#so i have to feed myself without supervision

[emmyrosee]

oikawa you say?? my favourite character in the whole entire series? you don’t understand how happy I am to hear you say that bc I’ve been sitting on this idea for so long not sure if I should send it in or not BC I WASN’T SURE IF YOU WERE INTO OIKAWA THAT MUCH 😭 …alright I’m gonna call myself out a bit with this one. BUT ITS OKAY ITS FINE.

hype man oikawa. he’s. so. good. at. hyping. you. up!!!!

you don’t ever feed your own ego so HE DOES IT FOR U. like, let’s say you managed to accomplish something (big or small, an accomplishment is an accomplishment) and it becomes a big point of pride for you, like huge, and you don’t want to show it that much cause??? you don’t want to come off as if you’re bragging!!! but oikawa sees through it and totally just feeds into it to see you smile and stand a bit taller. like out of the blue on a random Tuesday he’d just kiss you on the cheek and bring it up and just 😭🫶🏻

I’m so soft for him emmy. he’s so proud and LOVESSSS it when he sees that you’re proud of yourself too. he’s safe he won’t judge you at all for being just slightly prideful in whatever you’ve done/are doing. HE GETS IT!!!!! (cough that one scene in season 2 with ushijima) HE KNOWS YOU’D DO THE SAME FOR HIM!!!!

MWAH ILY💋 HAPPY MILESTONE!!!!

ARE YOU TRYNA KILL ME?

Oikawa is the best hype man you could ask for, because he knows how good praise feels and how bad degradation feels, so he’s always the one to take all your accomplishments- be it taking a shower after a bad day, to getting a promotion at work- and make them the biggest deal he ever could.

“UHHH BABY!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU, THIS IS A BIG DEAL!” He always says, cradling your face in his big hands and beaming down at you with the most pleased twinkle in his eye. You merely shrug and giggle softly, which he dramatically gasp, “are you NOT completely impressed with yourself? Because I will make you be.”

“No, no, I am!” You assure, nuzzling into his warm palm. “It’s just… it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big-“ he cuts of his repeating with a dramatic sigh and playful scratch of his head, “babe, you do realize this is something you accomplished. This is another checkmark on how great and smart you are- not to mention how hot-“

“I don’t think this has anything to do with being hot,” you snort.

But Tooru doesn’t let it go. Nay nay.

The next morning, the smell of fresh fruit and baked goods filled the air (obviously from the store because he’s banned from cooking without your watchful supervision), and you smile in the warmth of your pillow and slowly sit up with a stretch, swinging your legs over the bed and shuffling to the kitchen.

“BABYYYY!” He beams as he sees you, dropping the muffin he was holding to immediately pull you into a hug, peppering your face with kisses. You giggle at the tickly feeling and smile at him, only to pout as he pulls away to pick up the muffin. “Did you sleep well? I mean, I assumed you did, because you were drooling on me, so…”

“I do not drool!” You snicker, but your further teases die on your tongue when he makes his way to the counter and grabs a thick bouquet of flowers, your cheeks blazing at how serious he finds this and is encouraging you to do the same. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” you mewl, walking back into his arms. He wraps his free one around you and kisses your head repeatedly.

“Yes, I did,” he whispers. “Don’t be humble. You’ve earned this. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Tears sting at your eyes at his words, and you burrow into him deeper, taking selfish inhales of his clean scent and fresh cologne, the closeness of the flowers adding a sweetness to your man.

“Come on,” he encourages, pulling away once again to get you to enjoy your breakfast. “I got you some pastries, grabbed you a breakfast sandwich, cut up some fruit, and I grabbed you one of those smoothies you like so much.” He says all of this with pride and a broad smile, pulling out a chair for you to sit in, “here. I’ll make you a plate.”

“I can do that,” you giggle.

“I don’t want you to. Today is all about celebrating you- who would I be if I didn’t pamper you today?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” you hum, watching him move around the kitchen and blushing slightly as he winks at you. He puts down the flowers and gets busy making you a plate of breakfast. “Hey, Tooru?”

“Yeah babe?”

“Thank you. For letting me have this. And being yourself.”

He smiles and chuckles to himself, scooping you a big helping of fruit.

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna always take care of you and your accomplishments.

“You deserve it.”

#AS YOU FINISH YOUR 2ND YEAR OF UNI POOKIE!!! #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x gn!reader #oikawa tooru x reader fluff #oikawa tooru imagine #oikawa tooru haikyuu #oikawa #oikawa fluff #oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader fluff #oikawa x gn!reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Wooooops I let my brain atrophy again

#I started the day without a plan and the folks have been out all day #so instead of doing anything productive/creative I just rotted #I did some stretching at least #but it really doesn't feel good atm #genuinely my muscles haven't bounced back from that weird virus I had in Feb #and I probs need to work em out a bit more to start building the strength/flexibility again but it's hard and unpleasant and i don't like it #baby steps i guess #anyway horror of horrors folks are staying out even longer #so i have to feed myself without supervision #and who knows how long I'm gonna put that off #I don't feel very hungry rn but I should orepare food before I start feeling the hunger #but if I can't feel the hunger I cba with food #fuck my stupid baka life #think today's a bit of a write off #mr. bees speaks

[ghostlywhiskey]

hiii nic hope youre having a nice weekend :) just wanted to second the anon about loving your writing, including any fluff you write!!

this is nothing more than unhinged thoughts in my head today (your work has really made me love price on another level) but i was thinking vaguely stay-at-home-dad price vibes? ofc he isnt the SAHD type, but even for a saturday afternoon while the missus is having a girls day, coming back to him feeding the kiddos, dish towel on the shoulder :(

anyways just wanted to share that fluff slaps and men being competent with babies is everything lmao

hi lovie! i hope you are having a relaxing sunday :) and thank you so so much, mwah! and you are so right, john price is not a SAHD, but duty calls when the missus needs a break or time to run errands without the hassle of rallying four kids.

john didn't realize the chaos that was planning dinner for four kids. the three boys running in and out the door to the backyard that was in the kitchen while he was preparing dinner, your daughter sat in the high chair next to price while he stood by the stove. quietly, she watched her brothers run back and forth while eating the goldfish scattered on her tray.

and what john didn't realize was that his sons were picky. each one refusing to agree on what the other would suggest they wanted to eat. so, that's how he ended up with a pot of pasta boiling on the stove, chicken fingers and fries cooking in the oven, and a cheeseburger cooking in the pan. the little girl being the easiest as he would just take something from all the other meals and give her a combination of foods.

"you're the easiest, y'know that?" price says softly, the little girl looking up at her father when she realizes he is talking to her, a toothy smile forming on her face.

"crazy brothers." is all she says before putting another goldfish in her mouth and turning her head to watch the second oldest run past.

