#Mentorship for Young Professionals

[speckofglitter]

Harnessing the Power of Networking

In the dynamic landscape of today’s professional world, networking has emerged as a crucial skill for career advancement. For young women navigating their way through diverse industries, effective networking can be a powerful tool that opens doors to opportunities, mentorship, and personal growth. Building a Strong Professional Identity: Networking provides a platform for young women to…

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#Building a Professional Identity #Career Advancement Strategies #Diversity in Professional Networks #Elevator Pitch Techniques #Empowering Women in the Workplace #Inclusive Networking Communities #LinkedIn for Career Growth #Mentorship for Young Professionals #Mentorship Programs for Women #Networking Events for Women #Online Networking Tips #Overcoming Networking Challenges #Personal Growth Through Networking #Professional Development for Women #Social Media for Professional Networking #Women Empowerment in the Workplace #Women in Business Networking #Women&039;s Leadership Network #Young Women Networking

[stevelieber]

Here's another thread I don't want to leave languishing at the old site, relevant because another case of ill-considered pseudo-mentorship is in the news. It's tough to start a career. I'm lucky to have had good mentors. I'm grateful and want to pass it on. These are some notes I made on ways to do so.

1. Promote artists a generation younger than you. Share your platform. RT them, mention them in interviews. (This means being aware of what younger artists are doing!)

2. Hire them if you can. Pin ups, commissions, variants, fill-ins, assists, anything. A small gig can be what helps them make rent.

3. (The same applies to creators a generation older. Many of them helped develop the visual language, the audience, and the industry infrastructure we rely on. Tell your reader how these artists' choices informed your own. Help your fans see what you saw in your influences' stories.)

4. Support anthologies. They've always been a key place where new and marginalized talent can incubate, & established artists can try something new. (They certainly were for me. Many of the big leaps I made as an artist happened on anthology stories where I had freedom to experiment.)

5. Mentor new artists! Even if their subject or style is different from yours, you still have much to offer. Just be sure to frame your advice in terms of goals & principles rather than "the right way" or "the wrong way." You want to help them find their own voice, not echo yours.

6. Suggest strategies for dealing with challenging clients or collaborators. The industry may be very different from when you broke in, but those young artists are still going to face the many of the same problems you did.

7. Steer them towards someone trustworthy when they need a consultant. It's not easy to find an accountant, an agent, or a lawyer who understands what we do. Your contacts are valuable!

If nothing else, make them aware of Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts. https://vlaa.org/get-help/other-vlas/

8. Share your understanding of industry standards for pay rates & professional practices. This doesn't mean posting your rates in public. The main that does is anchor your position when negotiating rates with a potential client. But in private, TALK. This benefits ALL your peers.

9. There will be times when you can't answer a question. It happens all the time. No one knows everything! But you probably know someone who *can* answer it. Use your network of connections and make the introduction.

10. And finally, take questions about the art, the craft, the culture, and the business on your social media. Answer them as honestly as you can.

-end-

#steve lieber #comics #mentorship #protip

[ctrlsatoru]

DIABLO - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes.

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the concept is something corny along the lines of Diablo. 

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life. 

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?” 

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface. 

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team probably spent twice the time it took you to get here on LA traffic to arrange his inky black hair in the perfect unbothered way. There’s a healthy glow on the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks. 

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette. 

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have the sight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you. 

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing. 

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. You're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The world would be a much more peaceful place and the arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure. 

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Toji concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate. Unlike him, you don’t even look down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time in their lives.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain the skeptic, observing from the fringes. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas, and you expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel. 

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before digging in.

Techbro, self-made, controversial, messy family background. He was the mastermind behind the acclaimed video game, Diablo, which exploded in popularity during the early 2000s. For years, he's faced criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity and accusations of satanism. You have to chuckle at that. Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and he went on to found a videogame and software company under the same name. He's been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent after repeatedly refusing buyout offers.

Buzzfeed has a trove of ridiculous articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogame. You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew. 

According to a twitter thread, he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

You can't help but wonder if your brother knows him.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not an inherited impulse, Satoru personally taught you how to handle them. One of your favorite early teen memories of your brother is watching him reduce Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when he catches you looking that contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. If you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested by the wardrobe team and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you note the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum. 

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off your scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—���

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Taking a Q-tip soaked in micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste he finds.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow. 

“This is Utahime’s concept, I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What concept would you go for?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. The reason for it being that you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days, you work with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom, usually sought out for your particular aesthetic. 

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.” 

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin at you, kind of like a warning. it’s gone as soon as you blink at him.

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his soldier of an assistant. Toji doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like, then?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I do get bored easily.”

You conclude the brief interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way Toji’s amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.” 

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

 “It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?” 

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror while giving him your back.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he describes your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. You’d submerge half of his face in black tinted water, or have his head resting on a white surface, make blood spill from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply early 2000s mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.” 

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, like he knows just what to say to negotiate with you. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the full-body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry, and tired, and nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored on set today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praising kink or something?” 

He’s unbothered by your dig. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?” 

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway. 

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin. 

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable or want to only deliver and fold when it’s their turn to take. 

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

 “Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor. 

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone–

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to cower. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s mysterious self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

–Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.” 

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him? Maybe.

But so was the whole room. 

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Do you always just take on the job of the make-up kids out of the goodness of your heart?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer to that. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. There was a time at the beginning of your career when you engaged in every aspect of your work, from styling and set design to prop work, editing, and even makeup.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?” he pushes you further, casually dropping the G-word as a last resort.

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things, don’t be cocky, old man.” He starts blinking real fast like he’s never been called old to his own face.  “Earlier, you asked me what you look like.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but ends up only squinting at you. 

“I did ask you that.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly moves as you follow the movement.

“And I’m not married yet, so– you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear. 

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your car is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out. 

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro. It was nice to meet you.”

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it weren't for the fact that it's him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit inside the same room, Haibara being so charming and Toji, a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present. You look at your fiancé and get the dreaded feeling that you’re an impostor pretending to know what to do with a man so devastatingly beautiful. 

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before. 

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until–

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you, and you can't help but laugh softly into his mouth. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.” 

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on his flight. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch. 

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Huh?” 

“What does Toji want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracy. “She was covering for Iori. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for Hiroki.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé. 

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not— exactly professional. I think the asshole might try to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her, and traumatized Miwa.”

“Not Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a sick barely there smile, finger on her chin. You don’t like how well she knows you. She makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows Toji, and how much he told her. 

What exactly he asked.

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea. 

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, the alcohol causing a painful sting inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing from days prior, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, your glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there. 

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.” 

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“Thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it. 

“Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about the fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.” 

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds. 

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too,” he says, eyes set on his phone. He seems to like to add your name at the end of his sentences.

“Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug. 

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey–”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy. 

