#tech watch price

[techalertr]

Computer Kharidne se Pehle ye video jarur dekhen | How to configure PC | कंप्यूटर कैसे खरीदें https://youtu.be/Sg5dx97iXRw

#TechAlert #computer #tipsandtricks #instagram #trending #pc #partspicker #buynow #technical #technology #howto #Motherboard #Price #quotation

[ask-calico-jack]

drug recs for a first time drug doer? I've drunk alcohol obviously but never done anything harder.

Other than booze which I love, Rhino Horn is definitely my favorite. Helps me get shit done but is also fun. But it's not like that for everybody. Eddie basically only does it when he's in a mood and Mary doesn't fuck with it at all, she's more of a stoner than a tweaker. Weeds fun every once in a while. I don't really like opium because you just sit around and nod off. You feel really happy but you don't do much and I like to be doing shit. Can't have a coconut war on opium, and it's a bit of a waste of medical supplies anyway. I basically only do it if there's nothing else on the boat. Mushrooms are great for an afternoon, kinda like weed in that it's for a special occasion where you want to sit around and giggle at stupid shit. You know if you mix mushrooms with lemon juice it dissolves em a little bit and it doesn't last as long but it hits you way harder.

[snapshopretail123]

Amazfit Balance 46mm AMOLED Smart Watch, Body Composition, 14 Days Battery, Dual-Band GPS, BT Calling, VO2 Max, Aluminium Alloy Frame, Temperature Sensor, Train Smarter with AI Zepp Coach(Sunset Grey)

Price: [price_with_discount](as of [price_update_date] – Details) [ad_1] From the manufacturer Focus on the Bigger Picture Decorated with an industry-leading anti-glare glass bezel, the enlarged HD AMOLED display has a huge 73.4% screen-to-body ratio that’s higher than many square smartwatches, and can reach up to 1,500 nits peak brightness. Body Composition Measurement You can simultaneously…

[fragilecorpse]

I don't like that my watch isn't accurate with my step count like i have been walking around all morning doing stuff and it said 0 up until like an hour ago now it's only saying 373 it's defs way more than that but also google ceo can die before I purchase another fucking watch

Also the fitbit app isn't reliable at all anymore and will often show yesterdays stats as todays and it won't save if you log weight updates and will pick random days when u log food there are no upsides it's just miserable to use

[sunni-stuff]

Thinkin' about stalker!Ghost who helps you in little ways.

He became infatuated with you the moment you started your shift at the pub. He subtly kept tabs on you from that day forward, showing up whenever you were on the clock, watching as you tended to unruly patrons each night.

How pretty you were, rolling your eyes as drunken regular asked for your number, a common occurrence on your work days. It irks him, seeing some bastard constantly pester you as if you hadn't shut him down countless times now.

The very next night, the regular doesn't show up, giving you a load off the usual flirtatious annoyance. You were quite caught up in your own life, work, and everything else taking precedence. You didn't have time to notice how that one day turned into countless weeks of uninterrupted work, simply serving drinks and going home.

Ghost watches you on your off days as well, keeping a safe distance while you get your nails done, sitting lovely on a cushion, hands outstretched while the nail tech paints them your favorite color.

He's seen it practically all over your apartment.

Once the tech is finished, you disappeared into the bathroom, giving Ghost the opening he needed. He stepped inside, the intensity of his gaze and build, drawing attention from the patrons. Without much said, he pays for your nails, having no problem swiping that card of his, asking to remain anonymous. He leaves just before you return, smirking to himself at your surprise face as you return, the owner telling you that your nails were paid off.

Wow, must be your lucky day!

After getting your nails done, you took a quick trip to the store, browsing for clothes when a stunning black dress connected to a hefty price catches your attention. It's gorgeous, could be worn on a date or a girls night with your friends but you weren't made out of money.

Huffing a disappointed sigh, you leave without buying it, sparing the alluring dress one last glance before going home. Hours later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, the sound of knocking at your door caught your attention.