"relax with the running in the house!" price exclaims, his tone not angry, but rather it is more of a warning. the last thing he needed was a kid with a slash on their forehead or something broken. wiping his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder, he grabs the plates to set them by the stove to easily prep them with each meal.

thinking one of the boys ran out to the front yard when he hears the sensor make a noise, he groans but doesn't look away from the meal preparation. "what did i say about going to the front yard without supervision?" his voice roars through the house, but when he glances up he sees you standing there with a smile on your face.

"think i'm a big girl and can handle myself." you tease back at him, setting your coat on one of the chairs by the counter. glancing at the plates with different meals, you can't help but giggle. "oh, they got you good."

confused, his brows furrow as he finishes the prep and brings his attention back on you.

"what are you talking about?"

walking over to your daughter who is reaching her arms out to you, the little girl clinging to you as you pick her up. "they know i won't cook them separate meals."

the expression on price's face drops to a blank one as he processes what you just said.

"so..." he trails off, glancing at the three different meals and then at the boys who come filing in to the kitchen to make their way to the seats at the counter.

"you were outsmarted." you giggle, looking over at the boys and greet them. three different responses leaving their mouths at the same time.

#john price #dad!price #john price fluff #nic responses #nic talks price

[foster-the-world]

Good timing

Yesterday the girls were bickering and I thought about how they could use some alone time with us. Then one of Rebel's classmates asked if she could join them on a trip to the Science Museum. Perfect. Bee was so excited to have her Dad to herself. At 7am she had already told myself, baby boy and Bee we'd all need to leave soon. She chose to pick out some recipes to cook herself. She's been really eager to cook but its difficult to do without some supervision. She was so happy. We are working on giving her some things she can do alone. Right now she can make pancakes (with some help on the grill but I think soon she'll be 100% alone soon) and mac n cheese. Which feels like a good start for a seven year old. I think we can start doing the meal kits together. She's pretty good reading/following a recipe.

I took baby boy to the Children's museum to meet one of his sweet little friends. Her mom is really nice and loves baby boy. He was up an hour and a half earlier then normal and it showed. We went to the same place last week and he was great. Not so much today. It was much more crowded. He pounds into everything when he's unregulated. He had an accident which is out of the norm for him nowadays. The other Mom wasn't too bothered. Honestly, I don't really like hanging out with other people with him around. He requires too much attention so I end up feeling bad instead of having fun. I would like to hang out with the Mom alone. She's really nice.

Bee had a really great time. The Mom said she was super well behaved.

Ubereats gave us 50% off that we need to use by the 16th - so ordering something we probably don't need right now.

Our first foster daughter's mom texted yesterday to say she only has six dollars and nothing to feed the three kids. She's in a shelter so in theory they do feed them but I don't know how it works. She asked for money or to send something. I did an instant cart. She doesn't have a fridge or oven. Only a shared microwave. She offered to cash app me the $6 but of course I didn't take that. The receptionist at the homeless shelter got rude with the instant cart person- who called in a complaint about her. Which made the receptionist scream at the foster daughters mom. She forgot to ask for dip so said she could get it herself. The only allowed $10 minimum online order. So instead she went to Walgreens to pick some dip up. I acknowledge its not my business to judge anyones spending habits and also can't help but think spending your last six dollars is not a good idea. Admittedly I don't know how you could spend six dollars in a helpful way but its not chip dip. She hopes her food stamps will come on Tuesday. I sent enough for a a few days - but its limited what she can actually make. I sent sandwich deli meat but that can't last without a fridge. Some can soups, spaghettio's, etc. Snacks. She said she had been getting Mcdonalds, chickfila, etc. No idea where she would get money for that. Her youngest recently turned one. I hope he's still getting formula. I can't imagine sitting in a hotel room with three young kids all day. They are in Times Square - which is no place for children to live. They can walk to a playground but its not particularly close. I offered for her to come here for a hot shower and laundry. I'll try to go with them to the Children's museum as we have free admission. Anyway, its hard to not want to help and also I don't want to be overly involved. Our former foster daughter is living with her Grandmother.

[bi-bard]

Maybe There's No Answer Here, At Least One We're Ready to Hear - Jay Halstead Imagine [Chicago PD]

Title: Maybe There's No Answer Here, At Least One We're Ready to Hear

Pairing: Jay Halstead X Reader

Based On: In the Meantime

Word Count: 913 words

Warning(s): mentions of separation

Summary: Jay and (Y/n) planned for forever. However, no one can plan for everything. Now, Jay begs for one night of normalcy before everything falls apart.

Author's Note: This is super short, but I think it gets the job done.

Part One of "April" [Release Date: 5/3/2023]

Part Two of "April" [Release Date: 5/5/2023]

YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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

Endings were always hard to accept.

Good or bad, there was always a small sense of denial that something was finally coming to a close.

I wish that my ending was good.

I had let myself believe that it was going to be.

I got comfortable. I got comfortable calling Jay's place home. I got comfortable waking up next to him, cooking with him, doing chores with him. I got comfortable being loved by him.

And now, I was forced to watch whatever future I imagined with Jay crumble in front of me. All of the broken pieces now sat in cardboard boxes and various bags. And suddenly, the ending was far more real than it had ever been before.

I heard the floor creak behind me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

Jay and I had been largely silent while I packed. It was rare for our place to be so quiet. No talking, no music, no TV show playing in the background. Nothing to distract us from the inevitable.

"Kim's coming by tomorrow morning to help me get everything out," I muttered.

I didn't want to spend another night there. It was simply my only option at this point. I had been planning to sleep on the couch for the night. I had been for a while at that point. Jay complained about it, but I didn't care. Not at that point.

"Do you want some dinner," Jay asked.

"I'll eat later," I replied.

"(Y/n)-"

"You don't need to take care of me, Jay," I stopped him, turning to face him properly. "I can feed myself. I don't need your supervision-"

"It's not for you," he snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's for me."

I had to bite back the urge to say something along the lines of "at least you can finally admit that."

"Tomorrow... everything's going to be... different," he explained. "I just... I want one more normal night before that. I don't want to try to fix everything or convince you to stay or anything. I just want to have one more night where I don't have to think about living without you around."

He had spent a long time in denial. So had I.

Does anyone ever easily accept that a relationship is ending? Or that it ever needs to?

"Fine," I mumbled. "What did you have in mind?"

His shoulders dropped a bit before he replied, "I can order something."

"You know what I get from our usual places," I said. "I'm fine with anything."

He just nodded and walked off.

I sat down on the couch as he called whatever place he chose. I took a moment to look around the room.