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“Did something happen to you as a child, maybe?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly responds, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Are you diagnosed?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you tease, struggling to contain your amusement at the situation. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing mental health."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah–” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. You lift your eyebrows, eager to see where he’s going with this. “I can agree with that. But you rich kids–”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant. You’re fucking tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction. “–You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, I see. No, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. A spoiled little bitch with a bad attitude who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

“You wanted to hatefuck her but then she ruined your game and made you feel uncomfortable, and now the chase isn’t fun anymore.” 

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

“No?” 

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back, haven’t you? You run on pure spite, eh?”

“Fuck off.” you scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And– get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you do the same “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know? Violently misogynistic. You and your brother got your therapist's pockets nice and full, paid off a few nice vacations to hawaii, probably bought a big beach house for her.” 

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him. 

“But you, you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a fucking nightmare for your poor little fiance, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his social justice speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family, asshole.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father in family gatherings. 

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally send your old man to the grave.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru. 

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

“Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You frown, confused.

“You couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned the fiancé, but you looked like you would’ve blown my brains if you had a gun on you the second I brought your brother up.”

He sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I know him,” he mentions offhandedly, leaning back. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.” 

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself. 

He turns to you before you can dwell on what he means by that. “So, you’re two peas in a pod then? You and him?”

“I don’t see him that often.” you think out loud, your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. “He’s on some getaway in Osaka, performing some corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And you’re too cool to involve yourself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it. 

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, deep in thought.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he says.

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered this change so abruptly.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll watch from here and look the other way if you start to drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head 

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “I didn’t think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

He's momentarily silent, and you believe he's finally relented.

Yet, he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him. 

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes. 

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

#toji fanfiction #toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfiction #toji fushiguro

[susandsnell]

Things Happy Halloween, Scooby Doo! had Doctor Jonathan Crane do that will never not be canon to me: 

Write fanmail to Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, who approves of the Scarecrow Costume.

Isn’t even really there to cause mayhem, but moreso to see an Elvira live appearance. 

Treat Velma Dinkley as a respected rival for her intellect and does some Hannibal Lector esque mentorship because you can take the man away from the position of college professor, but you can’t take the college professor out of the man 

Refer to Mystery Inc. as “the Avocado Toast generation” and “meddling young adults” 

Sees a giant buzz saw dissect his prisoner transport van in half. Doesn’t even blink, calmly steps out of the way. 

His profile picture for his professional email is literally him in the Scarecrow suit sans the mask. 

Said email to a shady customer service account is under the subject line “Drone Payloads (for 100% LEGAL medical use)” 

“Tell me...are you frightened yet?” 

#scarecrow #jonathan crane #batman #bat-tag #he's so funny #also the design is very close to my hc!crane #bone structure wise anyway

[33max]

We’re all driving our own race, but that doesn’t mean we need to do it alone. Along the way, I’ve had people help me both professionally and mentally; transforming me from a young boy to a young(ish) man. Mentorship doesn’t need to be one-dimensional, there have been a lot of great people with me on my journey, and below are just a few of the places I have come across mentors.

Family

This one is a bit more on the obvious side. It’s no surprise my first mentor was my dad. He raced cars when he was young, and while he wasn’t at the top (no offence, dad), I always thought he was cool and that was enough to inspire me. He played a huge part in supporting me to chase my dreams and saw the passion I had for driving. Giving me the freedom to do what I loved at such an early age really encouraged me to believe in myself and never give up. Parents have such large roles in their kids��� lives and I can’t thank my dad enough for believing in me.

Competitors

Sometimes a mentor is right in front of you – or in my case, racing beside you. While we are all competitors on the track, we drivers are incredibly supportive of one another. I’m fortunate to be able to call some of my peers life-long friends. Last season had its challenges and I have a few of the drivers to thank for helping me keep my head up and stay motivated. Sebastian Vettel frequently called me throughout the year, just to check in, as any friend would. When you take away the competition, some of these guys are the most inspiring people I’ve met. That’s why competitors make for such great mentors. At the end of the day, we all have the same passions and we’re all experiencing the same pressures together, so we know what each other is going through.

Heroes

I’m lucky to say I’ve raced alongside some of my heroes, who in turn have become a positive force in my life. A good mentor can help you identify your strengths. Having the chance to test myself against the best of the best has allowed me to prove to myself what I’m capable of. A favourite memory, in 2012, my first season with Toro Rosso and second race season: defending against Schumacher in the last part of the race. I finished 10th, but it’s still one of my favourite races to date because despite being so intimidated by him at that time, I was able to keep him behind me for the last few laps, surprising myself with my race craft. Afterwards, he congratulated me. I’ll never forget when he came up and said, ‘Good job last week defending’. Receiving confirmation from someone like that, at that age, and that point in my career was huge. He didn’t realise at the time what he was doing but that small piece of comradery boosted my confidence a lot and left a lasting impression on me.

Mentors have a knack for showing up in the places and moments you aren't expecting them. But when they do, it's like having your own little pit crew to help you reach whatever finish line you're driving towards. With the right support, you’ll find yourself on the podium too.

#my favourite parts of daniels linkedin article #daniel ricciardo #dr3

[yellowocaballero]

milagro!!! i LOVE GL!milagro stuff. is guy still the first GL she meets? i am v curious what his story (and john’s) ends up looking like in this au in general, but my first exposure to him was in jaime’s bb run so i’m hoping that pseudo mentorship still exists here somehow

IS!! THAT!! A GIANT!! GREEN!! FIST!!

Green Lantern Milagro is the most god-tier take and we need to return to it. My "Kyle rebuilds the GLC to be woke and Milagro is the most feral Lantern" idea is actually super old - I think it's in the Reverse Robins Universe, in some unpublished stories - but it's still good. Let the furries make the judicial system. Do it. Let them free.

Let's say:

Guy Gardner was the second Green Lantern on Earth. Everything that Hal was, Guy is not. He's a hothead, meathead, go-getting action hero wannabe who has to be the biggest, the best, and the strongest. He's abrasive, selfish, mean, and short-sighted.

Guy Gardner is exactly like Hal Jordan: an All-American hero, angry and rude in a way that his colleague John Stewart could never get away with. He's part of the NRA and thinks Trump has some points. Too wimpy to make a good President, though. Give him a President who can last five minutes in the ring with Guy Gardner!

Despite his differences with the more professional and cool-headed Hal, he was shocked and horrified at Coast City's destruction. Where other heroes expressed sympathies and turned away in discomfort with his overwhelming pain, Guy stayed with him. He doesn't like to spread it around, but he's a registered school councilor - doubled with his middle school gym teacher thing - and he stayed at Hal's side through his grief as long as Hal let him.

When Hal disappeared, Guy was the one who knew in his heart that he had killed himself. He had been expecting it.

He had not been expecting his ring to break.

Guy loses it all. His power, his respect. He can't go back to who he used to be. He's not a gym teacher or school counselor anymore. He's Guy Gardner. You can't ask Guy Gardner to be a civvie.