In your nightgown, you opened the door and were greeted by a black box sitting out on your welcome mat. For a moment, you looked around, hoping to catch whoever left the mysterious package only to be met with silence and the sound of crickets chirping. Bending down, you picked up the box and flipped open the top, eyes widening at the sight of the dress from the store and with it a note.

"Anything else you want?"

[ur-mag]

Drivers warned to watch out for auto body shop scams this winter after ‘astonishing’ prices for basic services revealed | In Trend Today

Drivers warned to watch out for auto body shop scams this winter after ‘astonishing’ prices for basic services revealed Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[piyushflip]

top 5 smart watches

Introducing the epitome of luxury and technology – our state-of-the-art smartwatch. Crafted with precision and care, this watch is the ultimate companion for the modern-day individual who values style and sophistication, without sacrificing functionality.

1. Fire-Boltt Blizzard is a pure luxury smartwatch made with Stainless Steel featuring a rotating crown & High Technology Ceramic

2. 1.28″ Display packed with Bluetooth Calling functions, with built in mic & speaker | AI Voice Assistant & 120 Sports Modes | Built In Games

3. Best In Class Design – Fire-Boltt Blizzard comes with 3 buttons, 1 with a rotating crown having anti-corrosion properties and the other 2 are push buttons

4. Complete Health Tracking – With luxury comes health, Fire-Boltt Blizzard has you covered while it tracks SpO2, Heart Rate & monitors Sleep | Water Resistant with IP67 Rating

With Call Function

Touchscreen

Fitness & Outdoor, Health & Medical, Watchphone

[leyavo]

Task force 141 x Tech!reader

[Masterlist]

Tech!reader that works between two task forces gathering all the nitty gritty intel by hacking into the enemies computers and phones.

Tech!reader whose callsign name is Jinx because she hasn’t had the best of luck up until she joined 141.

Tech!reader that appears on Ghost’s laptop screen by taking over the little arrow and changing it into a black cat. Sometimes even changes it to a ghost so that he can’t see where the pointer is to click on his files.

Tech!reader who has only met Price and Laswell in person. She knows the guys from the photos in their files but never seen them in real life.

Tech!reader that was mistreated by her first unit. So she keeps to herself and works a normal desk in the I.T department, no one knows what she actually does in her little cubicle.

Tech!reader that leaves Price voice notes instead of emails as she knows he hates reading from a screen. Although she does like seeing him put on his reading glasses.

Tech!reader that sighs every time Soap asks if she’s watching him through the webcam right now. (Of course she is when he’s searching for stupid stuff).

Tech!reader who used to go out with her unit, but hasn’t since she broke her arm and got shot in the shoulder when their safe house was attacked.

Tech!reader that texts Gaz the most in between missions/jobs. They both have cats so they send pictures all the time of them.

Tech!reader that checks in on the task force 141 during holidays to make sure they’re safe.

I created this side blog for cod fanfic, haven’t played these games since they were released. Just for fun - Leya

[hcneymooners]

⋆ thinking about model!cait & model!reader.

ꕮ you and model!caitlyn find one another unexpectedly, your friendship a perfect firework across an otherwise tedious skyline of existence. she has a strong reputation comprised of a perfect work ethic, but a "bitter aftertaste" of a personality. the coworker who says this is notorious for being vicious, so you smile palely and take the assessment with a grain of salt.

ꕮ model!caitlyn whom you first meet backstage at an indie designer's debut show, whom you keep running into backstage. she's softer than you expected with her deep blue hair tugged up into a topknot, balancing like an artist on a tightrope. her cheeks are dusted with a metallic blush that shimmers weakly every time her cheeks bunch and loosen, the movement repeated as she chews on an apple.

ꕮ model!cait who is the last to go on most of the time, as are you, so you watch as she keeps to herself amid fashion week and is the first one out at the end of every show. it's the same cycle of working up the courage to speak to her, to show her that you aren't whispering along with the rest of the girls sitting beside you, but your little streaks of bravery are blotted out by the hot lights of your twin vanities and there's nothing left by the time she calls her car.

ꕮ you finally see her at the right time, finally send her a tight smile that you meant to be fuller with a little wave. she's at the mouth of the door, head bent back as the movement coordinator orders her to be earlier tomorrow for rehearsals because she's opening this time. she's surprised at the soft spread of your teeth towards her, and reflexively she smiles back. congratulations, you tell her and your voice is strong. thank you, she says.