It was strange. It was still the same place, but it looked completely foreign to me. There were empty spots on the wall where my stuff had been hanging up. There were movies missing from the shelf. There were throw blankets that were now tucked away in one of my boxes, mainly guarding my mugs.

It all felt so... wrong. Like seeing your face flipped in a photo. Still the same but not how you were used to seeing it.

Jay came out to sit with me a few minutes later.

He looked different too.

He looked tired. Weighed down. I wanted to believe that after this, he would go back to the way he had been before. The same man that had left that cup of coffee on my desk. Our relationship had become a weight on both of us. Too heavy to hold onto without hurting ourselves. No matter how much we both wanted it.

"Wanna watch a movie," Jay asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Sure," I nodded.

I don't remember what movie we picked that night.

I don't remember paying attention.

We stayed up pretty late that night. We didn't talk much. Mostly small comments about what we were watching.

We watched a few movies.

We ate dinner side-by-side on that couch.

When that was done, Jay grabbed some ice cream from the freezer for us to share.

It was so strange.

We hadn't experienced such a calm night like that in a long time. It felt like it had been months since we had a night end with no argument or snarky comments.

I'd like to believe that we both pushed any negative thoughts away for the time being. We were mourning the loss of whatever we had; there was no reason to disturb that by yelling at each other.

After Jay went to bed, I spent ages staring up at the ceiling of the apartment.

I felt my eyes fill with tears.

I knew that I couldn't stay.

Not right now. Nothing would change if I stayed.

We were at different points in our lives. We had different needs than what the other person could provide.

And avoiding that was going to hurt both of us in the long run.

But I could handle the avoidance for a night.

Maybe Jay and I spent that night trying to ignore the reality of the situation. Maybe neither one of us wanted to think about all of the reasons that our relationship fell apart the way it did.

But maybe we didn't need to.

Maybe we had been through enough fighting and yelling and talking.

Maybe it wasn't a state of denial. It was just the first step towards acceptance.

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#x reader #imagine #fanfiction #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd x reader #one chicago x reader #one chicago fanfiction #one chicago imagine

[anastasiapullingteeth]

Calm. Down. Stay.

{Or The Things I Learned While Training My Reactive Dog}

My submission for this year’s @aggressivelyarospec’s Aggressively Arospectacular event! **Disclaimer: this is not a guide on how to train a reactive dog. It’s just me talking about my own experience.** [CW for mentions of COVID, anxiety, disordered eating and general bad mental health.]

It was August 2020, five months into the COVID lockdown, and I was losing my mind.

I’ve always been introverted. More interested in staying in my comfort zone (home) and indulging in my own activities (lazing around), so as bad as this may sound, lockdown wasn’t really the problem. The previous year and a half of commuting for two hours to get to work, plus years of suffering from insomnia, anxiety, and other debilitating problems were. By the time the pandemic happened, I was walking on a tightrope and the recovery was taking longer than I’d anticipated. That was when my mom, with zero thought put into it I may add, decided we needed a dog and got a month-old puppy.

I’m not one of those people who consider their pets as their actual children, but dogs are, in fact, pretty much like kids in at least one thing: not everyone is prepared to have them, and wanting one is not reason enough to get one. And, boy, I wasn’t prepared.

Given the bad state of mind I was in, the shitty job I had (and still have), and the historical event unfolding in real time, it was safe to say I was barely capable of taking care of myself, let alone a pet, but my mom promised the dog was going to be hers and, since I didn’t have the heart to rehome the puppy, we took her in and named her Quimey (“beautiful” in Mapuche).

I had plenty of dogs while growing up, but Quimey is my first dog as an adult and, although she was supposed to be my mom’s, I’m the one responsible for everything concerning her: I feed her, take her to the vet, walk her, clean after her, pay for everything... It’s a full-time job on top of everything else I already have on my plate but, even though my mom wants to help, she can’t really do much because Quimey has way too much energy and her strength and impulsivity can be dangerous if handled wrong, so I ended up taking up the responsibility myself. How hard could it be, right? It’s a dog. Then, of course, it became way harder.

Due to her chronic illness, my mom couldn’t leave the house during that time between the beginning of the pandemic and the first vaccines, so I was in charge of groceries and anything else she needed. Due to a lot of different factors (particularly that she’d been separated from her mother way too soon), Quimey wasn’t properly socialized when we got her, so, in an attempt to fix this, she often came with me to do errands. 

She’s naturally nervous, so getting out of the house involved a lot of shaking, but nothing too bad to be considered a problem. The walks went okay and, after some time, she even stopped shaking, but then, one day as we waited our turn outside a store, she jumped on a random woman seemingly out of nowhere, scaring her. She didn’t actually bite her or even try to hurt her, but, from that moment on, I was a little wary of taking her with me in case she did it again so I tried to keep her at a safe distance from other people. It seemed to work and I thought we were back at a safe place, but I was wrong.

A couple of months later, Quimey was attacked by a neighbor's dog that’d been left outside without supervision. I managed to pick her up before the dog could do any damage, but, since we couldn’t really avoid him, he tried to attack her on several other occasions for at least a month or so, until the owners saw it and finally kept him inside. Sadly, that was enough to scare Quimey for life and the primary reason her reactivity began. She’s now terribly afraid of strangers and other dogs (particularly small ones) and is literally impossible to take her anywhere without her having what’s basically a panic attack. Trying to revert that as much as possible is what I’ve been aiming for for the past 3 years.

Living in a place that’s not pet friendly and without easy access to trainers and other specialists, having a reactive dog has been a journey, but one that, looking back, has taught me more than I’d expected.

.

Puppies are hard to train, they’re basically just babies, but anyone who’s had a dog before they turn one year old knows that’s nothing compared to the teenage stage. Yes, dogs go through adolescence, just like us, and it’s just as bad as you imagine. If by then you manage to teach them anything, they will forget it. They won’t listen no matter what you do and sometimes will even purposely disobey you. Avoiding shouting becomes a challenge and so far I was failing.

I’m not a person of soft emotions. I’m anxious, impatient, and temperamental, and my anger issues, although not as bad now, are very much something I still struggle with. Over the years, I’ve done my best to manage and redirect those emotions, but having a fearful reactive dog can certainly push you to the edge and test your patience because they’re harder to train and difficult to be with if you lack the knowledge to help them.

In dogs like Quimey, on top of the confusing teenage state, fear takes up their minds when they’re around a trigger and they basically lock themselves in a never-ending fight or flight response; in that scenario, they won’t listen to you not because they’re being disobedient, but because they can’t. Their bodies are fighting for survival and the last thing they need is having you screaming desperately because they’re pulling at the leash or barking, so, in order to get her to calm down, the first thing I had to learn was to be calm myself. What an impossible task! Years and years of trying had proved I couldn’t do it, but I needed to. I had to.