The only thing he keeps is his Justice League International membership. He wanted to quit, but his friends (family, but none of them would admit it) needed him to stay. They had already lost the second Blue Beetle so recently, and they can't lose anybody else. Booster Gold's grieving his husband too. In that way, in some way, Guy's still needed. Guy has to be needed. But Guy has to be a hero too, and he feels like he's dying slowly by degrees in powerlessness.

Then Booster calls the JLI, drunk as a skunk and deep in a panic, saying that there's this kid in El Paso running around with Dan Garret's scarab in his SPINE, how did this even HAPPEN, how did he get it WORKING, where the hell is TED - Ted's dead, he's still dead, what the FUCK do we do, he's a baby he's gonna DIE TOO, everyone's gonna DIE -

A gym teacher and licensed counselor knocks on he door of a house in El Paso.

Booster was right. Jaime Reyes is a snot-nosed kid who's getting his ass kicked up and down to Sunday in every fight, and either he's gonna get himself killed or he's gonna blow up the city. Nobody else but the JLI ever gave a shit about Ted, and nobody's gonna give a shit about this kid with an orphaned legacy. He needs a personal trainer and mentor and he needs one right now. Jaime Reyes needs a hero, even a washed up old asshole like Guy Gardner.

And his little sister throws a heck of a punch. Oh, Guy is keeping Milagro. She's learning boxing!

An asshole, shallow kid enters the scene. A new ring appears. The last Green Lantern disappears to find the truth. Guy leads his own life. It's not like his old one, but it's good. That kid Jaime's become a good hero, and his little sister is the coolest kid on the planet. A Trumper on the street says something shitty to Jaime and Milagro about illegals and Guy lands on him the signature Guy Gardner punch. Trump's an asshole idiot, anyway. Next time, Milagro lands the signature punch. She has learned well.

A young man returns. A truth is told. A fucked up orange ring is on Guy's finger. And now he'll have to learn how to be a hero all over again.

The orange ring isn't powered by bravery and willpower. It's powered by greed. It's a greedy, cruel ring. It's mean. But Guy's pretty greedy too. And Guy's a mean son of a bitch.

Guy Gardner is the first Orange Lantern. And he's everything Hal Jordan is not: a man with a voracious need to protect and help. A man with an endless appetite for love, and to give love. A school counselor, and a mentor to some pretty nifty kids. Guy can never get enough of being a hero. He'll never stop. And he'll always help.

Because he's Guy fucking Gardner!

#this is my “the JLI are Jaime's awful useless drunk superhero family” agenda #my writing #guy gardner #jaime reyes #milagro reyes #green lantern #this features a lot of comic characters but i can't explain them all #just trust me fam

[badlysummedupmoviestournament]

If you recognize the movies hiding behind the decoy titles, please do not give identifying details about them in the notes.

Movie n°1: An Apple a Day...

Guy attends court-issued anger management sessions for awhile but discovers, alongside the band of misfits from group therapy, that sometimes blowing up in an adequate environment, and channeling his rage into, for example, a sport, are way better than whatever the psy was offering. This new self control helps all of them save their city from cannibalistic overlords who kidnapped everyone's kids

Movie n°2: Multi-generational household

A young professional woman isn't taken seriously at her job, but tries to advance her career with the mentorship of an older man who's worked in a similar field. Initially, they both distrust each other, but they eventually bond over her love of animals. His advice helps her complete an important work project; the film ends with the mentor calling her to congratulate her on her success, before he leaves to take a tropical vacation.

#movies summed up badly tournament #tournament poll

[youllallriseintheink]

The Road to Alagadda

Desperate to research the threats posed by the unknowable and dangerous land of Alagadda, the SCP Foundation attempts to position their resident reality-warper and professional piece of work, Alto Clef, to be invited to Alagadda by the Ambassador. Meanwhile, the Ambassador has its own plans for Clef.

---

For years, the SCP Foundation could only watch as the Ambassador led artist after artist to abandon their lives on earth. They'd sent fleets of trained military personnel only to have them killed effortlessly by reality warpers, their remains tossed back through the doors as though to mock the researchers.

Another strategy had been tried: training researchers in the way of fine arts and positioning them to be chosen by the Ambassador, such that they might enter Alagadda as a welcome presence. Unfortunately, the results were the same for every researcher-turned-artist who had gone through this process: once they entered Alagadda, nothing could get them to leave.

"There is one more thing we could try," said one shadowy O5 council member to the board of hr fellows after yet another researcher had been lost to the strange realm. "We could send someone who is impervious to most otherworldly influences. Someone who has reality-warping powers of his own and would never choose art over the violence we let him inflict.”

Another council member, the oldest, looked across to her, eyes sharp. "Alto Clef is an important asset to the Foundation. And moreover, letting him into a realm we know nothing about given his unruly personality could have any number of consequences.”

The other O5 member shook her head. “We don’t know whether Alagadda is related to the Scarlet King,” she countered. “This could very well be the only way to stem a growing army of reality warpers.”

The eldest member sat back, steepled his hands, and thought for a moment. “Very well," then," he said finally. "We will set him up with Paraskevas Portokalis for art film mentorship, as we have with the other researchers we've sent. But if he dies, or worse, converts, you may very be terminated for it.”

The O5 councilwoman nodded. “That's a risk I'm willing to take.”

—-

Charlotte shuddered and screamed as millipedes coated in fake blood crawled from her mouth. Her writhing on the floor was a bit of overacting that Alto Clef had demanded, but the rest of her reaction was genuine. Her joke of a "director" had insisted that nothing else would do.

“Cut!” Clef yelled, prompting the poor actress to roll over onto her hands and knees and spit out the bugs. “Someone get me a lemon drop French martini," Clef ordered. "We start filming again in seventeen and a half minutes. I want twenty more takes of this by the time the day’s out.”

The actress spat out one last grub and looked at Clef in absolute disdain. “What,” she demanded, “is the point of having six bug-vomiting scenes in a film about children’s drawings?”

Clef lounged back in his director’s chair and smiled ghoulishly at her. “It’s about how human expression is painful, or something. I don’t know. It’s fun for me.”

Charlotte looked over to the renowned but retired art film director, Paraskevas Portokalis, who was sat next to his spoiled little protégé in a similar chair. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, he seemed perfectly at peace with things. The man loved watching the creative process of "young and blossoming artists" the way some liked watching the bizarre films he'd spent decades of his life creating. It's why he'd chosen to spend his retirement mentoring anyone who wanted to be mentored.

"A film does need to be enjoyed, eh, Alto?" the old director said. "No meaning will be absorbed without pleasure, surely. But you have to consider what the audience will like, too, no? Don't become too wrapped up in your own preferences."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll think about it," Clef said. He surely would not think about it. He didn't give a damn about children's drawings. Not like his kid could make him any that wouldn't disintegrate in a day from merely being in her radius. No hand-drawn Father's Day cards for him, just the flowers that sprouted from the wreckage of her containment cell whenever it went too long without replacement.