ꕮ and you think that's the end of things but then you get stuck in the open half of a prop plane with her. the set is an elaborate platform to showcase the newest alice+olivia spring-summer collection. the two of you swing like a pendulum across the floor, tumbling into one another. her body is lanky, almost awkward, and she smells deeply of iris, lime, and rose.

ꕮ "you smell good," you whisper with a hand on your stomach because you think you might throw up. she smiles, surprised, and you understand exactly why they scouted her.

ꕮ after that, your relationship grows almost lazily like ivy. you run into her everywhere: the grocery store, the members club right across your townhouse, the museum where you went to see the quilt exhibit. one day you just take her hand and interlink it with yours, promising her a delicious bowl of pho and saying that you'll teach her to haggle prices at the little market you're going to after this—the one owned by the khti with kind eyes.

ꕮ she follows you, lets you swallow her, and basks in the solidarity of finding someone who doesn't hate her for once. you find out more: that she's a nepotism baby (her mother is a top designer), that she dislikes a lot of who she walks for but doesn't think she deserves to complain, that she majored in philosophy and military history at university but dropped out in her junior year, that she's been thinking of going back. "go back," you tell her with a soft smile. "i'll go with you."

ꕮ you go back to school together: her to finish her bachelor's, you to get your master's.

ꕮ when you're off-duty, she calls you. it's always at the same time—she's very structured, you notice—which means you always find yourself rushing through the rooms of your home, trying to find where you last tossed your phone.

ꕮ it's 2007 then, so it's a thin slab the color of ice with the logo of the most prominent tech company at the moment. you're always worried you're going to drop it, that you'll lose her, so you memorize her number to call her from a pay phone when you're somewhere different in the world.

ꕮ on call, she tells you about the first time she walked paris fashion week, how her hands wouldn't stop shaking even after she'd made it back behind the curtain. you share your own story of tripping during milan, catching yourself at the last second while your heart drummed against your ribs.

ꕮ "i was there," she tells you, laughing gently. the words cut out a bit as she moves around, and without thinking, you speak to the ache in your chest and say, "i wish you were here."

ꕮ backstage becomes your sanctuary together. you learn to recognize the slope of her shoulders when a designer has been particularly cruel, and she learns exactly how you like your tea when you're running on your fourth show of the day. "chamomile, splash of honey," she murmurs, pressing the warm cup into your hands. her fingers linger against yours longer than necessary.

ꕮ you rest your head on top of her jutting shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as she adjusts the alligator clips in your hair so that you're more comfortable, switching out your perm papers for new ones so the stylists won't yell about the crinkles.

ꕮ there have been many times when you've sobbed into her lap or she into yours, bodies run ragged after doing 10-20 shows in a day or two. it's never too much work to soothe her or for her to coo at you, quieting you until you fitfully fall asleep.

ꕮ you start sharing hotel rooms to save money, but really it's because neither of you can stand the loneliness anymore. you always share a hotel room now with two beds, just for you to wrap around her in only one. these are the best times of travel: caitlyn in her cotton hollister boy shorts and her long-sleeved soccer camp tee, hair lumped into a loose knot at her neck as her chest rises and falls gently with her breath.

ꕮ you huddle closer every night, late at night. you order room service and critique the collections together. she has strong opinions about necklines, and you can spend hours discussing the politics of sizing.

ꕮ sometimes you fall asleep mid-conversation and wake to find her having tucked you in.

ꕮ the industry starts to notice your friendship. "the ice queen has finally thawed," they whisper, and you hate how they talk about her like she's a puzzle to be solved rather than a person. but she just squeezes your hand under the table at fashion week parties and whispers, "let them talk." you realize you'd let them say anything as long as she keeps holding your hand.

ꕮ your first kiss happens in taipei. you're both half-delirious from lack of sleep, sharing a pepper bun in the early morning before shows begin. she has a dot of sauce on her lower lip, and you reach out without thinking, thumb brushing it away and coming to your mouth so that you can suck it clean.