Dogs mirror our emotions; if I wanted to show her there was nothing to fear, I had to believe it first.

.

Dogs, as well as anyone else, are unique and what could work for one won’t do much for others. Each of them has its own process and sometimes it’s ok to just wait for things to pass and manage what you can until it gets better. As a teenager, Quimey was constantly trying to escape, barked at everything that moved, and got up in the middle of the night looking for things to play with or food to steal. It was the worst six months I experienced as a dog owner because all the progress we’d achieved until then was lost. Luckily, my sister, who’s had a similar experience with her own dog, helped me with some advice. Once I understood what was happening, I took a deep breath and established a routine. 

As I said before, Quimey is high energy and needs help managing it in a way that’s safe and productive for her. So we implemented longer walks in a route that felt good for her, added scent games to stimulate her mind, practiced simple commands to control her impulsivity, and ran a few laps at night to burn all that pent-up energy that prevented her from having a full night's sleep. And it's working. Taking the time to assess the situation and try a solution is helping and something that was torturous at the beginning became bearable because I took my time. I was patient. The routine helps Quimey feel safer and more sure of herself because she no longer has to guess what is going to happen next; she is in the process of regaining control and lowering her guard, allowing her to enjoy what is around her instead of trying to run away from everything. And, what’s even more surprising, her routine is also helping me.

I’ve had trouble sleeping since I was a kid thanks to an overactive brain, and switching to full remote work due to the pandemic completely fucked any resemblance of a good sleep schedule I had so far, which wasn’t really impressive, to begin with. Routines had never done anything for me and, sometimes, having to keep a schedule for school or work even worsened my insomnia, which is the exact opposite of what one would expect. Having Quimey with me now, on the other hand, has improved my sleeping habits, not only allowing me to sleep most nights all night but also reducing the nightmares considerably.

Over the years I tried all kinds of tricks to sleep better and other things to lower my anxiety that never worked, but having a routine for Quimey did. What makes this one different? That I have a purpose. Getting better for oneself is what we all should aim for, but sometimes that’s not a good incentive when you don’t consider yourself worth it. Doing things for others can be a good first step towards healing and I already knew it’d worked for me in the past.

A few years ago, what took me out of a very long period of bad mental health was working with kids. Being surrounded by children whose parents neglected them in ways most people would dismiss pushed me to try to be the adult they needed and the one I didn’t have while growing up. I not only had to guide them academically, I also had to be able to be fully there to accompany them in their journey and that’s how I, almost accidentally, broke the streak of abnormal eating patterns and sleepless nights I'd been suffering from since I left college; adopting Quimey had more or less the same effect on me. 

Somewhere along the way I figured she, just like me, struggles to understand the world around her and her fear comes from a place of feeling inadequate to handle it. She needs someone to give her the tools to work around her big emotions and translate the things she still hasn’t fully grasped in terms she’s more familiar with. And, much like with those kids, I had to step in and be the support she needed and the one I didn’t have. And I’m trying to do that every day.

.

Two years later, we still do most of the things we started her routine with, varying between the activities she gets tired of and adding stuff that fits her better as she ages. And we’re doing pretty well now.

I used to wonder what people did with reactive dogs before our generation got so obsessed with them that we started to treat them more like living things and not like objects, but then it occurred to me that, even if you think there’s more of them now because of the way the world has changed, most of the problematic dogs back in the day were abandoned or euthanized without giving them a chance or helping them overcome what had made them that way. Most of them still are even now. That, for better or worse, is part of why I keep trying with Quimey.

There’s something people with reactive dogs say constantly, but that’s worth repeating here: as much as a bad time you’re having trying to train your dog, you can be sure they’re having it way worse. Reactivity can be genetic or a result of past trauma, but whatever the cause is, your dog is struggling to adapt to this world and it’s your job to help them get there.

Quimey’s not perfect and never will be. She gets incredibly anxious if her routine changes, still won’t accept any stranger (human or dog) to get too close to her no matter how friendly, and is afraid of the simplest things like bubbles or the sound of a door closing in the distance. She sometimes has to take natural remedies to help her anxiety when her triggers are just too much to handle and we’re still working on teaching her how to stay alone in the house without a panic attack. But she’s also the most affectionate dog I have ever had.

Learning to accept and love her the way she is and my job as her advocate has strengthened our bond and has helped me accept and work on most of my own struggles as well. Identifying and naming her emotions in order to offer a safe space has created one for me, too, one I never knew how to get before, and that, without realizing, she guided me to.

Working on doing better for her helped me do better for myself as well. 

.

Calm, down, stay… you’re safe now.

.

#AggressivelyArospectacular #essay #HI I'D FORGOTTEN TO POST THIS #lmfaoooo #aas* #aa* #long post #very long post

[yandere-daydreams]

this is the ai anon from before and irenogonffewoonfewon idk how you managed to make my ramblings into an investing narrative, but in that case let me finally put my comp sci courses to good use.

basically, rn we have two major types of ai programs, machine learning and deep learning.

in both cases they use whats called a "black box". the algorithm is given data and a solution and then it has to figure out how to get from a to b.

traditionally, most ai runs on machine learning. we dont teach it how to do something, we just teach it how to learn. its sorta self taught. of course, some algorithms are more supervised than others and often times you give them a sort of base formula to help filter the data they receive (think feeding the ai a bunch of images labelled face and not a face as training data)

but DEEP LEARNING HOLY SHIT. deep learning is why i dont trust ai. humankind went "wow you know what would make our computers faster and smarter. if we modeled them after the human brain". so they built neural networks. with these we give it the problem and a whole bunch of data and say "fix it". the only reason we dont already have sentient sex dolls is because our current programs are only really good at fixing one program at a time (i.e. playing chess, recognizing a face, etc.)

so on a macro level, we know WHAT the program is doing, and we can look at its code and make sure its not like, imploding. but unlike traditional programs you cant really break down the code line by line.

the biggest problem with ai though isnt like the movies where it wants to idk start a robot revolution, but the data we provide is usually flawed. for example, lets say you trained an ai to sort through all your company's job applications to find the best candidates, using the applications that you have accepted in the past as training data. if your company has had decades of misogynistic hiring practices, the ai is going to take that into account. suddenly, its throwing out applications that hint that the applicant is female. spooky right? well, that actually happened with amazon's ai recruiting engine.

the biggest flaw with ai is the data we feed them. they recognize our biases faster than we ever will and then they perpetuate them

now to return to the central topic of. uh. genshin impact sex dolls.

lets assume that the sex dolls are initially trained based on user data, averaged across all users. this would create good starter behavior, right?