As Clef returned home to the base that night and did his one-hour off-key ukele solo in the dormitory halls, he thought to himself, "This is the life." He thought he had it made on the base tormenting SCPs and his coworkers all day, but this. He had a whole year where his "job" was basically to boss people around and make them do whatever he wanted.

Yes, as Clef settled down for the night, he was absolutely certain that no one could make him an artist and he'd never go to Alagadda. This would be a fun year, and then he'd go back to his old life. He fell asleep peacefully, blissfully unaware that he was being watched.

That night, Clef dreamt. He was standing in a dark void, and then an explosion occurred, sending fractals of light and particles in every direction. From there, there were images of things Clef would never have been able to describe.

Clef watched as an alien-looking, water-dwelling squid creature taught a smaller creature of its species- its young, perhaps- to forge ornate glass vases using the heat of hydrothermal vents. After a while, Clef was torn away from their cozy home. He saw its beautiful glass exterior, and then, as he continued to be pulled away, he saw a city of similar ones, unique and sparkling. He was pulled further and saw more cities, then pulled from the ocean and into the sky, where he saw alien plant life and beautiful cities of stone on the planet's landmasses. And then he saw a tiny blip in the water- the rainbow-coloured corpse of the parental squid. But the cities, the art, the legacy remained.

Clef's alarm went off the next morning at six sharp. He rushed through his usual workout regimen feeling especially amped, adrenaline pushing him through more chin-ups than he'd ever accomplished as his mind raced. He had to get back on set. He had to do what those jellyfish were doing.

When Clef arrived on set, he was surprised at first to find that everyone there aside from Portokalis looked bored and annoyed with him. But of course they did- he'd been treating this privilege as a joke. "Everyone but Portokalis, take the day off," Clef announced. "I need to make some changes to the script. You'll be paid in full."

The actress turned away in annoyance and began walking away, no doubt wondering what fresh torture Clef was cooking up for her.

Clef had no time to worry about that. He took to the side of the old director, who had already been seated beside the director's chair. "Alright. We have to make some changes," he started, putting his chair opposite the director's and sitting to face him. "First, I want the protagonist to be vomiting coloured paint, not bugs. We'll use some kind of practical effects to make the colours cover the whole room to show what art does to the world. The windows should become coloured glass. And I want her to survive it. Second, I want this movie to actually be good. You'll have to teach me how to do that."

Portokalis smiled enthusiastically and stood up with all the energy his old bones could muster. "I knew you'd find your inner artist," he drawled, "All my protégés do in time."

They began to walk to the desk on which Clef would plan his masterpiece.

"Though, then they tend to disappear..."

---

Weeks passed. Every night, Clef dreamt of art being created by aliens, proto-humans, and even by what seemed like biblical angels. Every day, he woke up and worked on the film, incorporating what he saw or what he'd learned from it. Everyone but Portokalis was furious with the constant change, but Clef didn't care. He had eight months left to create his masterpiece. The film wouldn't be publishable by the end of the year, and Portokalis would make limited copies of the film and move on to his next protégé, but that was fine. Clef accepted it. He'd keep his copy, share his art with anyone he could, carry the skills into smaller, hobbyist projects afterward, and let that be enough. He'd even started trying to play his ukele well.

That was, until the night of September 28th. On that night, Clef dreamt again of the alien squids creating blown glass. This time it was a master artist creating a great glass structure as many others followed suit, waving their tentacles around in rows of hydrothermal vents like a university classroom attempting to emulate an esteemed professor.

And then the earth began to shake and rumble, and every glass structure shattered as the squids panicked. Once again, Clef began to zoom out of the scene, first from the ocean and then from their atmosphere, backing away just in time to see an asteroid reduce their planet to flaming shards of rock.

Shards of rock. They must have been miles in length, but from Clef's perspective, they were like particles of glass. Clef's scientific knowledge told him that every last shard of actual glass from the planet must have been melted now.

Gone.

Clef was hyperventilating. Once he would have enjoyed such destruction. But now...

The particles of the planet dispersed and stars in the sky exploded, one by one, until Clef was left in a blank void. What looked like a biblical angel floated a few feet from his face, and Clef thought that surely it couldn't die. Surely it wouldn't be destroyed by time as well. But it, too, exploded in a flower of blood and viscera.

And then, Clef heard music. He turned, and he saw a beautiful city with strange geometries, painted in red, white, yellow and black and decorated in all forms of art, most of which Clef had never seen even in his dreams. He even spotted a palace made of coloured glass, grander than the ones he'd seen underwater but undeniably the same style. Clef came towards the city, and as he stepped into its streets, he began to feel safe again. This place wouldn't crumble. It would outlast the very universe and then the universe after it.

Then, Clef's alarm went off. He turned it off, cold with sweat and heart racing.

Clef arrived at the film studio, still feeling and no doubt looking haunted. By now, the studio was filled with strange and abandoned props- things that Clef had integrated into his film in a flurry of inspiration and discarded in favor of alternative desires just as quickly. And amongst them were a crew of frustrated actors and a smiling Paraskevas Portokalis.

"We need to start all over," Clef said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Charlotte shouted. "For what? So you can keep overloading this movie with weird shit that no one is going to understand?"

As recently as yesterday, Clef would have snarked at her in response. Today, all that escaped his lips were the words, "I don't know."

How could he make something that mattered? He needed his work to be seen, worshipped, its message known. But even if it was, it would all disappear in the end. He looked over to Portokalis, whose face had fallen. "I don't know," he repeated, hoping that his mentor would have the answer.

"Shall we leave the actors to their acting and try to do some writing?" the mad director asked, putting a hand around Clef's back and guiding him to a breakout room. Clef followed his lead into the room and fell down heavily in a chair. Portokalis brought him some paper and pencils.

"Alright, now leave me alone," Clef ordered. "And have someone bring me a martini. My usual order."

"Very well," Portokalis said, turning to leave.

Clef faced the paper, his mind empty. Minutes passed, and he tried writing the easiest story he could think of, a simple torture-and-murder type thing that he'd fantasized about on his coffee breaks in the Foundation. He didn't have the words even for that.

Clef's lack of inspiration continued for several days, and the dreams had stopped entirely. Filming continued as Clef directed, his eyes glazed over and the wheels of his mind spinning as he tried to fix his film. The actors were glad for the lack of changes, which annoyed Clef. Why hadn't he taken the time to enjoy their misery before? He couldn't enjoy it now. The halls of the foundation had grown quiet from the lack of Clef's ukele solos.

Weeks later, Clef finally had a dream again. No imagery, just a single voice, deep and androgunous and smooth.

Show me who you are, it said. Express yourself. Show me that you are worthy.

The next morning, Clef came into filming, loaded his arms with all the art supplies he could carry, and hurried back home. Frenzied, he ran through his dorm unit, coating everything with red and black. That wasn't enough. Home wasn't where he was most himself and he knew it. He took his cans of red and black, with white and yellow, too, for good measure, and stumbled into the SCP research center. He threw a bucket of yellow paint on the ground and began spreading it before he realized that this wasn't enough, either. No. He knew what he must do.