ꕮ "oh," she says softly, and then you're colliding, kissing desperately and tenderly among the crumbs and cups of cucumber water, dawn breaking over the city of azaleas. she breaks away because she can't stop smiling and you can't either, and her hair looks like blue fire in the sunlight. you kiss her again because you can and drag her by the hand down the street, your water sloshing as you try to make it to the show on time.

ꕮ together, you start to imagine a life beyond the runway. she talks about teaching military history to undergraduates, her eyes lighting up as she describes battle strategies and political maneuvering. you sketch out plans for your own vintage styling firm, something small and carefully curated with a tight clientele.

ꕮ "we could do both," she says, and you love how she always includes you in her future.

ꕮ life begins to slow down without either of you meaning for it to. it's subtle at first: you start saying no to castings that don't excite you, and caitlyn realizes she hasn't done a full fashion week in nearly a year.

ꕮ you find yourselves going to the same places more often—your favorite cafe, the record store that still carries CDs, the bookstore where cait always beelines for the history section while you browse vintage magazines.   

ꕮ caitlyn buys a dog before you do—a retired racing greyhound named laguna with eyes too soft for the world. you tease her about how predictable it is, how of course she'd choose a creature as long-limbed and elegant as her. but then you find a pocket bully in a shelter with a wiry coat and the sweetest underbite you've ever seen, and suddenly you have two. your inbox fills with emails from brands who want to feature them instead of you.  

ꕮ there's a video of you and caitlyn sitting on a blanket in central park, sharing a bagel slathered thick with avocado while your dogs sprawl between you. someone posts it on youtube with the title supermodels—THEY'RE JUST LIKE US and suddenly laguna and your little bully (you named her venice) have their own fanbase.

ꕮ people start recognizing you not for the runways, but for the dogs. “cait, i think we’ve peaked," you joke, showing cait a feature in a fashion mag about “all the best supermodels have turned dog moms.”   

ꕮ one day, cait tells you she’s serious about completing her phd. "i think i’m ready," she says, her fingers twisting the hem of your sweatshirt. you kiss her forehead and tell her you've been looking at spaces for your styling firm. "i think i'm ready too."  

ꕮ leaving modeling feels like shedding skin. at first, you both keep a toe in—an editorial here, a campaign there—but eventually, the industry moves on without you, and neither of you mind. 

ꕮ the mornings are slower now, filled with newspaper crossword puzzles and late brunches. your lives feel like the belong more to you than before. sometimes you still wake up expecting to rush to a casting, but then laguna whines at the door, and venice jumps onto the bed, and you remember you don't have to be anywhere except beside her.  

ꕮ you start teaching styling workshops, curating looks for indie films, slowly building your firm from the ground up. caitlyn, true to her word, finishes her degree and starts lecturing. she still paces when she talks, still moves like she’s walking the length of a runway, but now it’s in front of a room full of students who hang onto every word she says about ancient war tactics. 

ꕮ you don’t understand any of it, but still you’re proud of her. you sneak into her lectures with a ball cap that does nothing to disguise you, a polaroid camera in your hands as you take pictures of her for the keepsake box underneath your bed.

ꕮ your home becomes filled with old fashion week spreads pinned open like faded butterflies, shelves lined with history books, and a basket of dog toys that always end up in the middle of the floor. life is lovely. not perfect, but good nonetheless.

ꕮ and then one day, years later, you're walking through a square—maybe in new york, maybe in london—when you look up and see her face on a billboard. it’s an old campaign, maybe one of the last ones she did, and the sight of her, frozen in time, steals the breath from your lungs.   

ꕮ you call her.  

ꕮ "hey, baby,” you say when she picks up. "i just saw you on a billboard."  

ꕮ there's a beat of silence, then her voice, warm and teasing. “wasn’t expecting to hear that bit of news. tell me, was i beautiful all blown up and life-sized?”  

ꕮ you smile, tilting your face toward the sky. "yes. but they don’t know how much more beautiful you are in person."

© hcneymooners.

⚚ notes: for @marieeeluvsyou & @srooch.

