#kids chair manufacturers

[sanjanaopstech]

#Bean Chair Manufacturers in PCMC #Bean Chair Suppliers in PCMC #Bean Chair Manufacturers in Pune #Bean Chair Suppliers in Pune #Bean Bag Chairs for adult in PCMC #Bean Bag Chairs for Kids in PCMC #Bean Bag Chairs for adult in Pune #Bean Bag Chairs for Kids in Pune

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

#90s #1990s #memphis milano #grunge #everything you know is wrong #y2k

[captaincapsicle83]

The Little Pests

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary- Sam’s friend, an IT worker for Stark Industries turned new recruit, has a crush on an avenger. Being a good wingman (hehe, get it?) does everything he can to get the reader and Bucky closer, even enlisting the help of other avengers.

It’s almost obnoxious actually.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (main romance, rest platonic), Sam Wilson x reader, Clint Barton x reader, avengers x reader

TW: Cursing, Sam and Clint being silly, “suicide” but like, it’s a bobs burgers reference (you’ll see)

A/N: I was bored, so I pushed aside EVERY OTHER WIP I should be working on (about eight separate ones), left all my drafts open, completely ignored my old, geriatric ideas, and wrote something off a whim

Behold, my capricious work of art

“And, this is our kitchen, that’s our toaster. The toaster is always broken don’t try to use it,” Sam says. His right arm is on your shoulder, the left gesturing around the room, showing you around he compound.

“Why doesn’t it-” You’re cut off by a man with light brown hair swatting the toaster with his fist.

“You whore! I want my poptart!” He grunts.

“He’s why,” Sam shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. Clint Barton; Hawkeye, Destroyer of toasters.

Clint whips around, disgust evident on his face, “Oh, no, no, no, Sir. Don’t act like I’m suddenly the only one to blame here. Take a look at Mr. Banner and his anger issues, the cyborg, or, better yet Sammy, look in the fucking mirror.”

You decided right then and there that you liked Clint. “Sammy” scowled at Barton, before motioning for you to sit at the table. He had already shown you around the rest of the compound, including your room, making the kitchen your last stop.

As Sam rummaged through the cupboards, Clint sat in a chair across from you, groaning and huffing like an old dad with aching joints (Clint couldn’t be more than in his thirties or fourties’).

“Are you here to fix the toaster?” He asks you, his voice sad and his eyes even sadder. He was like those little animals with big eyes of pleading in Disney films.

“No, I’m sorry. I could try,” you suggest the last part, and he perks up. He sits up straight in his chair, rather than sprawling, and shifted to drumming his hands on the table.

“Met anybody else yet?” He asks, Sam still looking for food with not much luck.

“Nada, just you and Sam,” You say, truthfully. You had honestly expected more traffic, but were just the same grateful to be mostly undisturbed.

“Oh, good, you’re lucky. After us, it all goes down hill,” He “tsk-tsk”’s. “Let’s give you a run down. There’s Bruce and Tony, they’re our brains. They don’t sleep. They’re, like, tier two after Sam and I. Also tier 2, we got Natasha and Wanda. They’re scary. I will not elaborate. Tier 3, Vision, Thor, Rhodes, Spider-Kid. Mostly uneventful around the compound, Visions here the most, other three not as much. Then there’s our senior citizens in the bottom tier. Steve and Bucket. If they were a spice, they’d be flour.”

The way Clint was talking, it felt like the scene in mean girls where Janice and Damien find Cary in the bathroom. You were giggly at his little hand motions and theatrical way of painting the scene.

“What makes you and Sam tier 1?” You ask, Sam coming over with two jars of peanut butter, spoons sticking out of them.

“Birds!” They both yell to each other. When you make a face at Sam’s offer of a jar of peanut butter, Clint takes it right away. You watch in wonder as the two bicker with each other, getting the feeling they were the only ones who found themselves to be “tier 1.”

***

You had been with the avengers for, say, about 7 months, finding it easy to make friends and have fun between missions and SHIELD duties.

“Well,” Clint was saying to you and Sam, the three of you sitting at the compounds dining table, coloring with crayons on printer paper. “I’m glad you two are having fun, because I am going to kill myself.”

He holds up a poorly manufactured picture of a duck. You all convulge into a set of late night giggles.

It was four am, and you had all just returned early from a mission. After a mission, especially one where you could sleep on the way back, you sometimes found it nice to unwind with your teammates.

As you all tried to compose yourselves, you didn’t even notice someone else enter the kitchen part of the kitchen, not until Sam called out to them that is.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?”

“Hmm? Nothing. Coffee,” He looked startled, then straight back to basically being dead tired. The bags under his eyes looked like they just took a trip to Costco.

He looks reluctant, and like his mind has to do a lot of mental gymnastics to convince himself to do so, but ultimately he sits down at your table.

You’re drawing a picture of some birds (well, what was supposed to look like birds) in a little bird house. Your heart was beating about 10 decibels faster, and your hands became more unsteady.

Clint and Sam both privately took note of your change in demeanor. The way instead of using circle motions either your crayons, as you had been, you were pressing harder and going up and down. And how you simply just layer them on the table rather than back in the box. And the short sweet glances sent to one new person at the table….

***

Private messages between Sam Wilson and Clint Barton that you should never have seen, had you not been playing candy crush on Clint’s phone one Saturday morning. You’re a snooper, you snoop, it’s what you do.

Wednesday 5:36 am

Clint: Are you sleeping bbb

Sam: that best better not stand for what I think it does…

Clint: Y/n left me after you and Bucky did. Think the girl needed time to fantasize

Sam: YOU NOTICED TOO

Clint: I see everything, always

Sam: ominous

Sam: Clinton have you ever watched the bachorlette

Clint: I loveeee where this is going

Sam: I think she has a little crush

Sam: we should set them up

Clint: I can already see the kids

Clint: they’ll be names Sam and Clint of course

Clint: after us

Saturday, 9:29 am

Unread

Sam: did you destroy my fucking coin master village 17 times???

Sam: Barton, your ass is grass and I’m gonna mow it

***

Dead. You promised Clint and Sam they were dead.

At first, you thought it was just a joke. Until the advancements started.

It was Thursday, the team gathering for a dinner, as they did every once in awhile. As soon as you entered the room, you saw Clint and Sam basically playing musical chairs to keep an empty seat open next to Bucky Barnes.

“Are…Are you two okay?” Steve asked, genuine fear and concern on his face.

“Totally.”

“One-hundred percent.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’re acting weird captain.”

Steve sits, slack jawed, at a loss for a response. As you walk towards the table, your shoulders are grabbed by Clint, who is saying in a sickeningly sweet and chipper voice, “Y/n! Goodness, great to see you! Sit here! There’s a spot next to Bucky! You know Bucky! You love Bucky!”

You were a *mess* the entire dinner, unable to completely focus on anything but breathing patterns.

As the evening was coming to a close and others were dismissing themselves, you made cold hard eye contact with Clint, seated directly across from you. His hands were folded on the table like an innocent school child.

“Barton,” you said, your voice stern. “Wanna play Chinese Checkers?”

He shakes his head violently, but says, “Sam does too.”

Sam gets up from the table, so fast, his chair knocks over and silverware clatters.

You quickly jump up, chasing him down the hall. Clint follows, brandishing a phone camera, a will, and a way.

The rest of the group was frozen now, looking in bewilderment at what was going on. Or rather, their lack of knowledge of what the hell was going on?

“Anybody have input?” Tony asks after a long silence. Everyone looks equally lost.

They all look when a thud sounds in the direction your trio went.

***

Bucky and Steve are walking track to their rooms, later that evening. Steve had mission reports to do, and Bucky had thoughts to process and a diary to write in.

“So, what do you think of the new girl?” Steve pokes the bear, hoping to get a rise out of his friend.

“Hmm, oh. I dunno. She’s nice, I guess,” Bucky shrugs, and Steve’s goofy little smile grows like the grinch’s heart.

“Really? Because you look liked you were having an awful lot of thoughts tonight at dinner. And, you know, you stare at her long enough every other day…”

“Do not.”

“Do so.”

Bucky stares at Steve, unknowing of what to do in this situation. He shrugs again.

“So what?”

“So? So you should, oh, I don’t know, have a real conversation with her instead of just breathing into each others general directions. It’s nauseating having to watch Sam and Clint push you guys into the same space.”

Tonight may have been the first time you noticed, but in truth that kind thing happened in many many scenarios. Even before Clint and Sam connected that dots that you liked him.

They wanted their ship to sail.

***

“You took a shower!?” Clint says to Bucky, in a low and shocked voice. He held an incredulous look on his face, one Bucky wanted to smack right off.

