subject: Operation Overdue

Background

Paternity Compound 110 exceeded maximum capacity due to an influx of high-multiparity surrogates and operational delays due to the ongoing [REDACTED] in the Philadelphia metropolitan area. Overcrowding led to strained medical staff and diminished care standards.

Operation Overdue was launched to mitigate these risks. It was a cross-country air transport initiative intended to distribute surrogates to Paternity Compound 133 in Portland, far below occupancy capacity. This initiative required covert execution to avoid public attention and ensure all surrogates reached their destination intact.

Paternity Compound 110 (Philadelphia)

Paternity Compound 110 is an aging and overcrowded facility located in a repurposed commercial structure in Philadelphia. Designed to house a maximum of [REDACTED] surrogates, it currently holds over [REDACTED] (20% over capacity), leading to severe resource strain and cramped conditions. Despite its deteriorating infrastructure, the compound remains operational due to its proximity to a high-fertility urban population, ensuring a steady influx of conscripts.

Paternity Compound 133 (Portland)

Paternity Compound 133 is a modern, state-of-the-art facility in a remote area outside Portland. It is designed to accommodate up to 1,000 surrogates and boasts cutting-edge medical technology and advanced monitoring systems. However, its location in a region with a lower urban population has led to concerns about underutilization, with only a sporadic influx of conscripts to fill its capacity. 

Transport Details

Stage 1: Ground Transfer 

Surrogates were loaded into climate-controlled transport vehicles with hydraulic lifts to accommodate limited mobility.

Vehicles were disguised as commercial cargo containers to minimize civilian interference.

Stage 2: Cross-Country Airlift

[REDACTED] cargo planes were requisitioned from [REDACTED] for the operation. Each aircraft was retrofitted with cushioned flat beds, oxygen units, and onboard medical stations.

Medical personnel monitored surrogates for complications, administering sedatives to those exhibiting distress or restlessness.

“Flying cargo is one thing. Flying this cargo? Another beast entirely. I could hear the medical staff scrambling in the back every time we hit turbulence. It wasn’t until we touched down that I realized how close we came to disaster.” - [REDACTED], Pilot

Stage 3: Arrival & Integration at Compound 133

Surrogates were offloaded and delivered to their assigned wards, where medical personnel assessed their condition.

Immediate hormonal stabilizers were administered to counteract the physical strain caused by altitude changes and prolonged immobility.

Mobility & Transport Constraints

Issue

Many surrogates, especially those late term (+25 days), were unable to walk or sit upright due to the size and weight of their pregnancies. The average weight of surrogates and supporting equipment was over [REDACTED] lbs, +300 lbs average surrogate weight, 489 lbs max weight transported.

Solution

Specialized equipment, such as reinforced stretchers, forklifts for heavier surrogates, and bariatric wheelchairs, was employed to move surrogates from Compound 110 onto the planes. Stretchers were secured in a palletized format inside the aircraft to maximize space.

“The forklift crew had a hell of a time loading the bigger ones. You’d think they were moving industrial machinery, not people. One was so massive they had to be rolled onto the stretcher like a beached whale. It wasn’t pretty.” - Anonymous Ground Technician

Issue

While the standard [REDACTED]-type plane has a cargo capacity of approximately [REDACTED] lbs and an internal volume of [REDACTED] cubic feet, the vehicles needed retrofitting to accommodate the unique needs of heavily pregnant surrogates. This included safety measures for turbulence and environmental controls to maintain appropriate temperature and pressure levels.

Solution

The [REDACTED]-class plane could transport [REDACTED] surrogates per flight with DRC modifications. 

Planes were equipped with mobile dividers so that if surrogates suffered complications, they could be rapidly isolated from view for treatment or birth. Climate control systems were enhanced to maintain a stable environment and portable restroom facilities were added for staff use (surrogates were catheterized to avoid the need for movement).

“They told me this was for my own good, but I can barely breathe in here. Every bump in the air made it feel like my belly was going to burst. I just want this to end—I don’t care where we’re going.” - Surrogate S110-523-Q

Key Incidents

Mid-Transport Medical Emergency

During the flight, Surrogate S110-399-Q, pregnant with septendecuplets (17), began exhibiting severe respiratory distress. Initial symptoms included difficulty breathing, chest tightness, and visible [REDACTED]. Onboard medical personnel swiftly administered oxygen and sedatives to stabilize, but within minutes, signs of early labor emerged, prompting the emergency medical team to prepare for an in-flight delivery.