[codnasties]

omg cheater!ghost cheating on his faithful little wife so his captain fucks her and makes him watch.

price teching cheater!ghost a lesson 🚬 (🌽 link)

price may not be much older, but with the way he acts sometimes and the parental figure he is for some of his fellow soldiers, it may seem like it. it also shows in the traditional mentality he has. and as a more traditional man, he likes to uphold those values.

when he got to know - through other soldiers and not the man himself - that ghost had been cheating on his wife for some months now, angry is the wrong adjective to describe his feelings. because on top of all, he was disappointed.

he didn't understand how simon could go behind the back of the faithful sweet little thing he ha back home and fuck other women. because price would KILL to have someone like you all for himself. and he feels like he needs to remind his lieutenant just that.

so he fucks you. nicely. the way simon should have been fucking you. he pushes your head into the soft matress, making you arch your back and push you ass high into the air as he abuses your pussy with that thick cock of his. and of course the captain has simon fully tied up, sitting in a chair right next to the bed, and looking at his superior fuck into his wife. the man suddenly feels bad but also jealous, because that HIS wife, for fucks sake.

john even leaves a small gift inside of you - his cum - to remind ghost of where his mind should be and make him remember that he has a wife to look out for he defenitely didn't fill you with his cum trying to get you pregnant with his baby so you could leave simon behind and marry him instead

[techalertr]

Sell old mobile online on cashify at best price अपना मोबाइल अब ऑनलाइन बेचें #techalert #shorts Full video : https://youtu.be/PNJEF81l98o

Welcome to our YouTube channel! In this video, we will guide you step-by-step on how to sell your used mobile online and recycle your device using Cashify. If you're looking to upgrade to a new smartphone or simply want to get rid of your old device, Cashify offers a convenient and eco-friendly solution. Cashify : https://rb.gy/0zo4a

[evilgwrl]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ evilgwrl presents:

L.T. Simon “Ghost” Riley

The Masterlist

MDNI

Series:

Girl Next Door (Neighbour!Simon):

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven

Mini-Series:

You Want a Divorce?: One, Two

One-Shots:

Can You Ride?

Summary: Simon can’t wait to get home

Paris (feat. König)

Summary: You were bored at home so your roommates give you a visit to the Eiffel Tower!

Back Door

Summary: Simon wanted to explore more than just your pussy

Breeding

Summary: Simon needs you pregnant

Panic Attack (feat. Soap)

Summary: Soap and Ghost comfort you

Drabbles:

Neighbour!Simon Riley

ExHusband!Simon Riley

Massages with Simon

Love at First Sight

One Bed

Roommates (feat. Soap)

Teeth Marks

Period Sex (Requested)

Boyfriend!Simon

Deep Throat

Double Dicked (feat. Price)

Enamoured

Competition (feat. Soap)

Reading to your Daughter

Pussy Eating

Simon VS Ghost

Barista

Wrong Hole (Requested)

Somnophilia

Mommy (Requested)

Possessive

Roommate!Simon

Jealousy

Home is You

Feral

I'm Home

Hawk (Requested)

Always Fits

Pregnancy Sex

Do You Like it? [Plus-size!reader] (Requested)

A/B/O Dynamics

Alpha!Simon

Dark!Simon Riley (DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT):

Stalker!Simon Riley

Always Watching

IT Tech!Simon

Stranger

Want more?

Poly!141

König

Captain John Price

[alexiroflife]

being married to gojo as an actress while playing the role of a villain...

au, fluff, some suggestive themes, cheating themes

🌟🌟🌟

both you, satoru, and probably the rest of the world can confidently say that satoru is your biggest fan. while he is fully successful within his own career, he can not help but fawn over your achievements like a ten year old boy with one of your movie posters hung up in his room

the world does not associate either of you without the other. yes, you have individually made an outstanding name for yourself within the television and theater industry, but your fans find the two of you so adorable, so iconic that it’s impossible to imagine you without satoru gojo and satoru gojo without you