“Yeah, try it sometime,” Bucky quipped.

“Y/n’s in her room,” Clint took a sip of his coffee. She has loads of paperwork. Probably will be in there all day.”

Bucky’s mouth opens and then shuts, not wanting to know why Clint was helping him. In truth, he wasn’t. Clint was helping you.

Within minutes, Bucky was outside your door, giving himself the cutest, peppiest of peptalks. Albeit, in his head because he could not handle the embarrassment of the e door opening to you seeing him babbling like a madman.

So when you did open the door, he tried flashing a warm smile. At the sight of it, you thought you would simply just faint. Right there, thud on the floor.

While your brain was debating whether you would prefer internal or external bleeding of the skull (internal, you decided, wouldn’t mess up your hair) Bucky cleared his throat.

You looked into his blinding blue eyes, the way a deer looks into headlights (meaning any minute you would get hit by the car…)

“Hi,” Bucky breathes out.

“Hi,” you say, your voice cracking.

You wanted to choke yourself out.

“I have something to tell you,” he starts. “Or- or I wanna talk to you.”

“…oh…” FUCKING CHRIST! Oh?? That was the best you had???

“Look, y/n I’ve sorta…I like you, quite a lot. And I’ve been nervous to talk to you or tell you about it, because I really don’t like opening up about my feelings. But-”

You cut him off by pouring out, “Ilikeyoutoo!”

“You- oh…Well…this wasn’t as bad as I had thought then.”

You let out an awkward chuckle, “Yeah, guess not.”

He doesn’t say anything, the two of you staring into each others eyes. He starts to lean in, his perfect face getting closer to yours. The action feels magnetic as you lean closer.

You take in his features. His brow, his chiseled jawline. The symmetrical two sides to his face, like if you took a meat clever down the center, you’d have matching halves.

Just as you can feel his breathe on your lips, right before the two of you can make contact, you both jolt apart at the sound.

Clint falls from your ceiling, Sam landing on top of him. The metal grate that filtrated the air in your room was below them, broken ceiling tiles, pink insulation and regret strewn about your flooring.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #sam wilson #clint barton #platonic #romantic #bucky barnes x female reader #avengers x reader

[genshin-side-piece]

I just read “Love Me Tender” and I’m obsessed with the way you write yandere Neuvillette and his darling. He’s one of those yanderes who are just so soggy and pitiful. I love the idea of a powerful yandere utilizing their power and connections to keep you. The melusines would DEFINITELY watch over you per Neuvillette’s request. And even if they knew he kidnapped you, they wouldn’t do anything about it. Not out of any malice, but because they, like Neuvillette, genuinely believe it’s what best for you. I love non-human yanderes because you can explore the potential of them not understanding humans being a reason for their yandere-ness

I love, LOVE the idea that a darling being submissive or cowering like prey turns him on. I love yanderes who take pride in being gentlemen but then silently salivate at the sigh of your legs. Also, I wish this was included in more fics, but I love the idea of a darling absolutely refusing to be near their yandere. Even if they have to resort to sitting in the corner instead of the comfy chairs by the yandere. I love darlings who try to hang on to the last semblance of autonomy and independence you have.

If you ever write any more yandere Neuvillette in the future I would love to read it!

❤️❤️❤️

Awwww TY Nonny! I'm so glad you liked it. I almost didn't publish this because of how hard I struggled with it. I was considering waiting until 4.1 just to be sure I had his personality right. Ray Chase wasn't kidding when he said Neuvillette was complex AF. It took me a minute to figure out if this was really even plausible for him and what his motivations would and could be. Thankfully the stuff with Childe at the end of the 4.0 archon quest showed Neuvillette could be pushed into action. So the idea that he's happy with observation until he deems there's a threat seems logical. Considering there is a mafia of sorts in Fontaine, and the whole serial k*ller business, it only adds to Neuvillette's mindset. Darling vanishes while he isn't looking and the kill bill sirens go off.

I think he would go deeper in terms of filling a caretaker/protector yandere role. I couldn't work it in fully here, but I believe he would be the type to fuss over your nutrition, your exercise, and your general well being. Not to the point that it's invasive, but enough to where he insures you are being cared for. God help Fontaine if that man ever feels derelict in his duty. The difference between him and some of the other protector yanderes, is in my mind Neuvillette owns the fact that he's the source of you misery. He does what he can to fix it, but he won't deviate from any of his previous actions. He can't.

I love my power hungry yanderes, but it was nice to write something soft for once. His pining and yearning coupled with his own self awareness was an interesting challenge. I would like to get to know Neuvillette better. Like I said, he is a difficult one to get right. I have another one that I am working on for him. I'm just struggling with the end on it. There's a third that I started before he debuted that I'm going to have to completely revise, maybe. He's a bit sterner in it than what he is in the game and there's a slight abuse of power, so I'll have to see. He has that side to him, but I'd like to see more of it for actual research purposes. 4.1 will do a lot for that one, especially considering Neuvillette is willing to manufacture charges in the correct circumstances.

But thank you so much for your lovely comment. I really do appreciate it.

#anonymous asks #Anonymous answered #this was such a nice thing to get #yandere neuvillette #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact

[wayward-dreamer]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write an angst fic taking place in the late 60s where Ben (Soldier Boy) is in an arranged marriage with the reader, but the reader does love him? Also, they’re much younger than he is (obviously an adult though, just a young one). This is oddly specific ig but I have an OC based around this concept 😭❤️

Two Ways To Love Him

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

Word count: 1,709

Summary: There were certain things about the supe she didn't want to accept, they were surprisingly two things love about him.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, implied smut (not with reader), implied drug use

A/N: I wrote this a while ago and just forgot to post it, but hopefully it's what you were hoping for! Also I was intending for this to be a drabble, but here we are at 1700 words lol This is unbetad, so I'm sorry for any errors I've missed.

It was easy to love his exterior personality, the parts of himself that he showed to the public. The parts of himself that Vought manufactured. The charm, the wit, the subtle cockiness, the smirk, the heroic sacrifices he had made over the decades in each war that occurred, the roughness of his voice laced with the rasp of cigarettes and bourbon. It was easy to love him from afar for many years, knowing that was all it would be. Just a silly admiration for an American hero, the world’s greatest supe. What she felt was real but fleeting, something she knew she’d get over whenever she decided that it was immature and she needed a reality check.

A reality check that came in the form of Vought calling her into the executive offices. It was  in the form of them needing her for something that she wasn’t ready for, especially with someone she didn’t know. She knew his public life, yes, but she had no idea what he was like in the privacy of his penthouse apartment at the top floor of the building.

“There’s no way I’m fucking doing this,” he argued, taking out his third cigarette in the span of fifteen minutes they had both been in the CEO’s office.

“You don’t have a choice, Ben,” Alan from talent relations countered. “In light of all the papers reporting your… alleged ties with the mafia, we need to present you as the wholesome, all American hero that you’ve always been.”

“By marrying me off to some bird I don’t even fucking know?!” Soldier Boy pointed towards her, his eyes never even meeting hers. “Not to mention she looks like one of the Brady fucking Bunch kids.”

“I’m 25,” she finally added, her voice meek as her legs shook under her boring brown skirt.

“Yeah, that’s a lot better,” he scoffed, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He took a long drag as he dropped down in the leather chair across from the table, leaning his head back as he closed his eyes. “Fuckkkk.”

“There’s an image we need to protect here,” the CEO, Paul Roberts explained, leaning forward on the table as he clasped his hands together. “Vought can’t have its number one supe acting out and causing more trouble than he was initially trying to prevent. This arrangement is going to show a level of maturity to your supporters. Think of the popularity points and keep your attitude in check.”

Soldier Boy glared at him, shifting forward and putting the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Fuck you, Paul.”

He stood up from the chair, adjusted the tactical vest over his suit and turned towards the exit, sending those same daggers towards her before he slammed the door shut. She gulped as she turned to the two men in the room, nervously twisting her fingers.

“You’ll be compensated fairly,” Alan informed her, handing her a pen as he pushed the contract across to her.

“What about-” she started as she gestured to the door that Soldier Boy just walked through.

“You let us handle him,” Mr. Roberts added, his tone having a sickening finality to it.

They didn’t leave much room for choice, and she knew better than to argue with a fast-growing corporation like them. With a flurry of the pen, she signed her life away to Vought and to being Soldier Boy’s wife.