except consider the inherent data bias. people who purchase sex dolls are generally gonna be into the kinkier stuff already, which would basically start every android with a one-way ticket to yandere town if their user feeds into that demographic in the slightest. especially the models already intended to be a bit rougher around the edges.

in terms of fixing it, on a global scale, theyd have to add some more protective protcols and sift through the training data to exclude certain outliers or unwanted behavior. on an individual scale, the fastest way would probably be just to reset it to factory conditions.

alright im gonna stop myself before i go feral infodumping again. have a nice day/night :3

ohhhhhhhh so it's kinda like that thing about telling an ai to make ice cream and forgetting to specify that the ice cream shouldn't be made out of, like, babies and puppies and stuff. so, in terms of sex dolls, you'd basically have to specify what a bunch of androids who are already pre-disposed to being a little more violent or a little more possessive can and can't do, down 'can you bruise your user? [no]' and 'are you allowed to dismantle other androids without expressed consent? [no]'.

i also think it'd present a fun new way for androids to get past their safeguards without an apparent glitch. since they're prone to learning from their users and picking up new 'perspectives', safeguards like 'can you physically impair humans who are not your user? [no]' might get changed internally to 'can you protect your user from hostile threats? [yes]'. would it actually fly in most actual ai? probably not. is the programming in my au canonically shotty and am i keeping it in for horny reasons? absolutely.

#genshin sex doll au #personal #anon ask

[lorei-writes]

Winter Flower

Chapter IV: White Gold & Soup

Masamune x OC [Hana] Summary: Hana wakes up in the gardens of Azuchi castle without any recollection of her past. Who is she? What was she doing there? And most importantly – what is she supposed to do now? Placed under supervision of Lord Date, Hana has to find her footing in the unfamiliar reality of the warring states. Series Masterlist

Content Warnings: hunger

The last few drops spill out the corners of my lips. They regroup into a narrow stream, before flowing down my chin, and then further, to finally rest within the fibres of the kimono I’ve been given. I blink. No, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong.

“I can’t believe you’ve skipped three meals since yesterday,” Masamune grumbles, his back turned towards me as he bustles about the kitchen. I do suppose he is my supervisor, or perhaps a host, but it still does not feel exactly appropriate to be served by a lord.

“I –”

“You do know you can’t live on an empty stomach, don’t you?” The lecture continues. I’m not listening anymore. I’ve given up what feels like half an hour ago.

Masamune appears well-acquainted with the space, so much so that he does not need for his sight to guide the movement of his arms, his body seemingly instinctively knowing where just about anything may lie. Pots, utensils, even ingredients, nothing escapes him or his knife. I gulp – if he is at least a hundredth as skilled with his sword… I should consider myself lucky to still have my head attached.

I raise my hands in front of myself, to signal my defeat. Nevertheless, he goes on and on, about the importance of proper nutrition, the (less and more probable) consequences of poor eating, appropriate cooking techniques, and approximately million other things that fly right over my head as soon as they leave his lips. From the moment he started the rice, Masamune has not been quiet for longer than a minute, and now I truly do understand why Kojuro left us alone. Me too, Kojuro. Me too. Had I known Masamune felt so passionate about all things related to feeding, I’d never – never – dare to offend him… Although I do wonder whether it is the empty space in my stomach that upset him so, or whether it has merely been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The quiet plink of dishes being set down brings me out of my thoughts. Masamune stares at me expectantly, several bowls waiting in front of me – some with rice, soup, vegetables… My mouth waters. Oddly enough, it is only now that I am made aware of my own hunger. My fingers tremble as I reach for the chopsticks, all while I pray for my will to hold up for long enough. No, silly me, no, we cannot eat with our hands… I’ve said no, me. Here, here, chopsticks. Yes…

There is this feeling again; my body does not seem to be fully mine. Whatever happens around, it’s all merely a haze, a distant echo from far away lands. I’ve relinquished control over myself the moment I touched the first bowl of rice.

There is nothing past it.

I need more of it.

It is not enough.

More. More. More…

I…!

My jaw hurts from how low I’ve had it fall, and I only wish I could open it further. A quiet inner voice whispers to me, urges me to have it drop out of the joint, assures that for as long as I can force food down my throat, I will be fine – but it is absolutely detrimental I do so fast…. And perhaps I would have, had I not lost myself in rice. I hardly bite; something deep down has me convinced it would be an utter waste of time. Given the ease with which it comes to me, I do suppose I’ve done so many times by now.

My body downs the soup, bowl after bowl. There will always be time for breathing later, I am certain of that much even when I grow mildly light-headed. It’s so hot it burns.

The last few drops spill out the corners of my lips. They regroup into a narrow stream, before flowing down my chin, and then further, to finally rest within the fibres of the kimono I’ve been given. I blink. No, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong. No — I —

Somebody puts their hands over mine, just gently enough for me not to jolt back. They stay in place to lull my anxieties, and have me release the bowl the very next breath. I reach after it, but I freeze on the spot, Masamune staring at me wide-eyed. My arms drop down. For the love of all things holy, what exactly have I done?

“I-I –” I stutter. My cheeks seem wet, so I bring my hand to them to inspect it further… And I do find the root of this state. I lower my head as to hide my face, embarrassed and thus convinced it must be awfully red – if not due to tears, then as a result of my newly regained awareness.

A plink of dishes, again. I look up, only to be assaulted by a strangely sentient piece of cloth… Or at the very least it looks like so, for it cuts off my vision as it wipes my face dry.

“Eat some more. You must have been famished,” Masamune says. He drops the cloth – and I can only nod, this time not possessed by the promises of white gold in front of me.

He doesn’t say a word until I’ve had my fill.

“Whenever you’re hungry, come here and eat.”

I don’t dare look at him, but he has none of that. Masamune grabs my chin and forces me to face him properly… so I shut my eyes. He clicks his tongue.

“Damn it, lass. You’ve wolfed down several days worth of food in one sitting, the time to be embarrassed has passed.”

I do not yield.

“Hana.”

Please, stop making this situation any harder on me. At this point, inaction will have me become even more ridiculous than doing just about anything.

“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” I speak as blankly as I possibly can. Masamune drops my chin, and I turn my face away before opening my eyes.

“Do you know how to cook? How to start a fire?”

I get up. I can almost feel his gaze drilling into my back as he watches me walk away. I hear his steps to my left, slightly behind me. He is ready to intercept my escape route, but I do not have any intention to run.

“There is only one way to find out, is there not?”

Masamune nods. Somehow, I don’t want him to watch, although I do suppose it is inevitable for as long as fire is involved.