viewers are starstruck when you arrive to your film premiers with satoru on your arm, beaming pridefully as though it’s his first time walking the red carpet when that’s hardly true. you’re beautiful, and everyone knows it. the second your eyes meet a camera along with satoru’s striking blue ones, his hand wrapped snugly around your waist and your faces adorned with dazzling smiles, photographers go wild. even more so when satoru blatantly grabs your face and kisses you all over, feeding your fan pages’ content as well as his desire to constantly shower you in affection

and when it’s not at premieres, satoru’s supporting you during tours, press conferences, galas, meet and greets, sitting backstage or in the front row of the crowd or at times by your side as though he can’t bear to be away from you. when you’re being showered in appreciation, he’s flicking thousands of pictures, capturing the way you interact with your adoring admirers

satoru's grown rather used to the array of roles you have played. he's seen you in rom-coms, dramas, thrillers, actions, you name it, and though he doesn't necessarily get jealous when you have to kiss someone on screen anymore, he doesn't always appreciate some of the intimate scenes you do. despite so, he trusts you. he knows it's your job and that none of it is real, and above all, he knows the faces you make when you're truly experiencing pleasure. while you're an amazing actor, those faces you make on screen could never begin to compare to the ones he draws out of you

ever the arrogant man, however, satoru always makes it a point to remind you of who makes you feel good- who has you crossing your legs under the table as you meet with colleagues over the computer, his fingers working their way in and out of your sopping cunt off camera as you try your damndest to keep a straight face while your entire lower half is squirming- who makes a point to fuck you over the dresser of your trailer in between shoots after having brought you some coffee to help keep your energy high, rambling on about how one of the tech assistants had been looking at you for too long- who, at any event possible, will never fail to lay you back on the seat of your limo before even stepping outside, scrunching up your obscenely priced gown to eat you out as he gazes up at you over your legs

"you're so gorgeous, pretty. my pretty girl," "how lucky am i to be the only one who gets to see you like this, hm?" "fuck, baby, they have no fuckin' idea how good you feel"

even with his habits, satoru will never turn his nose up at any role you play simply because you're far too talented and simultaneously devoted to him for him to ever feel put off by your occupation. besides, he's managed to bag one of the most famous actors in the world. he truly does not think he has anything to worry about when it comes to you

satoru finds himself rather surprised, yet excited nonetheless, when he hears that you are to be playing a dislikable character in the upcoming film of the summer. you warn him that it's drastically different, that you'll be tapping into a morally poor side of yourself for this role that you have never delved into, nor really favored before

"pretty, you'll do amazing. trust me. do i get to watch you be mean to other guys? do you get to beat anyone's ass? honestly, that sounds like a dream come true" "i mean, yeah, but toru it's more than that. my character is actually a bitch. an unfaithful, abusive one. i don't know how i'm gonna do that..."

satoru knows that behind all the glitz, glamor, and fame, the occupation of an actor can be incredibly emotionally and physically taxing. you don't tell him much more about the role before rehearsals and filming starts, but he can tell over time that you're struggling with this particular film. simply because you're just too kind of a person despite how large your presence is

well into the filming process, he decides to visit you on set to serve as some extra emotional support. he's watching from behind the cameras intently as you go through a scene that's way more intense than he had previously expected, and his jaw practically drops as he watches the scene play out before him

your character is being confronted by her husband about her infidelity, and all the while as your acting partner screams at you in tears to beg you for some remorse, you lay back on a sofa with a cigarette pinched between your fingers, face completely dull and apathetic

"how could you do this to me?! to us? why won't you look at me! I say something!"

"whatever i say won't change the fact that i fucked someone else."

"...do you even care? do you care that you've ruined our relationship?"

"let's be real, there was no relationship to begin with."

"w-what do you mean?"

you stand, stubbing your cigarette into a mug, and walk over to your sniveling scene partner. the camera zooms on your face, your dead eyes, your angled brows. "i never loved you. don't you get it? you're just a pet, and you know it. so don't go crying to me about breaking something that was never promised"

satoru's eyes are wide, completely enraptured as though this scene is a real moment he is witnessing from afar. your fake husband he breaks down, dropping to his knees and clinging to you, but you curl your lips in disgust.