There was barely a ceremony, and no exchanging of rings. They gave their forced “I do’s” to a minister hired by the company in one of the offices, standing side by side and never once looking at each other. Vought had people remove her belongings from her parent’s house, her childhood home and move it into the spare room in Soldier Boy’s apartment. A knock on the door alerted her to the envelope left outside, her wedding ring inside that she slipped onto her finger herself. This was never something she thought would happen so abruptly. She always imagined herself falling for a wonderful man, both of them declaring their love for each other before they promised to spend the rest of their lives together.

Being married to Soldier Boy wasn’t what she had pictured for herself.

Being the wife of Vought’s most valuable asset was nothing like having a crush on him. She spent most of her days alone, either crying her eyes out, muffled by the down pillows on the large bed she slept in by herself, or staring out the large, floor to ceiling windows and wondering what the tiny people down on the ground were doing with their lives. She was only ever in close proximity to him when the media outlets wanted to speak with them, now that Vought had officially announced the nuptials of the great Soldier Boy and his childhood sweetheart, as the story cooked up by PR suggested. They fake smiled and “aww, honey”’d their way through every interview, their looks barely lingering on each other for more than a few seconds. They went their separate ways after each one, resuming the routine they had found themselves in.

She kept quiet as she watched him go off to meeting after meeting, commercial after commercial, and party after party, every single day and night. She never said a word as he came in, late at night and blinding drunk, a loud guffaw waking her up as she heard the hysterical giggles of the women he was sneaking into his room. She kept her mouth shut as she watched him consume every pill, snort every kind of powder and drink everything in sight. She ignored him as he did what he was used to doing, showing no interest in that life. She never wanted it and she was even more certain of it now that she had witnessed him in all his glory.

She had seen behind the curtain, she knew what he was really like now, and it wasn’t easy to love him without the guise of his public persona.

In fact, it was incredibly difficult to love him for who he actually was.

Until one day… it wasn’t.

It started with a simple gesture. She had come back from spending her day shopping with the money that Vought was giving her in checks, completely caught off guard by him being there, pouring himself a drink. Their eyes met for what could possibly be the first time in weeks, but exchanged no words. He slid the tumbler across to her, pouring another for himself before he walked away and closed the door to his room. That was the most time they had spent in each other’s vicinity within the apartment, but she appreciated that he actually acknowledged her presence, even if it was for just a mere moment.

She quickly noticed the other little things he started doing, things that he probably hoped she wouldn’t realize was him, but she did.

He would leave for the day just before she would wake, and always had a bagel and coffee waiting for her when she reached the dining table. He usually arrived back at the apartment in the wee hours of the morning, and on more than one occasion she had fallen asleep on the couch. She remained still, making no sudden movements as he covered her with the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa. After the first time, she had to make sure it wasn’t just a part of her dreams, and sure enough it happened again another two times. She tried not to read too much into the night he picked her up and carried her into her bedroom, or the next night when it happened once more but his large hand delicately tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she continued to feign sleep, before he promptly left the room.

All of it was a side to him that she never expected once she saw who he really was, and she knew not to take it for granted despite the twinge of longing in her heart that it would be an everyday occurrence that could be acknowledged between them. A stepping stone into a better relationship with him.

But he didn’t want that, and he proved it as he continued his usual activities as if those nice things were just fleeting, so few and far between that it began to feel like a part of the PR stunt. Even if it was behind closed doors.

And yet, she hung onto those moments. They may have been rare, but they were a part of him that she had begun to yearn for, another part of him that she had begun to love. A part of him that she wished he would just fully embrace rather than hide it away as if he was ashamed and disappointed in myself for doing it.

She knew she couldn’t change him. He was too embedded in Vought’s infrastructure to ever be a different person, and his only outlet to escape their grasp was to do all of the things she was forced to pretend didn’t happen.

So she resigned herself to the fact that there were only two ways to love him. Only two aspects of him to love.

One was his public life, the persona he put on for the people that adored him. That sexy smirk, the ability to melt hearts with just a wink and his heroic efforts in the wars - WWII, Korea and Vietnam - that all followed his initiation into Vought. The public didn’t need to know that was all for the photo opportunities.

The other was all of the little things he did for her, things that he didn’t know she had noticed. They were little gestures, not nearly enough under normal circumstances for someone to fall in love with, but she needed those in order to survive this situation she had found herself in. The money promised to her would never be enough to make it through that.

Those were the only two ways to love him, she told herself. Reminded herself every day of the fact.

And everything else, everything she had chosen to ignore… well, those were all things she would learn to live with.

Join my taglist(s)! If you’re crossed out I couldn’t tag you :(

Forevers: @hintsofhoney // @makeadealwithdean // @writercole // @flamencodiva // @440mxs-wife // @sexyvixen7 // @foxyjwls007 // @maliburenee // @waynes-multiverse // @weepingwillowphoenix // @kyjey // @leigh70 // @savagemickey03 // @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone // @agentorange9595 // @buckybarnes-1917 // @lunarmoon8 // @stoneyggirl2 // @hobby27 // @sweetcyanidemilkshake // @envyaurora95 // @jassackles // @ircngirl //

The Boys: @lacilou // @kazsrm67 // @smellingofpoetry // @krazykelly // @nancymcl // @quincessimus //

Soldier Boy: @emoryhemsworth // @spnwoman // @akshi8278 // @katelyn--renee // @candy-coated-misery0731 // @deans-spinster-witch // @deans-baby-momma // @mariaenchanted // @globetrotter28 // @pink-sparkly-witch // @lyarr24 // @stephv213 // @perpetualabsurdity //  @lessons-of-red // @redbarn1995 // @xlynnbbyx // @recoveringpastaaddict // @maggiegirl17 // @rebeccathefangirl // @ladysparkles78 // @sl33pylilbunny // @smolone88 // @chernayawidow // @deansbbyx // @ultimatecin73 // @solariklees // @curlycarley // @losa12308 // 

#Soldier Boy x Female!Reader #Soldier Boy x Female!Reader One Shot #Soldier Boy Angst #Soldier Boy One Shot #Soldier Boy Fanfiction #Soldier Boy #The Boys Fanfiction #the boys tv

[nixytea]

dear bus noona | n.rk

pairing: non-idol! nishimura riki x noona! reader

genre: romance, fluff, letter, bus crush (i know cafe crush is kind of a genre but what about bus seatmates?)

inspired by: my bus rides lol

summary: in which ni-ki writes a letter to the noona who’s on his bus every day :)

wc: 646

warnings: older crush(?), mentions of crying, cat canvas bags, sad books (???i liked it so im not sure if it needs a warning)

dear bus noona:

the first time i met you, you stole took my seat. my favourite seat!!! the window seat. and because you were sleeping, your head blocked my view so i nearly missed my stop >:(( next time sit on the outside okay? but you looked kinda cute when you were asleep…

then i started seeing you on the same bus. every single day. IN THE SAME SEAT. i caught a glimpse of your id while you were putting away your bus pass. that’s how i know you’re a noona. clever, aren’t i? :> but anyway. at least you weren’t asleep the second time. you know noona, you should sleep more, instead of relying on the horrible-smelling coffee you carry around all the time. sometimes you stare at the trees passing by, and i guess it relaxes you because after 5 minutes on the bus you look less tense than when you first get on.

last week, you started carrying a really ugly canvas bag. noona, i love cats too but please stop carrying that bag around the poor kitten’s face is misshapen. the manufacturer of your bag doesn’t do cats justice. seriously, the cat face print looks more like a pig than a cat. return it if you bought it, unless you got it as a gift, which in that case please never bring that out in public again. it’s an eyesore.

the other day, you had a new keychain on your bag zipper, with cha eunwoo’s face on it. does noona find him handsome? are you really a cha eunwoo fangirl? i’m even more good-looking than him what’s your favourite kdrama then? i’ve watched a few of the really popular ones but i don’t really know what else to watch. can noona give me some suggestions? so long as they don’t have cha eunwoo in them.

noona, you looked so funny on the bus last wednesday, crying while reading that english book that i can’t remembering the name of. (was it swing sideways? i don’t know.) i’m sorry for laughing at you. but if i hadn’t laughed you wouldn’t have yelled at me for teasing you! so you should thank me for laughing, ok? don’t be mad at me…i just thought it was cute that you could be so worked up about books. even though i’m not close to noona, just watching you has already told me so much about what you’re like. our chat was really fun, and you’re really fun too.

ahhh, noona, sometimes you’re so cute when i see you. your fashion sense makes me wonder if i’m older or you are. you’re so weird, noona! you’re such an odd person, and i can’t help but want to be friends with you. so dear bus noona, talk to me more ok?

with love,

the kid on the bus who squished your crocheting project by accident ♡

riki sighed, head tilting backwards as he leaned back into his chair. the white light from his desk lamp illuminated his ghostly complexion, and he realised he’d been up far too late for a kid who still had school the next day. twirling his favourite pen absentmindedly, riki reread his letter one more time, before humming in satisfaction when he found no more areas to be corrected. in went the fancy parchment paper, and all that was left on riki’s desk was a lavender-scented manila envelope held in place by a piece of twine. (he’d borrowed konon’s perfume, and he’d make sure sola took that secret to the grave.)

unbeknownst to riki, there was a small smile gracing his lips as he went to bed that night. he needed the sleep, after all tomorrow was going to be a big day. with the flip of a switch, the room was plunged into darkness, but the tiny flame of hope in riki’s heart glowed brighter than anything.

a/n: so…here we are. i just think ni-ki’s adorable. i’m not even older than the beloved maknae so why am i writing about being his noona T-T but anyway! this is my first time writing fluff in a long while so im very rusty but it’s my soft hours so enjoy it while it lasts

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypenwriters #enhypen x yn #enhypen x you #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki x older reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen drabbles #enhypen oneshot #nishimura riki fanfiction #nishimura riki imagines #ni-ki fluff #enhypen fluff #nishimura riki #enhypen ni-ki #ni-ki #enhypen au #enhypen non-idol au

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 3, Chapter 5

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 5

Calina's next opportunity to see Matt came a few days later.