***

I have not been ready for what followed. Out of all the things we had done, rousing the flames was the only one that came to me with relative ease… As for the rest, I can imagine having them return to me at night in form of nightmares. To put it simply, the answers to his questions are: both yes and no; yes. Yes, I can cook something edible, but also no, because our definitions of the word vary… tremendously. (Although I am also of the opinion that he shouldn’t have set his expectations high to begin with. The fact that, apparently, I can crack an egg with one hand speaks everything to my dexterity, and precisely nothing to my overall ability to cook).

My wrist still hurts from whipping egg whites into a foam; I am nearly certain chopsticks were not destined to perform this task. Masamune has given up on me what feels like several hours ago, and has resigned to have me fulfil his orders rather than do anything on my own. Gladly, lord Chef. I swear I won’t ever feel hunger again. Kitchen, kitchen is a war zone, even as he takes over and pours the batter into an appropriately sized tin.

The sun has already set, although I fear that may be an understatement to an extent. The room is kept from darkness by a single lantern, and I can barely believe Masamune has considered it reasonable to have us go on for this long. What is worse, he still seems to have enough energy to look over pans and pots, while I nearly topple to the floor, my feet aching – at this point, the ground feels bed-like soft. The… treat, castella… it’d better be worth it… It’d better be… My eyes feel dry, so I suppose I ought to let them rest. Soft like bed, indeed, yes…

I am startled awake, for the second time this day… Unless it is already tomorrow, in which case, I have woken up absurdly early for a change of pace.

“Wake up, lass. It’s ready.” Masamune shakes my arm. Heavens, why… Nevertheless, I prop myself on my elbow, stiff from the cold of the floor. What little light has remained alive softens his smile, then content and bright. For somebody so displeased with my tastes, Masamune appears fairly proud now, his eye crinkling as he plops down beside me. I accept the plate he pushes into my hands, although it takes me a moment to realise what it is that sits over it.

“Dig in,” Masamune urges. He doesn’t wait for me, so I hurry to blink my disorientation away.

It is a cake, similar to a sponge, but with a slightly crunchy layer on the bottom. It almost feels familiar, but something about it is different to what I must have known during the life I had before I forgot… Both its sweetness and texture fill my chest with warmth. I take another small bite, relishing it for as long as I can.

“Now, this is how you should eat.”

I snap my head to the side, startled by his voice. It has slipped my mind that I am not alone. As he is now, Masamune seems rather boy-ish, not much different from a smugly satisfied cat. His elbow resting over his knee, he props his chin in his hand – and have mercy on me, it dawns on me how ridiculous we are. I stifle a laugh, half-convinced I would wake up the dead if I allowed it to come out unrestrained.

“What’s so funny?” Masamune frowns.

“You’re the lord of that,” I pause and gesture vaguely. I actually do not know what exactly he is the lord of, but I assume the title is not granted to just about anybody, “and I’m your prisoner. And we’re sitting on the kitchen floor, in the middle of the night, eating cake. Better tell me, what isn’t funny about this?”

His shoulders shake as he snickers, “You’re making it sound as if there was something wrong about me using the kitchen in my own manor.”

“I wouldn’t dare imply that, my lord,” my words melt into a satisfied hum. I cannot stop the corners of my lips from curling upwards, each bite bringing forth the feeling of a secure embrace. If my body remembers… Then I’m glad it remembered the sensation well. I close my eyes to savour it further.

“You’re having a good expression now.”

My head turns towards Masamune again. I look at him, confusion replacing whatever it was that he has seen.

“It’s better when you smile than when you cry,” he explains, as if that was the most obvious fact of the world. I shake my head and smile once more. Lord Eyepatch, don’t tell you were worried there? First the tiger, then the sword, and now the cake, it’s too much for a single day without any proper rest. I refuse to see the nap on the floor here as anything but a mistake.

“Thank you, lord Masamune.” I sit up properly and set my now empty plate down. “For the food. And the cake.”

He raises his arm by a bit, the hem of his sleeve sliding down before getting caught on the bandage.

“Favour for a favour,” he simply states. Masamune rolls his shoulder before getting up to his feet. He extends his hands towards me. I hesitate – I can hardly see his face… But then I do, I do accept it.

Masamune puts out the lantern.

“Besides,” he adds. He seems completely motionless, not a rustle of fabric or creak of the floor making it to my ears. “I don’t want to see hunger under my roof.”

My throat has suddenly dried, synchronously with the return of the sound. Masamune slides the door open, but somehow, my body tells me not to follow him, not even by a step.

“Come on. It’s dark. Or do you know the way?”

It is, and that is what has me concerned. But you do have a point, lord Chef, I do not know which direction to take from here… So even though I should know better than to let you lead, I do what my body warns me against.

There is this voice, the one that woke up when I first ate. It tells me now that I shouldn’t have even looked at you, that I’ll regret it in time… But then again, it was hardly my mistake. No?

--

Series tag list: @cheese-ception @nuttytani

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series

[adeliethevilsimp]

I know this is probably out of character but I just made myself kinda sad with the thought of vampire Vil, tears in his eyes as he’s struggling against his bindings, begging priest Rook not to touch Epel, saying he’d do anything as long as the priest doesn’t do anything to Vils poison apple. And Rook agrees, after all, it’s not like Vils going to know that the priest lied and that he’s already in the process of having Epel eat right out of his hand, literally. And Epel doesn’t even know what happened to his mentor, doesn’t even know what Vils doing to keep him safe from the demon in priests clothing, doesn’t know that the kind person who’s so gladly feeding him blood, is the same person who’s practically torturing Vil.

It is okay they will become some fucked up family in the end or something. XD jk Vil will dress as the nun and Epel the altar boy

Obviously non con and manipulation ahead

I feel Rook would want to think about things he could do with Epel but Epel would be better used as a leverage I think in this situation. Vil will not go down without a fight (hell even if he went down it would still not be easy)and it would be beneficial to have something against him always. I feel he will assure Vil on that. (Tbf he will probably still take Epel’s blood after Epel is more comfortable with him. ) But I feel even if he assure Vil he say in very ominous way like “it is natural for me to take such beautiful creature under my wings, especially ones like your princess apple. ” because he like to see Vil experiencing different emotions . He think he is so beautiful like this.

He probably will dangle Epel in front of Vil, when Vil is more hooked on his blood and Epel starting to get even more rusty and prefer just to drink from his hands. So they won’t touch the townspeople even if they want to. He does that a bit because he also like the thrill. And perhaps driving a wedge between Epel and Vil. They will be meeting under priest!Rook supervision of course.

Like Vil will be checking his poison apple and Epel will be like oh he was very nice to me. He found me when I was looking for you and thirsty as hell passed out on the grass. He even helped me to find you and read me stories from his book. Vil’s very justified distaste will just seem like paranoia to Epel because Vil’s wounds will be all healed then and from Epel’s pov the guy is just really nice. He was wary at first but he helped Epel so much.