"get the fuck off me," you hiss, shoving him rather aggressively away. he falls, sobbing. "pathetic piece of shit."

you go to turn away, but stop and stumble. immediately you break, and gone is the merciless woman that was acting before the crew seconds ago. the light returns to your eyes as you cover your mouth in embarrassment, looking up.

"sorry, i forgot my next block," you say sweetly, timidly. "how was that?"

"perfect! let's pick up from when you turn away. once you say that last line, you-"

satoru is baffled, the director's notes falling into muffled white noise as he stares at you. he's never seen you in such a position before, one that has him questioning everything about you. and though you claimed to have a hard time with it, you were doing fucking phenomenal

he sees now what you mean about your character being... well, a horrible person for lack of a better term. he doesn't even recognize you, and he's sure your fans are going to have a field day when this film comes out. you're being shown in a drastically different light from your heroine and emotionally relatable love interest positions, and it will surely be a sight for the world to see.

during your break, you walk up to satoru tiredly and burrow your face into his chest. he wraps you up immediately, babbling about how insane you were in your scene. you look up at him with those big (e/c) eyes as he runs his hand over the back of your head.

"you think so?"

"baby, my jaw was dropped the entire time. i don't even know how you did that. you played that a little too well."

he's joking, but you still make a face of slight fear, as though you're scared of offending him. "you think it's too much?"

"no- it's a lot, but no- it's perfect. it's bold, and you do it so well."

"it doesn't make you uncomfortable?"

"why would it make me uncomfortable, pretty? i know you're acting, and it's not like you'd ever cheat on me let alone act like that," he tilts his head as a remorseful look flashes through your eyes. "are you uncomfortable?"

"i don't know... i'm just scared of how people will react... mostly because i could never picture saying this stuff to you, and i've had to do a lot of exercises to get into this toxic mindset that just... eugh. trust me, you haven't even seen the half of it."

"have you been able to take long enough breaks?"

"kinda..."

"alright, let's go chill in your trailer 'til your next call. i don't want you stressing your pretty little head about this, princess. you're doing amazing and remember, it's just a movie."

and yes, it's just a movie. a movie that has satoru twitching in his seat during the premiere at how uncomfortably awful you're acting the entire time in the film. by now, you've eased into the feel of things and are rather proud of the work you''ve done, but also happy that it's all over. you hold satoru's hand tight during some of the worst scenes, sneaking glances at him as the screen flickers intensely over his glassy eyes. you can tell he's rather moved by it all, by seeing you in such a position, and you chew harshly on the inside of your lip

when the lights come up, you're given a standing ovation initiated of course by your rather emotional husband, but in his defense, the entire room has tears in their eyes as well. satoru's clapping harshly, and you try to hide your face as grateful tears spring in your eyes, grateful for this opportunity, for your accomplishments, for the support that surrounds you

satoru wraps you in a huge hug and whispers in your ear "don't ever do what you just did in that movie to me," he whimpers, and you laugh loudly because both of you know the thought is inconceivable. "you did so so good, baby. m'so proud of how far you've come"

that night, you shower each other with love. you're wrapped up in each other's limbs, your lips meeting every part of his skin to remind him that you are still you despite the realism of the character you played, and that satoru will always be your one and only you devote yourself faithfully to for the rest of your life. when the two of you have spent yourselves, satoru holds you in the moonlit darkness of your bedroom, arms wrapped around you from behind with your back to his chest. he kisses your shoulder softly, then your cheek

"you really liked the movie, toru?" you whisper. "i loved it," he mumbles into your skin. "but, god, i thought i was gonna have a heart attack almost fifty times and that one scene with you at the bar didn't help." "i knew you were gonna say something about that!" "i can't help it, baby, you were just so heartless and scary," he pouts

[celestialprincesse]

You've been trawling through the contents of a mole's USB stick for days now. Dropped upon your desk one Tuesday night, passed down from Laswell, Price, and now, to you. Hours have been spent and wasted on trying to unravel ones and zeroes into something even remotely coherent. Not that you've had any great success.

Simon isn't an idiot, either. He's seen the bags beneath your eyes and the empty packet of painkillers on your desk and the way you feebly attempt to rub migraines away through your temples.