She was in Manhattan picking up a few extra firearms with Katya. The other Widow had a contact that had sourced the unregistered weapons from the black market. He charged a fortune, but it was worth the additional cost to keep their purchases under the radar.

After stashing the bag of guns in the trunk of their car, Calina handed Katya the keys. “You go on ahead. I have an errand to run.”

Katya rolled her eyes. “I wonder what ‘errand’ you could possibly need to run in this part of the city?”

Calina shrugged and smiled. “I have a delivery to make.”

It was the truth. One of Matt’s favourite Chinese restaurants was around the corner, so she planned to grab him lunch and deliver it to his office.

She was taking a gamble that he would a) be in his office, and b) not be with a client, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to see him again.

Twenty minutes later, arms laden with enough kung pao chicken and Szechuan Beef to feed an army, she skipped up the stairs leading to Nelson, Murdock & Page.

----------

Matt leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in front of him. He laced his fingers together, twisted his forearms and felt the satisfying crack of his knuckles. The tenant dispute case that Foggy had ‘assigned’ to him had turned into a class action lawsuit against one of the most despicable slumlords in the city, and he’d spent the last three hours reading through pages and pages of evidence.

‘Nightmare’ didn’t even cover it.

The three of them were now spending all their time and efforts trying to win the suit. Time and effort that could have been used to follow up on Calina’s lead and track down the mysterious pheromone manufacturer…

But this cause was just as worthy. Dozens of families had been taken advantage of, and were now trapped in tenancy contracts for mould-invested apartments. They were losing money, and their kids were getting sick. It was exactly the kind of case Nelson, Murdock & Page was created for - getting justice for the most deprived and powerless in the city.

And if they failed the legal way, Matt had a backup plan. Daredevil had been out at night gathering dirt on the landlord and his company, and he wouldn’t hesitate to hand it over to the cops and get the guy put away for decades. But for the families to see some compensation, they needed to win in the courts first. So Matt shook out his tired hands and went back to reading.

But just ten minutes later, his concentration started to wane. He’d been successfully ignoring his hunger pangs all morning - it was his own fault for skipping breakfast and only having a light meal before patrolling last night - but the faint scent of Chinese food filtering in from the street outside was making that task almost impossible.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious aroma of chilli, garlic and ginger, and his stomach let out a loud rumble in response.

He breathed again, and the smell became stronger - it was in the building now, no longer on the street. Matt lifted his head, tracking the scent as it travelled up the stairs, figuring one of the other offices must have ordered takeout.

Which was a very good idea.

Matt took out his phone and started punching in the number to his favourite restaurant, having memorised the contact information years ago. He could blame that on being blind - it was easier to memorise numbers than to search for them - but, really, he just ordered too much takeout.

He’d lived off the stuff for years. Sure, he could cook, and he liked being able to cook for others. But when it was just him, it was easier to order in. He’d only really had consistent home-cooked meals when Calina had lived with him. She used to enjoy finding recipes and trying them out - with him as her willing taste-tester.

“I don’t know why I was so wary of cooking for myself when I came to New York,” she’d told him one night as she diced a carrot and added it to the stew she was preparing. “Its just a lot of knife skills, and the application of physics and chemistry. And I know about all of those things.”

Matt grabbed a left over slice of carrot from the chopping board and popped it in his mouth. “I think a lot of chefs would disagree with you there. They regard it as more of an art than a science.”

“I don’t see the distinction,” she’d argued. “Art and science are too entwined to be separated like that. They’re just two sides to the same coin.”

“How so?” Matt asked, leaning back against the counter top, settling in to enjoy the conversation. He loved to hear Calina’s thoughts on the world, and the surprising way she often viewed it. He wondered whether it was because she’d been so alienated from it for so long, or whether it was just her. Her unique and fascinating brain that gave her these insights.

“People tend to separate art into the creative realm, and science is relegated to the rational,” she explained. “But an artist needs an element of rationality. They can really only succeed if they know the science underpinning their creations - how colours mix together, how perspective informs composition, how language can convey an idea. And scientists use imagination and creativity to explore nature. The greatest discoveries in physics came from someone imagining the world beyond what they could see and feel.”

Matt smiled remembering that conversation. They’d spent all of dinner debating the topic and all the tangential topics that had branched from it. And they’d spent night after night like that, learning about each other over dinner, finding out about their differing opinions and the similar ways they thought, until he became just as infatuated with her mind as he was with her smell and the softness of her skin.

God, he missed talking to her.

The two brief encounters they’d had since Christmas has been just that - brief. Too quick to do more than say hello and goodbye, and assure themselves that the other was whole and unharmed. Too quick to really say anything of substance. 

Matt shook off those thoughts. If he went down that path - of wondering what she was doing, of remembering that kiss on the rooftop last weekend, of imagining a future where they were free to be together and talk for hours on end - he would never get any work done. He’d learned over the past few months that to be effective at anything in his life - being a lawyer, or a vigilante, or even a decent friend - he needed to stash thoughts of Calina to the back of his mind.

He resumed typing in the number for the Chinese restaurant, then called out to Foggy and Karen before pressing the dial button. “Do you guys want Chinese for lunch? I’m gonna order something.”

“Um, I thought you already had,” Foggy responded, sounding confused.

Matt listened to what was happening beyond his desk and realised that while he’d been distracted thinking of Calina, someone had come to the office door - with the Chinese food he’d been smelling.

He got to his feet and ambled out to the main reception area. Foggy was rummaging in his wallet for cash, while Karen was taking bags of food off the delivery person. “Are you sure its for this address?” Foggy asked.

“Yep. Nelson, Murdock and Page. The most prestigious law firm on West 49th street.”

Foggy paused, and Matt could sense his friend frowning. “Right,” he said slowly.

But Matt just smiled and strode forward. Because he recognised that voice. Despite the drop in pitch and the strange accent she was putting on, he recognised Calina’s beautiful voice.

He would know it anywhere.   

He slipped between Karen and Foggy, took Calina’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Calina?” Foggy spluttered.

“Hi, Foggy. Nice to see you again.”

“I- I didn’t recognise you. Sorry. Hi.”

“That’s kind of the point of a disguise.” She smiled up at Matt. “Although I knew I’d never fool this guy.”

“Disguise?” Matt asked. He’d noticed straightaway the ball-cap pulled low over her face, but there must be more to her get-up if Foggy hadn’t recognised her. He plucked the hat from her head and ran his hand through the loose waves of her hair. It felt shorter. And styled differently. “New haircut?” he guessed.

“Yes…”

He rubbed a strand between his fingers, feeling the strange new texture. “And dyed?”

“Very good, Counsellor. Now that I’m spending time in the city again, I thought I should try to be more incognito.

“What colo-” He caught himself before he could finish, remembering the conversation they’d had months ago. The one in which she spoke of her looks and how she liked the fact that he didn’t know anything about the superficial aspects of her beauty.

So as much as he was curious about her new hair colour, he dropped the question. “Nevermind.”

He sensed her smile widening, and she squeezed his hand in gratitude - as if she knew what he wanted to ask, and why he changed his mind.

She probably did. It was proof of the connection they shared - this ability to silently communicate, to be on the same page, thinking the same thoughts…it was proof of how right they were together.

Matt kissed the back of her hand again then stepped back, allowing the real world to intrude on their little bubble.

“Sorry, Foggy, what did you say?” he asked, knowing his friend had asked something while he’d been concentrating on Calina.