Clef made his way over to SCP 682's containment cell, opened it with his keycard, and threw black paint into the vat of acid containing the anomaly. In its subdued and tortured state, the creature did not react. Once at a safe distance and out of the creature's eyesight, Clef pushed the button to collapse the tank of acid and watched as the reptile thrashed about, roaring and spilling paint everywhere as it made its way out of the cell door. Soon, the blood of some unfortunate personnel would join the black.

Yes. This was him. He was pure chaos and destruction. This was the self-expression the voice had commanded of him. He could feel it. A bit longer and he'd be done.

At some point during Clef's artistic rampage, in which six more SCPs were released and he faced a strange lack of interference, something was said over the intercom. Clef scarcely registered it. At some point, cameras, microphones, and a harness were put on his body by other members of the SCP personnel. He didn't notice. At the end of twenty minutes, the SCPs were once again contained and Clef found himself painting a door of white on a wall painted black. When he was finished, he stepped through the door.

From the control room, several researchers were gathered to watch through Clef's cameras. Through it, they saw a world of four colours: red, black, yellow, and white- though Clef was, for the first time, seeing it in every colour he knew of and some he didn't. The realm's citizens, all clad in masquerade masks, were strange and alien. Some even floated as though through water. The world's structures and geometries were downright bizarre. The camera on Clef's chest heaved as he took several sighs of relief. And then he noticed the equipment that had been attached to him.

"Ha, you thought you'd try to pull me back if I went local, huh? Well, I'm not going to be held back by a stupid leash."

"Okay, let's reel him back," the head researcher ordered through a walkie-talkie. On the Foundation's side of the door, three Mobile Task Force members began to heave the cord that connected Clef to the real world. Clef fell backward, but then he used his reality-warping powers to undo the harness. The three guards, suddenly pulling at an empty leash instead of against a man, fell backward.

"What do we do?" asked a scientist from the control room.

"We learn what we can learn from the cameras," said the lead scientist, "and if need be, use our last resort."

Clef strolled through the city, stopping occasionally to gawk at bizarre art or to chat with a strange beings in an unrecognizable tongue and be spoken back to in English. About ten minutes into his sightseeing, a fifteen-foot-tall being cloaked in robes and wrapped in chains melted out of the cobblestone road and appeared before him.

Alto Clef, the being said. Its voice was androgynous and otherworldly and threatening. Clef remembered it as the voice from his dreams. Welcome. I'm glad that you've accepted my invitation. You are not any ordinary guest here. We know of your powers. And we know of your love for violence. We have a special role for you here.

The being stomped the ground, and a portal leading to swirling cosmos opened up beneath it. You see, for people to crave legacy, immortality, and all else that our world depends on for its new members, they must fear death and destruction. We will make sure you have time to create, but we would also like to instruct you in the ways of using your powers for destruction. You'll have a role here in destroying worlds and causing calamities to keep living beings aware of their fragility. Do you agree to this arrangement?

Clef took a moment to absorb what he was hearing. Then he smiled and laughed so hard he could barely collect himself. "Yes," he said. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" His trepidations towards violence were gone- he was no longer one of mortal creation, so why should their destruction frighten him?

"Clef," came the voice of a female researcher through the speaker attached to his chest. "This being might be tricking you. You have a pleasant life at the foundation. Come back. We'll even re-negotiate your contract if you want, we-"

"Shove it!"

"Very well. We'll have to turn to other measures, then," came the transmission as Clef threw it on the ground and stepped on it until it broke.

The ambassador guided Clef along a cobblestone road. About five minutes into their walk, they heard the sound of stampeding footsteps. Clef looked back and saw easily a hundred Mobile Task Force soldiers running in, guns at the ready, but the ambassador stepped forward and, with a flick of his wrist, caused them all to fall down dead.

"Ha. I guess that's the best they got," Clef said, turning back to follow the ambassador.

"Dad," came a female voice from behind Clef. He audibly gasped when he saw where it had come from. Standing amongst the corpses was a blonde teenage girl with furry goat legs and horns- his daughter. And she looked ready to cry. "Dad. Please come back. If you don't come back, I'll stay here."

Clef's mouth hung open as he took in the implications of that. "Honey... you have to leave. You destroy everything man-made, and this place is only made of man-made materials. There's nothing natural under it! You'd make this place fall apart. We'd all die."

The girl clenched her jaw as tears ran down her face. "If I go back without you, the foundation will kill me," she said.

"I have to protect this world," said the ambassador. "Will her powers still affect this place if she's dead?"

"Yes!" Clef screamed. "It'll make them go haywire! She'd destroy everything in a minute if you kill her, so don't even think about it!" It was a lie. Clef didn't know what would happen if his daughter died.

Grass was growing at his daughter's feet, disturbing the cobblestones. That was Clef's final straw. He ran, grabbing his daughter's hand and sprinting for the door he'd opened and thankfully not painted shut. They were through the door before Clef dared to look back.

The ambassador was not in a rush. It stepped slowly toward the door, and once it got there, pulled a paint bucket and brush out of thin air and painted the portal closed.

It made sense, Clef supposed. He was a threat to Alagadda's existence. There'd been no need to stop him from leaving.

With information on Alagadda acquired, there was no need for Clef to learn about the art of film. His mentorship was ended and he returned to his post at the Foundation. The very day he was repositioned, Clef bought himself a set of paints. He'd make something to earn his way back to the unending world of Alagadda, and this time the Foundation wouldn't interfere.

#scp foundation #alto clef #alagadda #the ambassador #scp 166 #my fanfiction

[hermajestyimher]

What advice would you give to young women who want to start their own brand/business?

I'm on this journey myself right now. What I've been learning alongside this process is that it is crucial to not get stuck in the ideation phase overthinking every small detail and to take small actions toward our goals.

Depending on the kind of business you are looking to start, look for ways to create branding around it with the resources you have available and seek mentorship and inspiration from people who are doing similar things. For example, in my case, one of the things that pushed me to start my own venture was seeing so many people around me be so successful by owning and operating their own companies. These are people who are pulling in millions or close to it in revenue and who have and are working towards making a name for themselves. Surrounding myself with those individuals has meant that I am inspired by them to also fulfill my own professional destiny on my own terms, understanding that they are nothing special and I also possess the tools to succeed with my own ventures.

Also, having specific but realistic goals with my business has been important for me because it gives us clear guidelines of the things we have to do to reach certain milestones and grow with our businesses without feeling too much pressure over the outcome. A small step is a step at the end of the day, and they are worth celebrating regardless of how diminutive they may seem on the surface.

#asks and answers #entrepreneur

[xxenia14]

The Barça Trio

Summary: Y/n who plays for Barça Femeni and Pedri are in a relationship and when Gavi reaches the first team they take him under their wing.

Story written by AI/ChatGPT because I am the most uncreative person this planer ever witnessed 🤣 don‘t like ChatGPT written stories, don‘t read it. Hate messages and name calling is unnecessary!