The medical team worked tirelessly to assist the surrogate as he delivered all 17 fetuses before arrival in Portland. Each newborn was immediately evaluated for viability and determined to be stable. As expected, the surrogate's vital signs rapidly declined following the final birth, and he succumbed to [REDACTED] failure. 

"I’ve never seen anyone that big in my life. I couldn’t stop staring. His belly was so massive it looked like it was about to split open. When he started struggling to breathe, the medical staff was all over him, but the sounds he made… it was like he was suffocating under his own weight..." - Surrogate S110-403-I, Observed Situation

Public Visibility Concerns

Several bystanders filmed the convoy and uploaded clips online during the ground transfer stage. DRC Cyber Security immediately intervened, scrubbing social media platforms and issuing cease-and-desist orders to content creators.

Surrogate Stuck in Chair

One surrogate, pregnant with octodecuplets (18), experienced significant growth during the flight, reportedly due to hormonal surges and fluid retention. Upon landing, the crew discovered that the surrogate had become physically wedged in his reinforced seat due to his expanded abdomen and swollen extremities. Extraction required the partial disassembly of the seat and the use of specialized equipment to free him. 

“I wasn’t even surprised anymore. His belly was literally spilling over the armrests. That’s when you realize these missions aren’t just logistical—they’re borderline impossible.” - Anonymous Transport Specialist

Behavioral Issues

Three surrogates attempted to resist boarding at Paternity Compound 110, citing fears about the unknown destination and poor treatment. They were sedated on-site and securely transported.

Post-Operation Notes

Total Surrogates Transported: [REDACTED]

Surrogates Expired En Route: [REDACTED]

Fetuses Delivered During Operation: [REDACTED]

While operational challenges were anticipated, the results align with DRC efficiency standards. The use of modified cargo planes and specialized medical protocols ensured the safe delivery of most surrogates despite several complications during transit.

Additional safeguards are required to manage the physical strain of long-term pregnancy during extended transport. Enhancing hormonal regulation pre-flight may mitigate extreme growth events.

Stronger sedation measures, particularly during boarding, will reduce incidents of resistance and streamline pre-departure logistics.

Transport plans must minimize exposure to the public. Future operations should prioritize routes and timing to limit interaction with civilian populations.

Conclusion

Operation Overdue underscores the complexities of large-scale surrogate relocation efforts and demonstrates the DRC’s capacity to execute such operations precisely and adaptively. Lessons learned during this mission will inform future strategies, ensuring the continued success of critical population sustainability initiatives.

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[clemeientene]

𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗫 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 || Yan!Hitman x Gn!Reader

[ 03 ] ✦ 𝒚𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓

previous chapter: 02 [ convinience & yapping ]

The freezer smelled like death, and not the poetic, cinematic kind.

No, this was the real kind—the kind that clung to your nostrils like an ex who wouldn’t move on.

The air was cold, icy, and filled with the metallic smell of blood that had already begun to congeal in places it definitely shouldn’t be.

The bodies? Well, there were four of them, all in various states of “oops, I’ve been brutally murdered.”

And here you were, in your pink apron, standing in the middle of it all like some kind of cursed housekeeper.

Mr. Zy, your extremely problematic employer who somehow made "mildly bleeding in a corner" look attractive, was watching you work. Silently. Like a cat watching a mouse. Or, more accurately, like a hitman watching his cleaner expertly dispose of the evidence while he dripped blood onto the tile.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves. Alright, let’s do this. Time to educate the masses.

Step One: Assess the Situation.

Four bodies. One industrial-grade freezer. Blood pooled across the floor, already freezing in some places. Messy. Not the worst you’d seen (Greg’s office still haunted you), but still, not great. The key was efficiency—minimizing cleanup, maximizing disposal.

Step Two: Positioning Matters.

You tilted your head, eyeing the bodies critically. “Alright, we need to stack them properly. You can’t just throw corpses in like Tetris blocks, or you’ll end up with dead guy Jenga.”