“I asked if you guys wanted to be alone. Karen and I can head out for lunch and give you some privacy.”

Calina shook her head before Matt could answer. “No, I brought enough for everyone.”

She took the bags back from Karen and headed for the conference table, where she started unpacking the cartons.

“Any occasion in particular?” Foggy asked, helping her spread out the food. “You got another thumb drive full of revelations to drop off?”

Calina smiled. “Not this time. I just wanted to hang out with you guys for a while. The last time we tried…it didn’t really go to plan.”

Matt winced at the reminder of that night - the night Calina had tried to kiss him, and his stupid fears had ruined it. In a way, it had been the catalyst for everything that had changed between them. But he still hated the way he’d behaved that night.

Matt squeezed Calina’s knee as she sat beside him, a silent apology.

She bumped her shoulder against his, telling him they were all good.

More silent communication.

More connection.

Matt smiled as he reached for the carton of wontons, then paused as he realised his friends were watching him - with matching big, goofy smiles on their faces. “What?”

Karen shrugged. “You two are cute together.”

“All we’ve gotten for months is angst and drama,” Foggy explained. “‘Oh no, she left and won’t pick up her phone’ and ‘Oh no, we have to be apart, how can I possibly survive?’. It’s just refreshing to see the lighter side of the Matt and Calina story.”

Matt rolled his eyes and chucked a spare pair of chopsticks at his friend. “Very funny.”

“Ignore him,” Karen advised Calina. “Tell us what’s been going on with you? Matt said you’re close to bringing down this Volkov guy.”

Calina nodded. “Close, but we’re not there yet. We’re kind of in a holding pattern, just waiting for our moment. So we’ve been spending our time prepping and training.”

Matt brushed his thumb gently over a bruise he could sense across Calina’s upper arm. “Is that how you got this?”

She rolled her shoulder, as if it was stiff. “Yeah. You remember Inessa?”

Matt nodded and held a hand out at shoulder level. “The petite one.”

“She may be petite, but she kicks like a mule.”

Matt laughed. “I learned pretty quickly not to underestimate her.”

Calina laughed. “That’s right - she took you down.”

“Wait, what?” Foggy chimed in. “When did this happen?”

“It was when Yelena kidnapped me to take me to the cabin Calina was staying at. And in my defence, it was Inessa and Katya together, and they had a tranquilliser gun.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Foggy teased.

“Speaking of excuses,” Calina said, resting her fingers against the black eye only partially hidden by his glasses. “What’s yours for this?”

“Just an over-enthusiastic car-jacker who got lucky.”

“Nothing to do with the pheromone case?” she asked. “How’s that going, by the way?”

A collective groan sounded out in the room.

“That good, huh?” 

Karen wiped off her fingers and got to her feet. Then she spun the whiteboard in the corner of the room around to show a complicated collage of documents, photographs and notes. “We’ve been looking into the buyers of Arsonium bromide - who they are, how much they’re purchasing and their stated reasons. Unfortunately, there are a lot of buyers.”

“Its been slow-going and tedious,” Matt growled.

Foggy sighed, used to hearing Matt’s complaints about their chosen methodology. “It’s slow-going and thorough. And for good reason. We’ve had experience investigating rich, powerful and well-connected people before. We need to do this carefully.”

Matt nodded, reluctantly. He understood the reasons for caution - their firm didn’t need to be on the radar of another Wilson Fisk-type character - but it had been months since the explosion in the lab, and weeks since Calina had gifted them with this lead and they were still nowhere.

Calina stroked her thumb against his cheek. “You’re getting frustrated.”

He nodded, cupping her hand against his skin. “Understatement.”

“You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

“Thanks.” He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And thanks for lunch.”

He sensed her frown. “I’ll have to do it more often. You look a little thin.”

He shrugged. “It’s just been busy around here.”

“But you’re taking care of yourself?”

He nodded, warming at the concern and caring in her voice. “I miss your cooking though. I miss our evenings together.”

“Me too.”

“And our nights. And the mornings.”

She laughed softly, and tipped forward to rest her forehead against his. “Me too.”

A text alert from her phone broke the quiet intimacy of the moment. Calina sighed as she read the message.

“Time to go?” he guessed.

“Yeah.” She lifted her head to look around the room, and seemed to notice for the first time that they were alone.

“They slipped out to give us some privacy,” Matt explained.

She smiled. “You have good friends.”

“They’re your friends too.”

“I hope so.”

She gathered her stuff then leaned over to kiss him. He held her against him, his hand locked on the back of her head as he tried to prolong the moment.

Then she left.

Again.

He toyed with the fortune cookie in front of him as he listened to her say goodbye to Foggy and Karen. As he heard her jog down the stairs. As she stepped onto the street and started walking away. He crumbled the wafer, crushing the pieces into dust between his fingers as her footsteps receded into the distance, taking her further and further away from him.

“You okay, man?” Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged, getting used to the bittersweet nature of Calina’s brief visits. “I’ll be fine.”

Foggy patted him on the shoulder, then leaned over to pluck the slip of paper out of the destroyed cookie. He read the ‘fortune’ then huffed out a laugh.

“What does it say?” Matt asked.

Foggy didn’t answer, just handed the note to Karen.

She laughed as well.

“Guys?”

“Sorry, Matt. It’s just too on the nose. ‘The love of your life will appear in front of you unexpectedly.’”

Matt joined in the laughter.

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

The love of his life appeared unexpectedly several more times over the next couple of weeks.

She was in a darkened corner at the back of Josie’s one night. Alerted by her scent, he tracked her through the Happy Hour crowd, then pulled her further into the shadows where they spent several hot, sweaty minutes pressed against each other. She slipped out the back door and he returned to Foggy and Karen with his hair rumpled and his smiling lips stained with her lipstick.

A few days later, she was in the public gallery of the courtroom, watching as he entered a plea for one of his clients. Her gaze was a warm caress on his back as he stood before the judge, and her calm, soothing heartbeat filled his senses. But when he turned to leave at the end of the session she was gone.

There was another sky-high kiss after she summoned him to the roof of a dimly lit multi-storey car lot.  He raced across the city, following the sound of the clanging dashes and dots of his now-familiar code, lured like a sailor by a siren.

And just as he was starting to grow frustrated by those brief encounters - those stolen moments in which they could do little more than kiss - she crept into his bedroom one early morning and they made love for hours. He arrived to work that day bleary-eyed, but languidly sated.

Her unpredictable appearances turned their separation into a game. A secret pastime, where she tried to surprise him, and where he tracked her through crowds and down winding alleyways. Where there were no losers, only winners, and their shared victory was celebrated with passion-filled kisses and tender embraces.

It broke their time apart into days instead of weeks. Manageable fragments of time, spent in anticipation, not loneliness and despair.

It brought much-needed moments of levity to both of their lives…

Until everything went horribly, horribly wrong.

————–

Uh oh...What could this mean?!

Find out in Chapter 6...

Tag list: @hollandorks @chezagnes @stilldreaming666 @yanna-banana @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

#daredevil fic #daredevil #tabula rasa #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc #daredevil fandom #daredevil x oc #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x original female character

[breaded-boi]

ngl i mourn for kids now because holy shit the toys do not have the same amount of detail or paint or anything nowadays. (with some exception, like i have no clue how MGA sells lol dolls for 20 bucks with the detail involved) the designers do the best they can but there's only so much you can do with modular plastic molds and stickers. i had a way better my little pony castle when i was 6 than the kids get now. like ok look at this.

This was the flagship g5 castle playset. and they try with nice molds, modular pieces, and leaning into a design that doesn't need much paint, right? The interactive bits are fun. But compared to what we used to have...

the motherfucking g3 celebration castle. The river, steps, climbing flowers, trim, rainbow-- all of it is painted detail. The inside does go with mostly stickers but that moat piece in particular is lovely. I may grab some more examples but my point is, the designers are still good, it's just wayyy more expensive to get stuff like this manufactured nowadays and it's sad that I idolized someday working in a toy industry that just does not exist the same way at all anymore. And I get if you may prefer the new design since the old castle is a little younger-skewed, but my point is the level of detail here is completely different between the two sets and both were suppose to be the "fancy deluxe birthday/christmas present" option for their respective generations. More examples--

I wasn't born in time to have clamshell polly pockets, but like.

The 2000 jungle pals set. Almost everything is colored!! the immersion is so good and the fact that it's a little fold-out house its so fucking cute. The gradient on the leaf canopy. there are modular pieces but the painted details bring it alllll together.