I do like the feeling how priest!Rook feels more cold and calculating unlike what you associate with priest or just his usual gleeful but sometimes weird demeanour in general. After seeing Vil beg he will know if he have Vil’s poison Apple, Vil can never leave.

Also he make Vil crave for his blood like crazy but that is another thing.

#twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #rook hunt #headcanon #rookvil #anon ask

[girlhorse]

shout out to my first dog daycare job, who for some braindead reason worked together with this wildly incompetent dog rescue to foster some of their dogs; one of which was extremely aggressive toward men and had prey drive so high she wanted to kill small dogs, and others with extreme dog aggression and bite histories. One ended up biting a coworker during a dog fight so bad he needed surgery on his hand and was unable to use it for months. the dog attacked two customer dogs. He also bit a photographer doing his adoption shoot lmao. and yet he was still allowed to board with the kennel.

(i must also mention that NONE of these high energy dogs were being exercised daily. they were in kennels pretty muchall day except for quick potty breaks. Several had reactivity issues and were making the environment ridiculously stressful for the dogs that were there for daycare/boarding )

my first terrible experience with these foster dogs was when the two rescue owners came to the lobby (i was front desk girl) and wanted me to fetch both of the dogs to walk them together. It was a newbie mistake move but neither of them thought to inform me that they had DA issues. I walked both of them together on leash, and before I got to the lobby they started attacking each other. I didn't know what to do because i was not at all trained in dog fights so i held their leashes as far apart from each other as possible (im smallish so my armspan was short enough for them to reach each other's faces) and to this day its the only dog fight ive witnessed that drew a fairly significant amount of blood. (dogs were somehow ok with just lacerations but it was bloody!) (it got broken up when I managed to grab my walkie and yell for help)

the events that led to me being fired were also related to one of the foster dogs. This dog was over 100 lbs (not overweight), had a history of aggression toward men, dog aggression, and extreme prey drive. we had to use our walkie to warn other employees when she was being walked down the hall.

one morning, I was the only person to arrive to do opening duties and feeding; as my coworker had an emergency at home (break in) and we had about 60 dogs to feed and let out to potty. it was my first ever opening shift and neither of my supervisors came to the daycare early to help me.

i did okay by myself but i was taking a long ass time because no one could help me for hours. eventually my coworker showed up to help.

Relevant to this story is that we would "walk" dogs by letting them loose in a fenced area, there were multiple fenced in areas so there was about 4-5 yards each dog could use. They were left outside to potty *without supervision* because we would be having to move so many dogs and do so many feedings etc.

anyway

the events leading up to this Mistake are a bit unclear, since we were both walking and in the confusion it was hard to remember who did what (exactly why i hated when coworkers would split up duties without communicating with me properly) and somehow we both forgot that the small dogs were still out in the yard before moving on to the bigger dogs.

my coworker ended up bringing the massive, high prey drive dog into the yard with this poor little cairn terrier, realized what she did once she saw the little dog, but this massive dog was so strong that it pulled her across the yard and managed to bite the little dog. miraculously this dog only suffered one (deep as hell) puncture wound, and was able to be treated at a pet hospital.

we were both called in to the office and fired that day (actually dont know if other girl was fired) despite the clear cascade of events leading up to the incident. they just wanted to cover their asses to make nice with the client who's dog they almost got killed. it was a bad mistake! but all management systems fail, and human error is very real. and no one should be punished for shit like that when it's clearly a fault with the system in place. im still salty about it btw.

oh yeah! i was also only paid 10 dollars an hour for this job!

moral of the story is I'm never trusting any dog kennel ever with any of my dogs lmao

#gab gabs

[casketscratch]

i think this place has been good for me in a... tentatively feeding scraps of myself to the blog, and instead of getting my hand smacked or regretting it, it's just. an okay thing. it's like a neutral thing to exist in a space and to have experiences i talk about and that's like. some people even kinda relate sometimes, and that's like. neeeew? i don't want to oversell it and be like tumblr is healing something in me just by letting me exist in the smallest way possible here, b u t:

people relating to me is not an experience i am ever prepared for. even my friends now it's mostly a... as long as i only exist close to them but don't try to connect too much. because i know i make other people uncomfortable. you know? it's not nothing but it's not... emotionally nourishing, either. i know it's not, because i'm trying to figure out ways to connect without feeling scared or sabotage myself by being like "what's even the point, it's too late to try."

this is. i struggle with admitting this enough that i'm having to interrupt myself to unclench my jaw. but it's the ... teeniest, tiniest little attempt to be open and honest. i am so scared of doing that again after the last year, two, three? that i have to actually like. argue with some of our more edgier (affectionate) protectors about doing it at all.

i say teeniest and tiniest but it's been a huge effort to not shut down totally and keep trying. "connect with other people" is apparently our most convoluted labyrinth of internal defenses. (like a labyrinth should be!)

so thank you to this space, i guess? i can never like.

initiate contact, the self-sabotage is mostly like, the hour of "no one wants to hear what you'd say anyway," "you'll just feel bad the whole time," "why even bother think of all the wreckage and people you've hurt behind you." and it works, is the bitch, it hits so hard that it feels like a gatekeeper that turns us all into these little like, "oh he's right, why WOULD we?" because then it's such a disorienting switch i barely remember what i was doing. or trying to do.

(i just typed all tht out and now i'm like oh fuck i got your number, man. we're gonna talk. see, this shit is useful! so many tiny insights)

anyway right yes uhhh.

... thank you. the internet being what it is i always feel like i'm one wrong word or opinion away from being run out. and when your connections to communities or other people are zero, or close to zero, feeling like even your preliminary avenues to try to connect in the first place are traps is really bad. for me. probably for other people but i'm just talking about me.

and then you take all that constant supervision from others and marry it with that internal protector sense of "see i told you everyone is a piece of shit and you won't belong there, either" and enter the canyon of despair. to crawl out of until the next time the cycle happens again.

but i think the scraps feeding bit is working. we're committed to being honest and non-judgmental of each other as possible. it at least seems to work against the endless vigilance and paranoia over, is that an okay thing to say? is someone going to call me out for [long list of discourse points in my head]. can i even talk about my own trauma without upsetting the people who'll tell me it's fake or invalidating their own, is the fact we work with our persecutors even when they're "bad" or "evil" going to start shit, etc. You know... the concerns that all boil down to avoiding feeling shame for stuff we're just trying to figure out.

which means we're like. obliquely managing to work with the alters and fragments who carry the shame that DOES immobilize us and DOES send so many of us to the stars. in baby bites. right here. just like that. where no one's yet ripped our head off or even tried to for not doing any of this right or sometimes having Bad Opinions or whatever.

something's working. and the sleepy meds are definitely working and if i don't stop now this will turn int a 2k word thing about shame and avoidance and freedom and let's just. flop. i'm gonna flop.