Y/N had always been passionate about football. From a young age, she dreamed of playing for FC Barcelona Femeni, and her hard work and dedication had paid off. Now a prominent member of the team, she felt a sense of fulfillment with every game she played.

Off the field, Y/N had found love with Pedri, an immensely talented player in the FC Barcelona men's team. Their relationship was built on a deep understanding and shared love for the sport. Pedri admired Y/N's skill and determination, and Y/N appreciated Pedri's support and encouragement.

One day, news spread throughout the club that a young player named Gavi was making his way up the ranks. Y/N had heard whispers about his exceptional talent and was eager to see him in action. As fate would have it, Gavi joined the first team and soon found himself navigating the challenges and demands of professional football.

Y/N and Pedri, having experienced the ups and downs of the game, understood the pressure that Gavi would face. They knew how vital it was for a young player to have guidance and support both on and off the field. With this in mind, they took it upon themselves to take Gavi under their wing, offering him guidance and looking out for him.

At joint training sessions, Y/N would often strike up conversations with Gavi, offering advice on positioning, technique, and mental resilience. She shared stories of her own experiences and how she had overcome obstacles as a female player. Gavi listened intently, soaking up every word of wisdom.

Pedri, too, took Gavi under his wing. He would spend time with him after training, working on specific skills and helping him adjust to the rigorous demands of professional football. Pedri's calm and patient demeanor created a safe space for Gavi to ask questions and seek guidance.

Beyond the football field, Y/N and Pedri made sure Gavi felt welcome and supported within the club. They invited him to dinners, gatherings, and social events, introducing him to their circle of friends and teammates. Gavi quickly became a part of their close-knit group, feeling a sense of belonging that eased his transition into the first team.

As Gavi's performances on the field improved, Y/N and Pedri couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. They had witnessed his growth firsthand and felt joy in seeing him succeed. Gavi, in turn, felt grateful for the unwavering support and guidance he received from Y/N and Pedri. Their presence in his life had made a significant impact, both in his football journey and as individuals.

With Y/N and Pedri's mentorship, Gavi blossomed into a vital player for FC Barcelona. The bond between the three of them grew stronger with each passing day, built on trust, shared experiences, and a mutual love for the game.

Together, Y/N, Pedri, and Gavi formed an unbreakable trio. They supported one another through the triumphs and challenges that came with their respective careers. Their friendship extended beyond the boundaries of the football pitch, reminding them that, with the right people by your side, anything was possible.

As they continued their journey with FC Barcelona, Y/N, Pedri, and Gavi knew that their bond would endure. Their story became an inspiration, highlighting the importance of supporting and uplifting one another in pursuit of their dreams. And together, they thrived, creating a legacy that would forever be etched in the history of FC Barcelona.

#pablo gavira #pablo gavi #pablo martín páez gavira #pedri gonzalez #pedri/gavi #pedri x you #pedriandgavi #pedri x y/n #pablo gavi x y/n #gavi #fc barça #fc barca #fc barcelona

[th3dailyoverload]

Navigating Career Exploration and Development

The journey of career exploration and development can be both exciting and daunting. From choosing a career path that aligns with your passions to climbing the corporate ladder, there are numerous challenges and opportunities that lie ahead. I recently started a new position and thought this would be something cool to blog about, let's delve in, maybe I can share a trick or two that I have learned.

Embrace Your Ambitions and Passions

As a young adult, it's crucial to embrace your ambitions and passions when embarking on your career journey. Don't be afraid to dream big and pursue goals that truly resonate with you, just don't reach too high and get greatly disappointed. Whether it's climbing the corporate ladder, starting your own business, or making a difference in your community, let your passions be your guiding light as you navigate your career path. My most practical example is how I had always told myself that I'd probably go into accounting, it was too obvious because I loved the subject, as a career but my passion for publishing and graphic design lead me to study publishing and here I am 4 years down the line working in the field, scheduling my own times and still doing further education. I wouldn't have been here if I stuck to the ambitions forced on me by my parents, follow your own aspirations and passions because at the end of the day your parents won't be there when you have to go into the office for a 09h00 to 17h00.

Seek Mentorship and Guidance

One of the most valuable assets in navigating career exploration and development is mentorship. Seek out successful individuals in your field who can offer guidance, support, and advice as you make your way into adulthood. A mentor can provide valuable insights, help you navigate challenges, and offer a fresh perspective on your career goals, and even potentially get you special opportunities that you wouldn't have any other way else. I never understood the importance of a mentor until I had one, try it out. You're bound to learn something new or if not at leats you've started networking.

Invest in Your Professional Development

Investing in your professional development is key to advancing in your career as a young adult. Take advantage of training programs, LinkedIn Learning offers a lot of free courses that also add certificates and achievements onto your LinkedIn profile, workshops, seminars, and networking events to enhance your skills, expand your knowledge, stay ahead of the curve in your industry and potentially meet future employers. Continuous learning and growth are essential for success in today's fast-paced world, what you needed to know yesterday is not what you need to know today.

Build a Strong Personal Brand

As a young adult entering the workforce, building a strong personal brand can set you apart from the competition and boost your career prospects. Invest time in crafting a polished resume, optimising your LinkedIn profile, and showcasing your skills and accomplishments in a professional manner. This is the most fun part about entering the career world, you get a fresh new slate and you can decide to be perceived in any way that you wish to be, for me I went for the personal brand that I'd always seen myself as which was professional, minimalistic, tech-efficient and graphically inclined. Your personal brand is a reflection of who you are, how you want to be perceived and what you bring to the table— so make it what you want!

Network, Network, Network

Networking is a powerful tool for career exploration and development as a young adult. Make an effort to expand your professional network, connect with like-minded individuals, and build meaningful relationships that can open doors to new opportunities. This can be by simply connecting with everyone in your publishing module class on LInkedIn if you're planning to potentially go into the field professionally. Attend industry events, join professional associations, and leverage social media to network with influencers and thought leaders in your field. And more especially, DO NOT BURN ANY BRIDGES. Specifically for me, the publishing field is the size of a private company's offices and that's for the nation, meaning you probably interacted with everyone at least once in your life so you'll have to be nice and professional with everyone because you might end up working with them at some point.

Embrace Challenges and Take Risks

As you navigate the ups and downs of career exploration and development, don't be afraid to embrace challenges and take risks along the way. Stepping out of your comfort zone, trying new things, and taking calculated risks can lead to growth, learning, and new opportunities for personal and professional development. Embrace uncertainty as a chance to learn and grow stronger. In conclusion, career exploration and development as a young adult can be a transformative and empowering journey.

Rejection is not Permanent

If I had a R10 for every time I was rejected by a potential employer, I'd be able to take a solo trip to Cape Town. Job rejection can be disheartening and lead to feelings of frustration and disappointment. It's important to remember that rejection is not permanent and does not define your worth or capabilities. Instead of dwelling on the rejection, use it as an opportunity for growth and self-reflection. Take the time to assess your strengths and areas for improvement, seek feedback from the employer if possible, and use the experience to refine your job search strategies. Remember that rejection is a natural part of the job search process and that each rejection brings you one step closer to finding the right opportunity that aligns with your skills, goals and passions. Stay resilient, maintain a positive mindset, and believe in your abilities – the right job is out there waiting for you.