Mr. Zy exhaled smoke, watching. “Stack?”

“Yes, stack. Unless you want to play ‘guess which limb this belongs to’ later.” You gestured dramatically. “You think the people who do this professionally just throw them in like a kid cleaning their room? No. There’s a method.”

He gave a slow blink, unimpressed. But he didn’t argue.

Step Three: The Art of Disguise.

Now came the fun part. You bent down, avoiding the literal puddle of human juice, and started working.

Blood had already begun to freeze, so you chipped away at it methodically while maneuvering the bodies into the most space-efficient arrangement.

“See, the trick is layering. If you freeze them right, they don’t stick together like a human popsicle pack.”

Mr. Zy watched, silent as ever.

Does he just stand there for fun? Is this entertaining for him?

You glanced up. Oh. Oh.

His deep blue eyes were focused on you, his expression unreadable, and was he leaning against the wall like some tragic villain? His slightly grayish hair was tousled just right, and the way the cigarette balanced between his fingers—ugh. Disgusting. Unreasonably attractive. Jail.

“Why are you staring?” you blurted, more annoyed at your own thoughts than anything.

“I listen.”

“To what?”

“You.”

You paused mid-cleanup, brain buffering. Oh.

That was… that was new. People never listened to you. You mostly yapped into the void while people either ignored you or, in Greg’s case, actively walked away.

But this guy? This guy was different.

And somehow, that was worse.

There was something deeply concerning about how casual Mr. Zy was about this. Maybe it was the fact that he was still slightly bleeding, yet somehow more interested in watching you work than tending to his wounds.

Maybe it was the way he rolled up his sleeves like he was about to make sourdough—except instead of dough, it was a guy named Darren who probably owed money to the wrong people.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was doing this barehanded.

“You’re not even gonna—” You gestured vaguely at his entire existence. “—I don’t know, put on gloves?”

He flexed his fingers, looking at them like he was considering it for a whole half-second before shrugging. “No need.”

“No need?” You repeated, incredulous. “No need?! Sir, that is a whole dead guy. He has bacteria. Diseases. Maybe a life insurance policy.”

Zy ignored you. Instead, he reached down and, with terrifying ease, grabbed one of the bodies by the arm. There was a sickening crunch-pop as the frozen shoulder joint gave way like an overused stress toy.

You grimaced. “Great. Love that sound.”

You weren’t sure what was worse—the sheer strength required to do that or the fact that he didn’t even look mildly inconvenienced by it. Like, yeah, I can snap a dude’s arm off with my bare hands, no big deal, wanna get coffee later?

But you had work to do. And at the end of the day, bodies were bodies, and a job was a job. You rolled your shoulders and cracked your knuckles. Time to educate the masses again.

Types of Disposal & Their Uses

Chop & Drop (Dismemberment 101)

The classic. Cut them up into smaller, manageable pieces. You glanced at Zy’s lack of tools and sighed.

“You ever use a bone saw, or do you just Hulk your way through everything?”

He gave you a look. “Hulk.”

Of course.And then, to prove his point, he literally grabbed a leg, twisted, and—oh.

Oh, there it went.

The femur just snapped. Like it was a breadstick.

You blinked. “Okay. That’s illegal.”

“Everything here is.

”Fair.

The Acid Bath (Not As Cool As It Sounds)

Melting bodies in acid? Overrated.

Takes too long. Too expensive. Plus, who the hell has that much hydrofluoric acid lying around? Breaking Bad really did a number on people. You didn’t even suggest it.

Grinder or Woodchipper (Extreme Mulching)

Messy. Too messy.

The last thing you needed was stray human confetti flying around.Zy, to his credit, looked vaguely intrigued by the idea.

You pointed a warning finger at him.

“No.”

He tilted his head.

“No.” He exhaled smoke, noncommittal.

Burn Baby Burn (Fire Solves Most Things)

Fire worked. But fire also attracted attention. You didn’t need the Veygrove fire department rolling up, finding four half-melted skeletons, and collectively deciding to quit their jobs.

Frozen Goods (Tonight’s Special: Not-So-Fresh Meat)

Now this? This was a winner. Freezing bodies slowed decomposition. Kept the smell to a minimum. Plus, a well-packed freezer meant no leaks. You just had to—crack—do some creative folding.