I didn't have this one but the little trees. the chair. come on. come onnnn

The modern polly, this is the most expensive set listed on mattel's site right now. And everything is either a separate mold or a sticker and i dunno like they try and it doesn't look super bad but it's not at all as immersive. they seem to push the interactive/moveable pieces to try and make up for the loss of immersion but its not the sameeee :( not to mention im honestly not a huge fan of the way they're pushing this particular palette of purple/teal.

This is an older set, and it uses similar colors to much better effect. even with hardly any painted detail the objects they choose to populate the scene with are tailored to that chunky look. Imo if you aren't going to paint a piece, molded detail can be a double-edged sword. the door and furniture in the modern set look much more like just chunks of plastic to me compared to the little food court chairs or the shrub in this one, because the pieces do not call attention to details that seem like they should be colored. There isn't much paint on this one, but if the floor flowers or the ferris wheel were just one solid color it would definitely hurt the appeal ykno?

now, littlest pet shop. im gonna take a second to spotlight the REAL old lps toys before the bobblehead style really came about because I had these as a kid (had a relative with an antique shop, these were before my time and I was lucky) and they are. just. the small amount of painted detail paired with good color choice really makes these work (had to take some of these from ebay listings, it's hard to find good pics)

The duck pond. Painted details on the trellis!! and the magnetic wand you could use to make the ducks swim 🥺 The swan pond is even more beautiful

Even some of the less detailed sets from this era still have enough painted detail on at least one part to help it feel less like just a hunk of plastic.

I don't dislike modern toy design, but it makes me sad. And obviously, I don't know anything about the working/manufacturing conditions at play here and no painted detail is worth compromising on good conditions. It's just wild, looking back. Kids today don't know what they lost :/

#toycore #toy design #mlp #lps #polly pocket #toys

[waltwhitmansbeard]

How about... hospital #5, but it's going to be mother and daughter: Clara and Beau?

5. "As soon as I heard what happened, I dropped everything and rushed over here." lmao i did not remember that beau's mom's name was clara so i thought you were trying to imply that caduceus's sister was her mom lmaoooo

Beau sits in the waiting room of the infirmary, her leg jiggling so violently that it shakes the chairs on either side of her. She's been here for hours, sitting, sitting, sitting, not doing anything, not getting any answers, going fucking insane. She's yelled at the clerk three times, and yet no one's come out to tell her what the fuck is going on. She's chewed all her nails down to the quick, pulled the loose threads from her tunic until it started to unravel. Each minute feels like an agonizing hour, and she's going to start clawing at the walls if she doesn't get any information soon.

This tiny infirmary, too small for their neighborhood in Zadash, only lets one parent back with a child patient, and as fucking torturous as it is for Beau, it was clear that Yasha was better suited to the task of advocating on behalf of Aurelia, the six-year-old half-elf girl they've been fostering for almost a year now. Beau'd been nervous, when they first took her in, rail-thin and spooked by her own shadow, afraid she'd be too brusque, too coarse to help a kid like Aurelia come out of her shell, but in the year she's been a part of their lives, Beau's fallen hopelessly in love with the little girl. She races home from the library every day, eager to tell their wide-eyed foster daughter all about the day's adventures, manufactured or not. She lives for weekend mornings, when Aurelia crawls in between her and Yasha and tells them all about the dreams she had in the night, and for family dinners, when Aurelia proudly announces all the interesting things she learned in school that day. Somehow, between the investigations and the filed reports and the adventures abroad, Beau became a mom, and it didn't terrify her until this very moment, when she sits alone in a waiting room, praying to the gods she doesn't care about for any scrap of news.

The front door to the infirmary swings open, but Beau doesn't look up from her bouncing knee. People have been in and out all day. It isn't until a figure hovers just in her peripheral that she twists her head around to see—

"Mom?"

Clara Lionett stands there, hesitant smile on her face, wearing a much more casual dress than Beau thinks she's ever seen on her. "Beauregard."

"What're you..." Her hands clench and unclench atop the arms of her chair. "What're you doing here?"

"As soon as I heard what happened, I dropped everything and rushed over here." She carefully perches on the edge of the seat next to Beau, hands folded in her lap. "Your brother is with the neighbors. I didn't want to scare him."

Beau clenches her jaw. She'll let that one go. "How did you even find out we were here?"

"Your tiefling friend," Clara replies simply, as if it were obvious. "Jester believed I'd want to know that my foster granddaughter had been injured."

Beau hears the accusation in the subtext: I wish I had heard it from you. "Yeah. Well. I wish had something to tell you. I've been here for fucking hours. They won't tell me anything."

Clara takes a deep breath. "We'll see about that." Without another word, she stands, crosses over to the clerk's desk, and begins murmuring something too low for Beau to hear. Beau tries to lean in, hoping to overhear, but to no avail; her mother is an expert at not being heard. After several minutes of this back and forth, the clerk nods, stands, and disappears into the hall that leads to the patients' rooms. Clara comes to sit next to Beau again, and Beau gapes at her. "How—what did you—"

"You know I admire your tenacity, Beauregard, but sometimes a delicate touch is all that is required." There's a ghost of a smile in her eyes, and Beau is even more confused than she was before.

A minute and a half later, a white robed doctor comes out, a clipboard in his hand. "Ms. Lionett, I—"

"Lionett-Nydoorin."

He blinks. "Pardon me."

"It's hyphenated. Lionett-Nydoorin."

"Yes. Right. Well for starters, Aurelia is going to be fine—"

She could claw his eyeballs from his skull. "It took you all this time to come out here and tell me she's gonna be fine?"

The doctor bristles. "There were several tests to run, and the healing ritual is still underway. A fall from such a height is no small thing, especially for one so young."

"No shit." She stands, fists balled up at her sides. "Can I see her now?"

"As I said, the healing ritual is still ongoing, and the room is—well. It is rather small, and your wife..." He trails off awkwardly.

Beau crosses her arms. "My wife is the size of a mountain and hotter than hell. I'm aware."

"Well, there is just enough room for her and the healer. But I promise, as soon as we are done, I will have you escorted back to see Aurelia." With that, he nods once to her and once to Clara before disappearing once more into the back.

Beau throws herself into her seat with a sigh, burying her face into her hands with her elbows on her knees. A hand runs soothingly up and down the curve of her spine. "There. Everything's going to be alright, dear. Aurelia will be home before you know it."

She's not going to cry. Fuck, she is not going to cry. "Yeah. Yeah." She turns to give her mom a smile. "Thanks. Y'know. For helping."

"Of course, Beau." Clara pats her cheek, and for a moment, Beau is a little girl again. "I know what it's like to fear for your daughter's safety, after all."

And there are thousand things Beau could say to that, each shittier than the last, but she really is grateful, and so very, very tired. "Yeah. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, Beau. Me too."

#ask #Anonymous #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #mighty nein #mighy nein fic #beauyasha #beauyasha fic #my fic

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Orphaned neurological implants

The startup world’s dirty not-so-secret is that most startups fail. Startups are risky ventures and their investors know it, so they cast a wide net, placing lots of bets on lots of startups and folding the ones that don’t show promise, which sucks for the company employees, but also for the users who depend on the company’s products.

You know what this is like: you sink a bunch of time into familiarizing yourself with a new product, you spend money on accessories for it, you lock your data into it, you integrate it into your life, and then, one morning — poof! All gone.

Now, there are ways that startups could mitigate this risk for their customers: they could publish their source code under a free/open license so that it could be maintained by third parties, they could refuse to patent their technology, or dedicate their patents to an open patent pool, etc.

All of this might tempt more people to try their product or service, because the customers for digital products are increasingly savvy, having learned hard lessons when the tools they previously depended were orphaned by startups whose investors pulled the plug.

But very few startups do this, because their investors won’t let them. That brings me to the other dirty not-so-secret of the startup world: when a startup fails, investors try to make back some of their losses by selling the company’s assets to any buyer, no matter how sleazy.

A startup’s physical assets are typically minimal: used ergonomic chairs and laptops don’t exactly hold their value, and there’s not much of a market for t-shirts and stickers advertising dead businesses.

Wily investors are more interested in intangible assets: user data and patents, which are sold off to the highest bidder. That bidder is almost certainly a bottom-feeding scumbag, because the best way to maximize the value of user data is to abuse it, and the best way to maximize a failed business patent is to use it for patent trolling.

If you let your investors talk you into patenting your cool idea, there’s a minuscule chance that the patent will be the core of a profitable business — and a much larger chance that it end up in a troll’s portfolio. Real businesses make things that people want. Patent trolls are parasites, “businesses” whose only products are legal threats and lawsuits, which they use to bleed out real businesses.