Remember, the sky's the limit for when entering the workforce, so dream big, work hard, and never stop striving for your career goals. Good luck on your journey ahead!

#adulting #th3dailyoverload #advice #growing up #judgement free #life advice #safe space #career exploration #career development #career advice #careeradvancement #job hunting #jobseekers #job search

[vespersposts]

My sister's dentist has under his mentorship a junior dentist of her age (and mine since she's 13 months younger than me), who has a monster crush on her. He's a nice guy, both in behaviour and appearance.

I, who accompany her to every appointment as a good worried big sister, spend my mornings watching them dance, laughing with the main dentist behind their back cause they're hilarious.

He is showering her with compliments at every step, playing the rampant professional to impress her and dropping questions. "You're my favourite patient forever" , "you're so brave cause you're not scared", " you must be so clever to work for the University " this was this morning's refrain.

My sis doesn't care at all, because she hasn't noticed anything, basically she never does. She's there for her teeth, so it's all about the teeth.

He's trying his best poor soul, but my sis doesn't perceive health workers as people, let alone him.

I spotted her telling him " I couldn't stand watching down people's mounth every day for living, it's gross" and he, with puppy eyes replied "But I had to get a degree to do that ".

Poor baby.

I'm curious because the root canal cure will be finished in two sessions and I can't wait to see how this soap opera of ours will end.

I'm rooting for you, young dentist.

At least you're kind.

#days with v #vdiary

[battlekilt]

*sobssssss lovingly at the brotherly friendship they write between Cody and Obi-Wan*

Obi-Wan loves this dorky young man, so much. He has loved seeing him open up from a shy, obedient yes-man, to an honest person that showed his Fett-itude in private, and still zealously guards the respect others have invested in Obi-Wan.

Sadly, I feel like Cody is what Obi-Wan sometimes wishes Anakin had been. Or... what he thinks he wishes Anakin would be. Truthfully, it is that spiteful defiance hidden under his Commander's armor that he adores so much—the things Cody and Anakin have in common.

I have to watch myself to keep from going off on a meta-fueled tangent comparing Cody and Anakin in Obi-Wan's eyes. But, there is a lot.

Both come from very tightly controlled places to curate obedience out of the subjects. Cody's was less about fear, and just militant mental conditioning into nearly dogmatic subservience.

Oddly enough, Anakin may have had a detonator chip in his body, it was revealed that Cody's chip was the most deadly, for its target wasn't the body of its subject, but far... far more. The fact that the Clone's chip was in his mind is no short-order hindsight; it is also a metaphor for what set Cody and Anakin apart.

Anakin had a much easier time letting his defiance out, but he is the product of chattel slavery that isn't so concerned with convincing the enslaved parties to be active participants in their own enslavement.

The military requires a militant, cultist mental conditioning that does strip pre-established self-agency, and remakes the subject to fit the image it requires. Hence, the prim Clone Commander with the neat little military haircut; the only outward sign of his individuality in the scar he earned—somehow.

I was in a server for a bit, where my characterization of Cody needing Obi-Wan's mentorship and permission to be a mischief-maker in his own right was called into questioning—labeled infantilization. It disturbed me, and upset me. Not because it was my headcanon, but because it showed a privileged position experienced by the part, who appeared to me to lack the experience of the result of military-cultish mental conditioning.

The military tells their subjects what to do. When to eat, when to sleep, when to shower, when to dress, what to dress in, what weapons to use, where to go—

The list is endless.

Our own soldiers often struggle to assimilate back into civilians when they are out of the military.

Someone like Cody?

Hell yeah. He'd probably need to be heckled and needled to do silly things we'd take for granted. That is the result of such thorough indoctrination as it takes to produce a professional military to the caliber of the GAR.

There is a lot of victim blaming in that we see signs of indoctrination struggle against health enabling by others. That indoctrination is so evident in the Clones, and is one of the primary storylines that we begin to truly see unfold out of their themes in TCW. To remove that from someone, like Cody, and call the exploration of such a theme/phenomenon infantilization is... the genuinely problematic behavior.

Someone like Cody would absolutely need someone to mentor him in ways he lacks because he, like all Clones, would not be a well-rounded person. The level of obedience required of these men wouldn't permit genuine experience nor the expression of self-agency that would make them well-rounded individuals. They aren't supposed to be individuals. From the onset, it made clear that it was the Jedi who encouraged the individuality the Clones came to let out of their shells.

Just to start the process of deprogramming that level of indoctrination, it would take mentorship, guidance, encouragement, and ultimately? All the things that a good big brother with life experience would have.

Me? I love Obi-Wan being that older brother to Cody. This soft-faced, doleful eyed Jedi in robes, the one to tell his armored, hard-faced, ornery Clone Commander with a sun on his plate to... do something small, for himself. To have a bit of fun that has consequences—nothing big.

Just... Cody hates that one kaf mug? He's told Kenobi a thousand times that open containers are not supposed to be in the tactical room?

Knock it off the table, Cody. Do it, Cody. Now Kenobi is bringing it where he shouldn't, just to irritate Cody. He has to encourage this seemingly full-grown man, who has received more military education than most professional officers that have been in service for a lifetime, just to...

Knock it off the table, Cody. Prove to why it shouldn't be in this room.

Obi-Wan spent so much time trying to get Anakin to conform to the Order's ways, mostly because it was all he knew to do; it was what he had to do with himself.

But this Clone? This man of a million identical faces? To encourage him to BE defiant is, in my esteem, a testament of Obi-Wan's true measure of a man.

This is me cutting this short, believe it or not.

I love Obi-Wan being Cody's older brother, his mentor, his teacher... so... SO MUCH.

#clone: cody #au: rexx #kilt's clonely headcanons #// i think it is ultimately why i cannot ship these two characters #// for me it detracts from this parallel theme for Cody & Obi-Wan & Anakin #// and it does go back to Rex #// because we have some indication that Anakin also taught Rex to be more free spirited #kilt's clonely meta #jedi: kenobi #jedi: skywalker #headcanon: anakin & cody

[mothersrevenge]

I’m sure they’re out there somewhere, but wondering if there any mentorship programs accessible for young black/poc who want to pursue unconventional or niche creative careers. I really would like some guidance and clarity on what professional paths are available to me and which I should be pursuing.

[cityballetofhouston89]

Enchanting Elegance Exploring the City Ballet of Houston

Houston, Texas, a city known for its vibrant culture, diverse population, and dynamic arts scene, is home to one of the most captivating treasures of the ballet world: the City Ballet of Houston. Established with a mission to inspire, educate, and entertain audiences through the artistry of dance, this renowned company has been enchanting audiences for years with its grace, precision, and unparalleled performances.