Zy tossed a severed arm into a garbage bag like he was throwing out last week’s leftovers. You sighed. This man was going to give you an aneurysm.

At some point, Zy leaned against the counter, watching you work with that same unreadable expression. You could feel his gaze, like a sniper scope trained on your existence. Finally, he spoke.

“You’re good at this.”

You huffed, wiping your forehead. “Yeah, well, someone has to be.”

Then—

“Why?”

You froze. Not because of the question itself, but because of the fact that he asked.

Mr. Zy never asked things. He observed. Lurked. Occasionally made unsettling eye contact. But outright asking?

That was new.

You exhaled, considering your answer. “Because people are messy,” you finally said, tying off a garbage bag. “And if no one cleans it up, it just stays messy. That’s how you get caught.”

Another pause. Then, slowly, he nodded—like you’d passed some kind of secret test.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Final Thoughts:

Bodies = Gone.

Floor = Clean.

Mr. Zy = Distractingly Hot Even When Covered in Blood. Again.

You didn’t say that last part out loud, obviously. You had some shame.

But still.

You stole a glance at him, rolling your eyes as he lit another cigarette. “Can you at least bandage yourself before you drop dead?”

He looked at you.

And then, in the most stupidly attractive way possible, he just muttered, “Not dead yet.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Great. Fantastic. Amazing. You were never going to survive this job.

 You had done your job. You had done it well. Time to pack up, go home, and maybe pretend that your boss wasn’t stupidly attractive even when covered in the remnants of several unfortunate individuals.

But then, in the middle of your I should leave before my brain betrays me plan, something unexpected happened.

He reached into his pocket.

You tensed immediately. Because, let’s be honest, when a hitman reaches into his pocket, the reasonable response is to assume violence. But no—what he pulled out wasn’t a weapon. Wasn’t a knife. Wasn’t even more bullets.

It was money.

And then—oh God—he pulled out something else.

A sticker book.

You stared. "No way."

Mr. Zy, the most feared hitman in Veygrove, casually thumbed through his sticker book, flipping past pages filled with sparkly unicorns, motivational quotes, and tiny cats wearing sunglasses, before peeling one off with the precision of a man assembling a sniper rifle.

He handed it to you.

You didn’t even look at it yet. You were too busy processing.

“So,” you said slowly, “let me get this straight.” You gestured to the money in one hand. “This is extra?”

A nod.

“For what?”

A pause. Then, gruffly, “You did good.” You blinked. “I always do good.”

Another nod. As if he was acknowledging a fact.

Then, still casual as ever, he pointed at the sticker still sitting in your palm.

“That,” he said, “is also extra.”

Your brain broke.

“You just… carry a sticker book? Everywhere?”

“…Yes.”

The silence stretched.

You squinted. “You’re telling me—”

“Yes.”

“—you’re walking around with a loaded gun, a bloody knife, two extra magazines, and a freaking sticker book?”

“Yes.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Do you have multiple sticker books?”

He exhaled a thin trail of smoke, looking at you like he was considering whether or not to answer.

“…Yes.”

Jesus Christ.

You finally looked down at the sticker. It was a cartoon frog giving a thumbs-up. Below it, in cheerful font, were the words: "Nice job, champ!"

“…I don’t know how to react to this,” you admitted, half-laughing, half-spiraling into an existential crisis.

He didn’t react. Just flicked his lighter shut, stuck the cigarette between his lips, and—God help you—had the audacity to look hot while doing it.

Then, because apparently you weren’t already malfunctioning enough, he added, "I apologize."

Your brain rebooted. "Huh?"

"For being bad at my job."

"Hm."

He gave a lazy shrug. "Made a mess."

"Well....Mess comes with the job description.." [Fuck, I fumbled.]

Another slow drag of his cigarette. He exhaled smoke. "Doesn't mean I like it."

You stared at him. This was… a weird moment. A rare moment. Mr. Zy, the terrifying, unkillable, oddly considerate hitman, was sitting here, looking down at the floor with a slight crease between his brows—like he actually cared that he’d made things difficult for you.

And if that wasn’t strange enough, he wasn’t done talking.