The looming threat of dissolution gives rise to a third startup dirty secret: faced with a choice of growth or sustainability, companies choose growth. There’s no point in investing in sustainability — good information security, robust systems, good HR — if it costs you the runway you need to achieve liftoff.

Your excellent processes won’t help you when your investors shut you down, so a “lean” startup has only the minimum viable resiliency and robustness. If you do manage to attain liftoff — or get sold to a Big Tech firm — then you can fix all that stuff.

And if the far more likely outcome — failure — comes to pass, then all the liabilities you’ve created with your indifferent security and resiliency will be someone else’s problem. Limited liability, baby!

Combine these three dirty secrets and it’s hard to understand why anyone would use a startup’s product, knowing that it will collect as much data as it can, secure it only indifferently, and sell that data on to sleazy data-brokers. Meanwhile, the product you buy and rely upon will probably become a radioactive wasteland of closed source and patent trolling, with so much technology and policy debt that no one can afford to take responsibility for it.

Think of Cloudpets, a viral toy sensation whose manufacturer, Spiral Toys, had a successful IPO — and then immediately started hemorrhaging money and shedding employees. Cloudpets were plush toys that you connected to your home wifi; they had built-in mics that kids could activate to record a voice-memo, which was transmitted to their parents’ phones by means of an app, and parents could send messages back via the toys’ speakers.

But Spiral Toys never bothered to secure those voice memos or the system for making new ones. The entire database of all recordings by kids and parents sat on an unencrypted, publicly accessible server for years. It was so indifferently monitored that no one noticed that hackers had downloaded the database multiple times, leaving behind threats to dump it unless they were paid ransoms.

By the time this came to light, Spiral Toys’ share price was down more than 99% and no one was answering any of its email addresses or phones. The data — 2.2 million intimate, personal communications between small children and their parents — just hung out there, free for the taking:

https://www.troyhunt.com/data-from-connected-cloudpets-teddy-bears-leaked-and-ransomed-exposing-kids-voice-messages/

Data leakage is irreversible. Those 2,200,000 voice memos are now immortal, child-ghosts that will haunt the internet forever — after the parents are dead, after the kids are dead.

Data breaches are permanent. Filling a startup’s sandcastle with your important data is a high-risk bet that the company will attain liftoff before it breaches.

It’s not just your data that goes away when a startup folds — it’s also the money you invest in its hardware and systems, as well as the cost of replacing devices that get bricked when a company goes bust. That’s bad enough when it’s a home security device:

https://gizmodo.com/spectrum-kills-home-security-business-refuses-refunds-1840931761

But what about when the device is inside your body?

Earlier this year, many people with Argus optical implants — which allow blind people to see — lost their vision when the manufacturer, Second Sight, went bust:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

Nano Precision Medical, the company’s new owners, aren’t interested in maintaining the implants, so that’s the end of the road for everyone with one of Argus’s “bionic” eyes. The $150,000 per eye that those people paid is gone, and they have failing hardware permanently wired into their nervous systems.

Having a bricked eye implant doesn’t just rob you of your sight — many Argus users experience crippling vertigo and other side effects of nonfunctional implants. The company has promised to “do our best to provide virtual support” to people whose Argus implants fail — but no more parts and no more patches.

Second Sight wasn’t the first neural implant vendor to abandon its customers, nor was it the last. Last week, Liam Drew told the stories of other neural abandonware in “Abandoned: the human cost of neurotechnology failure” in Nature:

https://www.nature.com/immersive/d41586-022-03810-5/index.html

Among that abandonware: ATI’s neural implant for reducing cluster headaches, Nuvectra’s spinal-cord stimulator for chronic pain, Freehand’s paralysis bypass for hands and arms, and others. People with these implants are left in a precarious limbo, reliant on reverse-engineering and a dwindling supply of parts for maintenance.

Drew asked his expert subjects what is to be done about this. The least plausible answer is to let the market work its magic: “long-term support on the commercial side would be a competitive advantage.” In other words, wait for companies to realize that promising a durable product will attract customers, so that the other companies go out of business.

A better answer: standardization. “If components were common across devices, one manufacturer might be able to step in and offer spares when another goes under.” 86% of surgeons who implant neurostimulators back this approach.

But the best answer comes from Hunter Peckham, co-developer of Freehand and a Case Western biomedical engineer: open hardware. “Peckham plans to make the design specifications and supporting documentation of new implantable technologies developed by his team freely available. ‘Then people can just cut and paste.’”

This isn’t just the best answer, it’s the only one. There’s no ethical case for permanently attaching computers to people’s nervous systems without giving them the absolute, irrevocable right to nominate who maintains those computers and how.

This is the case that Christian Dameff, Jeff Tully and I made at our Defcon panel this year: “Why Patients Should Hack Medtech.” Patients know things about their care and their needs that no one else can ever fully appreciate; they are the best people to have the final say over med-tech decisions:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_i1BF5YGS0w

This is the principle that animates Colorado’s HB22–1031, the “Consumer Right To Repair Powered Wheelchairs Act,” landmark Right to Repair legislation that was signed into law last year:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/06/when-drm-comes-your-wheelchair

Opponents of this proposal will say that it will discourage investment in “innovation” in neurological implants. They may well be right: the kinds of private investors who hedge their bets on high-risk ventures by minimizing security and resilience and exploiting patents and user-data might well be scared off of investment by a requirement to make the technology open.

It may be that showboating billionaire dilettantes will be unwilling to continue to pour money into neural implant companies if they are required to put the lives of the people who use their products ahead of their own profits.

It may be that the only humane, sustainable way to develop neural implants is to publicly fund that research and development, with the condition that the work products be standard, open, and replicable.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: The staring eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Centered in it is a medieval anatomical engraving of the human nervous system, limned in a blue halo.]

#pluralistic #neurology #medtech #unauthorized bread #body horror #regulatory capture #bodily autonomy #floss #medical implants

[sanjanaopstech]

Bean Chair Manufacturers & Suppliers in PCMC, Pune

#Bean Chair Manufacturers in PCMC #Bean Chair Suppliers in PCMC #Bean Chair Manufacturers in Pune #Bean Chair Suppliers in Pune #Bean Bag Chairs for adult in PCMC #Bean Bag Chairs for Kids in PCMC #Bean Bag Chairs for adult in Pune #Bean Bag Chairs for Kids in Pune #http://www.beanbags4u.com/bean-chair-manufacturer-and-supplier-in-pcmc-pune.php

[jtmportland]

I spotted this on the side of the road today. Presumably set out for Friday garbage collection (along with some other interesting objects). But I know a good find when I see one, so I nabbed it. I’m shameless like that.

First problem: I was on my bike and still a couple miles from my house. I could race home on the bike and drive back in the truck to retrieve it ... but I’m not the only person in Portland who looks for this kind of curbside treasure, and I was sure someone would take it while I was gone. I briefly considered a balancing act... turning the chair upside down and propping it up on my head like some oversized mid-century helmet and pedaling home like a bandit. But then the homeowner wandered out and stared at me. After a minute, she asked if I wanted it. I sheepishly nodded and replied ‘er... yes, please’. She very graciously agreed to hold it for me while I ran home. Turns out it was her father’s house. He had recently died and she wanted nothing to do with it. For all I know, he died in this very chair. I didn’t ask. But maybe that’s the story I’ll tell going forward.

So what is it? Well, it’s not particularly rare or valuable, but it is noteworthy for what else it isn’t. It is not an Eames lounge chair. It was manufactured in the 50s by a furniture maker called Plycraft. More budget-minded than Herman Miller at the time, they were known to mass produce bent ply knockoffs of Eames chairs. Lots of ‘em. But this one was designed by one of their in-house designers, George Mulhauser. It was known as the Plycraft Lounge, or more endearingly, Mr. Chair®. (I’m not kidding).

Unfortunately the ottoman that paired with it is missing (see the remaining cushion on the ground in the photo). I was too embarrassed to ask if I could look around the old man’s house for the rest of it.

Anyway, the green vinyl is in rather poor condition. It’s torn in spots and smells faintly of cat pee (and death). So that will need to be addressed. Also, I’m not in love with this particular shade of green (it’s a bit too minty for my taste) – I may reupholster with something else (a smart grey tweed perhaps? That’ll grow some hair on the chest of Mr. Chair®). The frame, however, is in excellent condition, just needing a little love and care. It’ll make a nice weekend project.

SO that’s it. Another boring photo of a chair, but this one comes with a story attached.

TLDR: I found an old chair. I’m gonna make it cool again.

[lemaistrechat]

During the run of the original He-Man and the Masters of the Universe cartoon, Mattel executives would periodically drive over to Filmation’s offices to show off concept art of characters and vehicles the toy designers had gotten approved for production, because Mattel wanted kids to see them on the cartoon by the time they were manufactured and shipped.