Founded by visionary artistic director, Sarah Johnson, the City Ballet of Houston has emerged as a beacon of excellence in the ballet community. Under Johnson's leadership, the company has garnered acclaim for its innovative repertoire, commitment to artistic integrity, and dedication to nurturing emerging talent.

At the heart of the City Ballet of Houston's success lies its unwavering dedication to artistic excellence. With a roster of world-class dancers hailing from diverse backgrounds and training traditions, the company embodies a rich tapestry of styles and influences, seamlessly blending classical technique with contemporary flair. From timeless classics like Swan Lake and The Nutcracker to cutting-edge contemporary works, each performance is a testament to the company's commitment to pushing the boundaries of artistic expression.

Central to the City Ballet of Houston's artistic vision is its commitment to fostering the next generation of dancers and choreographers. Through its comprehensive education and outreach programs, the company provides aspiring young artists with access to world-class training, mentorship, and performance opportunities. From community workshops and school residencies to pre-professional training programs, the City Ballet of Houston is dedicated to nurturing the talents of tomorrow's dance stars.

One of the hallmarks of the City Ballet of Houston's programming is its commitment to diversity and inclusion. Recognizing the transformative power of dance to unite people across cultures and communities, the company actively seeks to reflect the rich tapestry of Houston's population on stage. Through collaborations with local artists, choreographers, and musicians, the company celebrates the diversity of the human experience, creating performances that resonate with audiences of all backgrounds.

Beyond its performances on stage, the City Ballet of Houston is deeply invested in enriching the cultural fabric of the Houston community. Through partnerships with schools, community centers, and cultural organizations, the company brings the joy of dance to audiences of all ages and backgrounds. From free performances in public spaces to interactive workshops and masterclasses, the City Ballet of Houston is committed to making the transformative power of dance accessible to all.

As the City Ballet of Houston continues to captivate audiences with its mesmerizing performances and commitment to artistic excellence, its impact extends far beyond the stage. Through its dedication to education, outreach, and community engagement, the company is shaping the future of dance in Houston and beyond, inspiring generations of artists and audiences alike to dream, create, and connect through the beauty of ballet.

In a city renowned for its diversity, dynamism, and cultural vibrancy, the City Ballet of Houston stands as a shining example of artistic excellence and innovation. With its enchanting performances, commitment to education, and dedication to inclusion, the company continues to inspire, uplift, and delight audiences around the world, proving that the power of dance knows no bounds.

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CITY BALLET OF HOUSTON

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🦇 Stars Collide Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

❝ "You’re more than your sexuality. So much more.” ❞

❓ #QOTD Who was your celebrity crush growing up OR favorite artist as a teen? ❓ 🦇 After her divorce, pop star sensation Eden Sands' latest album lacked the spark fans and the industry have expected of her after 20 years. Meanwhile, Anna Moss, her fellow Grammy nominee, is beginning to rise, though people in the industry don't take her as seriously as she hoped. To rekindle that spark, Eden invites Anna to join her on stage during her Grammy performance, only for fans to focus on the spark between them. Following the unexpected popularity of #Edanna, Eden invites Anna to open her upcoming tour. The more time they spend together, the more they realize that chemistry exists off-stage, too. Is there something more to what they're feeling?

[ Find my full review below or on Goodreads | Storygraph | Literal ]

💜 Rachel Lacey does a wonderful job at exploring topics of self-discovery and identity. Eden and Anna's love story also gives a respectable nod to many realities of life as a celebrity. As a young star, Eden is forced to mature quickly. Allowing the adults in her life to make major decisions on her behalf stole Eden's control, leading her to claim that control in extreme ways as an adult. Fans have mobbed Eden, tugging at her hair, getting in her personal space, and claiming some unspoken right to flash cameras in her face, leading Eden to further seclude herself under the guise of safety. So much of her young life was controlled that she lost the chance to explore her identity beyond the pop star on stage. Meanwhile, Anna is forever seen as a teen character she played (while in her 20s), prompting no one to take her seriously. One of the things I loved most about this book was the mentorship between the two women. While Eden helped Anna recognize the control she could have over her career, Anna helped Eden recognize who she was and the life she could have outside of the spotlight. A lot of the conflicts in this story were internal; Eden's self-discovery and sexual awakening, the words of a controlling and toxic ex haunting Anna. Eden and Anna helped one another through their self-growth.

💜 In my favorite scenes, Anna coaxes Eden to talk through her thoughts (finally, a sapphic book that avoids using miscommunication to simmer the story in tension). Anna reminds Eden, "You don’t have to label yourself before you’re ready . . . or ever, if you don’t want to. How you identify is so personal, and you’re under no obligation to share it with anyone.” For many people, recognizing who they are--labels or not--is a lonely process. Anna never pushes or rushes Eden, but she does help Eden work through her concerns. You're never too late to decide who you are. I didn't navigate my own sexuality until after college, but I wish I'd had a friend to help me understand it, the way Eden had Anna. Even when their relationship blossoms into more, their friendship never wavers. Rachel Lacey does an incredible job at describing how out of tune you can feel for so much of your life, only for the static to clear because of an event, a realization, or a person. I've met that person and I can say with certainty that it can change everything.

🦇 Though I loved the internal conflicts both MCs had to navigate to mature and develop, the lack of strong external factors seems unrealistic. The major external factors are the mobbing fans and Anna's ex; the latter of which creates the only major blow-out scene in the entire novel. While we see Anna mature throughout the story (both in how she treats Eden and in her career growth), her maturity unravels in that scene. Eden, who is usually steadfast in her composure, steps beyond the professional veneer she wears in a moment of immature jealousy. That scene, presented in the last few chapters, felt like a rushed, inserted source of conflict before a HEA ending. Even Anna's ex felt out of character in these scenes, jumping from one extreme to the next, brought in as a last-minute trigger for Anna's insecurities about her relationship with Eden. There were other external conflicts to explore that would have strengthened the story. For example, the media is never posed in a negative light (as if the media wouldn't distort the truth or paparazzi wouldn't mob both popstars). What if Eden was only enamored by the situation (a concern that could have crept alongside Anna's other doubts)? During the second half of the novel, Eden and Anna were surrounded by so much BLISS that I kept waiting for a real problem to challenge their relationship. The strongest relationships navigate problems and survive, all the stronger for it.

🦇 Recommended to anyone in need of a warm and fuzzy romance read. Ideal for fans of sexy slow burns, workplace romances, and celebrity romances.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🩷 Bisexual / Pan Leads 💙 💞 Sapphic Romance 🎤 Workplace Romance / Forced Proximity 🎙️ Dual POV 🎵 Slow Burn ⏳ Age Gap 💗 Friends to Lovers 🏳️‍⚧️ Transgender Rep ❤️‍🔥 Sexual Awakening 🌶️ Spice

#books #book lovers #book blog #sapphic books #sapphic romance #queer book recs #queer fiction #queer books #queer #book reviews #book review #batty about books #battyaboutbooks #book: stars collide #author: rachel lacey