"You need to leave it." Simon's gravelly voice is nothing but background noise against the clatter of your keys as you take out your increasing frustration on your keyboard. Noting the way you don't turn at the sound of his voice, he obnoxiously clears his throat, watching the way your spine jolts ramrod straight, wincing at the way you twist to face his sudden presence.

"What?"

"You've been staring at that for days. Nothing's changed, nothing's going to change. Give it a rest."

Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but his words have you snorting out an amused, somewhat unnervingly animal sound, head falling into your palms as you rub the gunk from your eyes - which you're convinced must be square right about now.

"It's uh - I don't know. I can't help but think that the minute I leave it alone, something will give."

"Mm." He hums with a knowing nod, spinning the seat at the other side of your desk to sit on it backwards, resting his elbows on the worn wood, leaning over to face you. "No use to any of us if you're barely awake enough to sit upright."

You give another noncommittal huff as you begin the process of turning off your laptop, practically a fortress with how many failsafes you've installed.

" -And," he continues when you finally provide him with all the attention you can in your tired state.

"I don't like seeing you like this." Simon admits, a little sheepish, as though confessing some great adoration you'd been entirely unaware of.

"And, on that note, let's get you home, yeah? Can't have my tech wiz burning out on me."

I'm baaaack! kind of! Have this lil bit of vague reader burnout fluff because I've been watching Slow Horses and obsessing over reader being in intelligence 🫠

[ladytemeraire]

The main thought ringing in my head at the three-quarter mark of Jenny Nicholson's Star Wars Hotel video is how badly Disney missed the mark on not targeting the demographic of LARPers, cosplayers, and RenFest nerds as opposed to... whoever the hell they were actually targeting, with that combination of experience and price point.

Like. Not to further out myself as a massive goddamn dork, but there was a span of nearly ten years where I was going to the Ohio RenFest at least once a season, every season. And even there, the years where I went in some form of costume and played along with the actors as opposed to wearing jeans and a t-shirt, my experience was so much richer. There was such a different level of banter and playfulness and entertainment when I actively leaned into the immersion. I had so much fun interacting with the shopkeeps and cast members as an elf or random Fantasy Medieval Maiden, because they saw the costume and on some level went, "You! You are One Of Us!" and matched that energy, and thus gave me the chance to match it in return.

(One year, early on, when my "costume" was a frilly blouse, leggings, boots, elf ears, and a hastily sewn cloak, I had a random older gentleman run up to our group, press a gold coin into my palms, kiss the back of my hand in a very respectful and courtly manner, and disappear into the crowd. No context, no further story or plot or interaction, but almost fifteen years later I still have that gold coin on a shelf of tchotchkes.)

Watching every time Jenny tried so desperately to lean into the Galactic StarCruiser/overall Star Wars experience, to actively engage with the story and the characters, only to be lowkey ignored or actively rebuffed or scorned, legitimately broke my heart a little. (The bit in the experience finale where she was like "it felt like we were supposed to respond somehow, but I didn't because it was embarrassing, which is its own form of Force torture" was simultaneously hilarious and extremely relatable and incredibly sad.) Setting aside the issues with the app and tech, let alone the refusal to address legitimate complaints until she took to Twitter, not even getting a hint of reciprocal interaction from the actors when your choices supposedly matter in your overall experience would be so incredibly disheartening.

Ohio RenFest tickets were about $20 when I started going in high school, plus whatever food and merchandise you wanted to buy. Nowadays, even with inflation, they're still only $35 for adult tickets, which gets you access to everything, and you can absolutely get a full day's experience out of that with only the additional cost for food and beverages. I cannot fathom spending six thousand fecking dollars for two days ("two dollars per person per minute" will live rent free in my head for a while) on what is supposedly an immersive experience, marketed as living out your Star Wars story, only to get the absolute bare minimum in return. It really feels like such an indicator of how modern-day Disney is willing to cut corners as much as possible while leaning on brand recognition, and especially on nostalgia, in order to milk every last red cent out of their customers, until they run out of both money and goodwill. And that is so, so incredibly sad.

[ur-mag]

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