“By the way,” he muttered, flicking ash to the side, “don’t shut up.”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes—so deep, so unreadable, so ridiculously distracting—meeting yours with actual intention. “I like listening.”

…

What.

WHAT.

Most hitmen—hell, most people—probably wanted their employees to shut up. To be quiet, efficient, and obedient. But noooooo, apparently this one had decided he liked your constant yapping.

You squinted at him. “Are you feeling okay?”

A slight eyebrow twitch. “Yes.” “You sure? No brain damage?” A slow inhale. Slow exhale. “Yes.”

You crossed your arms, lips twitching. “So… just to confirm. You, a very scary hitman, are telling me, your very unscary cleaner, to continue talking?”

A long pause. Then, very simply, “Yes.”

Your entire existence felt thrown off balance. Because, sure, you were used to dealing with his general weirdness—his silent lurking, his casual rage murder, his questionable fashion choices (seriously, why the pink apron?)—but this? This was new.

And frankly, it was dangerous.

Because it meant he was paying attention.

And if he was paying attention, that meant he was listening to everything you said.

Which meant that one day, inevitably, your simping was going to slip out.

You needed to leave. Immediately.

“Okay, well!” You clapped your hands, stuffing the extra cash into your pocket. “That’s great, boss. Love that for me. And for you. And for our very strange professional dynamic. But if I stay here any longer, I might say something really stupid, so I’m gonna—”

“Say it.”

"No."

His gaze narrowed slightly, as if considering pushing the matter, but then he just shrugged. "Next time."

Your soul left your body. NEXT TIME?

You needed out. Right now.

Grabbing your supplies, your stupid sticker reward, and what was left of your self-control, you bolted.

And as you did, you could feel his gaze still on you, as calm and unreadable as ever.

God help you.

[noirandchocolate]

RICE Alzheimer's Research Institute

Terry died on 12 March 2015, having given his PCA a run for its money.  Open about his diagnosis, he has helped to unlock the secrecy and stigma that often surrounds dementia.  His legion of fans is undoubtedly grateful that despite the inevitable progression of the PCA he was able to fight his ‘embuggerance’ and continue to produce a number of both well-received and well-reviewed books.  Terry was also a great example to me in emphasizing how important it is that, in caring for people with any type of dementia, we always look for what people with a condition like PCA can still do, rather than what they can’t: by maximizing what is possible, a person can still live well with dementia for a significant time.

--Professor Roy Jones, Director of RICE (taken from “Terry Pratchett: His World”)

I wanted to post something for the Glorious 25th about the Research Institute for the Care of Older People (RICE) in Bath, where Sir Terry Pratchett received treatment for Post-Cortical Atrophy, the type of Alzheimer's disease that eventually took his life. From the organization's website:

RICE established one of the first memory clinic services in the UK in 1987 – a service which has since been widely replicated and is now considered standard and best practice by the NHS. In fact, RICE now runs the NHS Memory Clinic in Bath and North East Somerset on behalf of the local clinical commissioning group and local authority through a sub-contract with HCRG Care Group. To date, we’ve assessed, diagnosed, treated and advised 12,000 people with memory problems and their families in our memory clinic. 

Most of RICE’s clinical services and research activities take place in our own purpose built, specialist centre located on the Royal United Hospital site. The building of the RICE Centre was possible as a result of generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations, and members of the public. RICE moved into the ground and first floor of the centre in 2008. Following the success of the DementiaPlus Appeal and further generous donations from major donors, trusts and foundations and members of the public, RICE converted the attic floor in 2019 to create more office space. This has given us access to much needed additional rooms and offices which will enable us to grow and run more services and activities. We’ve worked hard to ensure that the areas of the centre visited by our patients meets their needs and we regularly receive feedback on how much our patients enjoy their visit to our centre.

RICE not only provides clinical services to patients, but also conducts research into aging and dementia, including performing clinical trials for new drug treatments for memory-related diseases and developing other "techniques for diagnosing, managing, treating and understanding dementia and memory changes in older adults."

Lady Lyn Pratchett is the patron of the organization, and the website includes a page about how people can donate funds or volunteer at the clinic and participate in fundraising events.

SO, if you'd like to help fund Alzheimer's research on this Glorious 25th of May--or at any time--in honor of the Man in the Hat, take a look!