The vehicle pictured above was called the Ball Buster.

Depending on the telling, Filmation co-founder Lou Scheimer either told them “That will never, ever be used in our show,” or silently got out of his chair and walked away until they realized their error.

Designers reworked the Evil Ball Buster into the Heroic Bashasaurus, released in 1985. It still didn’t get into the cartoon.

#motu #filmation #lou scheimer #unfortunate names

[eroticcannibal]

Im not gonna add to the post cus with fat phobia it is absolutely much much worse but also

The issue of "everyday things dont fit people" is so fucking severe it drives me up the wall that even perfectly "normal" (as in what is deemed healthy and acceptable and average, not that that standard actually is healthy and more acceptable and average) people don't fit shit and it is absolutely getting WORSE. me mum only struggles clothing me and my stepsister cus I was a rake and she were fat. Compare that to now, I have a child of perfectly average proportions, much like my other siblings who only rarely had issues finding clothes.

I have NEVER found trousers that fit my child that weren't adult sizes. Bad weather and school (so like, every day in the UK) had the poor child going in clothes that were painful to wear (no it could not be sent in anything else social would have been called) because sometime between the 90s and now clothing manufacturers decided no one under the age of 18 is allowed an ass.

(And they are still gonna only produce clothes "for girls" with the intent of emphasising aspects of their body that those same manufacturers will not even accomadate!)

At my age I am finally of a somewhat average body type, you'd never guess from looking at me that I APPARENTLY have freakishly long thighs and guess how many wheelchairs, budget be damned, I have found that will fit me?

ONE. JUST ONE.

Fuck there was one year where it was just impossible to find clothes that fit the child. Apparently 9 year olds just stopped existing one year?

Fuckin. Chairs that fit my back and support my neck? Nope. I'm average come on!

I can't even get a god damn granny trolley with a tall enough handle to not destroy my back and IM NOT EVEN TALL. what do I have fucking baby arms or something? Why is it so hard to find an adjustable one?

Oh don't even get me STARTED on lack of mobility aids for short people and kids. If I can't find shit for the child then I know 10 adults who also can't get what they need.

And this is all before u even factor in fatphobia which is absolutely worse than anything I've personally encountered (ill be honest even when I was fat I was on the low side and fairly proportional so personally I ran into fewer problems, mostly because my body finally matched my tits, but I know I am an outlier with that and I could certainly see how someone flatter or shorter could have run into huge issues)

Idk it just baffles me cus there is no need for this. It is not that hard to accomadate people. It is infact easier than it has ever been and yet shit goes backwards. What the fuck.

#word of god

[alexmercer786]

Coworking Office Space -The growing trend of managed office spaces in Bangalore

In the past, only enterprise proprietors who can pay massive rents work from the conventional workplaces. Most small enterprise proprietors work from home as they could’t manage to pay for to pay large rents. Even even though they need to have the separation between training office space in Bangalore enterprise and private existence, there has been no right answer that comes at inexpensive rents. Coworking office space has been introduced up to address this hassle and it has even caused the revolution within the running fashion of enterprise proprietors.

Many realtors and property proprietors have realized the commercial enterprise capacity in the coworking industry ensuing inside the leasing of millions of sq.Toes’s of land in India for the coworking offices. Moreover, there may be a large upward push inside the wide variety of humans operating from those because of the kids of India moving in the direction of entrepreneurship.

There is a big increase in demand for those shared places of work because of the following factors:

1.Coworking Culture:

Coworking spaces have a completely unique way of life which differentiates them from the ordinary business office spaces in Bangalore. Especially for startups, this is a useful environment as they could get more innovative thoughts by means of interacting with numerous kinds of enterprise people.

Any enterprise owner can collaborate to thrive of their very own business. These act as a platform to learn exceptional matters from specific elderly specialists. Moreover, with many like-minded enterprise owners running around, you could improve your productivity. This tradition caused the evolution of the working style inside the current world.

Moreover, this sort of favorable running surroundings of the shared areas has even impacted the big manufacturers to remember switching their business operations from conventional to these workspaces.

2.Quality Working Furniture:

As a enterprise proprietor, you want to invest in arranging all of the fixtures operations consisting of tables, chairs, desks, and many others required in your enterprise when you lease a traditional workplace space. But whilst you be part of these workspaces, all the fixtures necessities are taken care of by means of the gap carriers.

This way you need no longer have enough money one of these fees saving your cash. Moreover, all the exact agencies offer top fine furniture for your commercial enterprise without any additional charge for the use of them.

3.Additional Facilities and Services: Many correct co-working spaces offer unique facilities which include meeting rooms, conference rooms, etc. You need to pay for these while you hire a traditional area as according to the condo agreements despite the fact that you use them very not often. But in shared spaces, you could e book one every time you want and cancel them as in keeping with your desires with the pay for use foundation saving your cash.

4. Affordable Memberships: The memberships of the co working spaces are pretty low cost relying for your needs. For example, a devoted personal cabin will certainly cost you higher than the new desk however the expenses are cheaper whilst in comparison with prices you want to incur for rents, application bills, and so forth which you want to have enough money within the case of conventional areas.

Conclusion:

Joining in a coworking space is the quality desire to your business operations at less costly prices. The subculture, centers, and versatility offered by means of those cause them to easy to hire for a brief time period basis. Moreover, each member can get get entry to to important facilities which includes the parking areas, food courts, and many others furnished for the individuals at no additional charges.

#coworking #office space #bangalore #corporate office #collabcubicles #office #coworking space #business

[edupunkn00b]

Arizona's Journal, Ch. 2: You Can't Go Back

Prev - You Can't Go Back - Next - All - [ AO3 ]

The Kid asked me something the other day that reminded me of a conversation we had during his first month working at the shop.

"How do I go back?" Remus was re-organizing the inks on their shelves after noticing that the manufacturer's numbering system didn't put the shades in a true spectrum, but instead added "new" in-between tints at the end of each hue. I'd had to admit, they looked better his way.

"What do you mean," I hummed back, sifting though a collection of newly developed photos of client tattoos, looking for the best ones to add to the wall.

He was quiet for a long time, long enough for me to wonder if he'd only been muttering to himself and hadn't even been aware I'd spoken. He did that sometimes, get so lost in his own thoughts that he slipped away from everything around him.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice a bare murmur. "Until... Until that day, I felt happy. Well, most of the time. No, that's not right " He shook his head, scowling at the inks in front of him, rearranging the different shades and tints of green.

I waited him out, keeping my eyes focused on the photos I'd already finished sorting. Even by then, I knew him well enough to know he'd speak more freely if I wasn't staring him down at the same time. I shifted a bit in my seat, though, making sure my body was pointed toward his in a quiet invitation in case he needed a hug.

"I used to have everybody fooled that I was fine. That I was happy. " He turned the bottles on the shelf, carefully aligning them so their labels were perfectly centered. "Most of the time, I'd even fooled myself." He moved on to the shades of blue. "But now..."

"But now you can't stuff it all back in anymore, huh?" I moved closer to him, sitting in the customer chair next to the ink shelves. He quickly swiped at his face, ridding himself of the tears starting to force their way down his cheeks. He nodded.

"Ah, Kid, yeah, that's the trick, isn't it?" I leaned a little closer, reaching out to lay my hand over his. "Pretending you're okay isn't really the same thing as being okay, though, is it?"

"It just hurts," his words came out in a raspy whisper.

"I know, Kid. I know." I held open my arms and he dove into them, pulling at the back of my shirt like he was gripping the edge of a cliff. And maybe he was. "This feeling won't last forever."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what Dr. Greaves says." I nodded against the top of his head as the tears broke through his last little defensive wall. He'd managed to fold his giant form into my little 5'2" lap. Just then, Jamie poked her head in from the backroom, annoyance showing in the small frown on her lips and the crease in her forehead.

I glanced up at the clock. We were an hour past closing and I still hadn't pulled down the gate. Jamie met my eyes. Her face had softened when she saw the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed. She made a little 'I love you' sign and my heart soared with her silent understanding.

She quietly slipped through the front door, quickly lowering the gate and flipping the store hour sign that peeked through the open bars of the security gate. Jamie smiled and gave me a little wave as she returned to the tiny backroom, already pulling out her phone, pointing to a menu pinned to the wall and raising three fingers in a wordless question, 'Three for Chinese tonight?'

#Arizona's Journal #Remus Prince #Arizona Tate #OC #Happily Ever After Universe #Jamie is Arizona's partner #Logan and Janus haven't helped pass marriage equality yet in Washington State