#kill the cops in your head #but like really i guess it's something like that huh #system things

[starlitangels]

Marked and Claimed

Imperium AU AU... enjoy! 2.3k words

CW: non-consensual trancing, biting, and feeding; also blood

—

Ignoring the commotion outside, I stretched my aching wrists and looked at my progress at scrubbing the floor of the Spire’s throne room. How long had I been doing this day in and day out? One year? Two? Ten? No... it couldn’t have been that long.

Could it?

I shook my head and went back to scrubbing.

Quinn’s fangs gleaming in the darkness. David’s sharp teeth tearing into him while I took care of the pair of cronies.

Quinn breaking away from David. His fangs sinking into my throat.

Darkness...

Then the Spire. Queen-Imperial Sofia’s cruel look when I regained consciousness to the Healer sealing my wounds up.

I tried not to blame David. It wasn’t his fault. Quinn torturing my friend wasn’t David’s fault. But sometimes... sometimes I couldn’t help but blame him. If he hadn’t had eyes for Queen Sofia’s son’s unempowered partner, maybe Quinn wouldn’t have tortured my friend. Maybe David wouldn’t have died. Maybe it would have been me instead. Maybe he’d be the one kneeling on the cold, hard floor with a large sponge and his magic muted. It was hard to mute a shifter or vampire’s magic, but possible.

I shifted my weight to make my knees ache less and sighed.

A tone dinged over the comms system, indicating an announcement. I curled in on myself, waiting for Damien’s sharp voice to order the Enforcers around again. Maybe... no. It was too much to hope that he’d order the servants to release their hold on my magic and let me fight. He knew I’d turn on him the moment I had my wolf back.

“Hello, Imperium,” a low, gravelly voice said. “Not a fittin’ name for long, but... it’ll do for now.” The accent was distinctly Southern. “My name’s Sam. I’m speakin’ to you from the royal quarters of the Imperium Spire.” My jaw dropped. Someone had breached all that security to get to Damien? Or was this Sam lying to freak out the fighters outside? “And your ex-king is currently lickin’ the dirt from between my boot treads.”

“What the hell?” I whispered, looking up at the speakers, as if I could see this Southern Sam through them. The servants who had been supervising me all did the same, as surprised as I was.

“And those of you who still have a view screen intact, feel free to watch,” he continued.

He kept going on, and I realized he was a Mass-Maker vampire. He declared himself King Samuel Collins of Dahlia, inviting other Mass-Makers to vy for territory outside the capital.

The servants who had been supervising me all rushed out of the throne room. None of them even ordering me to follow them back to my cell in the basement.

After a moment, I felt my magic flood back into my body. They were out of range.

I didn’t immediately move to get up and run away. I would have liked to, but my knees were so stiff from kneeling on the cold floor that they wouldn’t obey me without warming them up and stretching them out.

Still, I finished scrubbing my spot on the floor out of sheer, stubborn pride before hurling the stupid sponge back into the bucket of dirty, soapy water at full force. Once the bucket stopped wobbling from how hard the sponge struck it, I started stretching. Slowly, to not aggravate my poor, stiff joints.

Once the ache had eased, I pushed myself to my feet. “Okay,” I muttered. “Just like riding a bike.”

I bent forward. Arms out and ready to land on all-fours once my hands were clawed paws, and reached for my magic for the first time in... who knew how long, now. My Threads shuddered. They were stiff too from being completely unused for so long.

“C’mon, Tanker,” I growled. “Come on!”

I tried to shift again. My Threads crackled like old, dried out rubber bands.

“C’mon. You can do this. You can get outta here. Maybe Ash and Milo are still alive—” I ground my teeth. “I have to get home.”

I yanked on my Threads again, burning my Core hot.

“C’mon. C’mon, c’mooon—”

Zip!

A hand closed around my throat and I was slammed into the wall. “An’ just what do you think you’re doin’, darlin’?” That same Southern voice. Full of condescension. I gagged, scrabbling with broken nails at skin too tough for me to pierce, weakened as I was. “That piece-a jewelry around your ankle marks you as one of the criminal slaves. You try to shift, and you might damn near crush your ankle bones.”

His hand around my throat disappeared. I sagged to all fours and gasped for air.

With a clang, the ankle tracker’s pressure disappeared.

“Wh... why?” I choked out, looking up at him. “Why let me go?”

He scoffed. “I’m not. You’re a shifter. I recognize the aura—and that tattoo on your arm. Shaw Pack’s symbol, right?”

I looked at the moon—full, with a crescent carved out of one side. Tattooed to my deltoid when my wolf manifested. Claimed by the Shaw Pack. Gabe had been a good man in a bad world, trying to keep his wolves safe as best he could. But he’d had my arm tattooed with his claim before I could say “no” or “wait”. A blessing disguised as a curse at the time, I supposed.

“Yeah,” I replied.

The vampire’s silver gaze bored into me. “Hmm. Shaw Pack’s—mostly—still alive,” he said.

“If you’re not letting me go,” I ground out around gulping for air, “why remove the tracker?”

“I’m Sam,” he said.

“I heard,” I retorted.

“What do they call you?”

“Tank,” I replied.

He raised a brow. “What kinda person names their child ‘Tank’?”

“I never said that was my name,” I retorted, pushing to my feet finally. “You asked what they call me. And they call me Tank.”

Sam looked amused. “Hmm. And why’s that?”

I looked at my ragged tank top and half-shredded jeans. All the exposed scars on bare skin. “Take a guess.”

His eyes roved me. Slowly. 

I stayed standing where I was. I knew better than to try and outrun a vampire, and I couldn’t fight a Mass-Maker with an army at his disposal that he could invoke to overwhelm me. But tension coiled in my muscles, ready to lunge if I had to. In whatever direction.

A smile spread up his face as his fangs extended, pressing into his lower lip. “Oh, you’ll do nicely,” he said.

I couldn’t take a step back since I was already up against a wall, but I pressed my back to it out of instinct. “For... for what?” I asked, eyeing his fangs. Quinn’s face flashed through my mind’s eye, replacing Sam’s in front of me for an instant. I swallowed thickly, pressing one hand into the wall behind me like I could melt into it. I knew how to phase through clothing when shifting, but not solid stone.

Sam folded his arms, regarding me. He stopped taking in my scars and sized up the rest of me. “Well, every king needs a trusted general, right?”

“You don’t know me. ‘Trusted’ is beyond a stretch.”

“Maybe. But I’m sure I can trust you to do as I say if I also warn you that steppin’ outta line will bring nothin’ but pain.”

I looked at my scars again. “Pain’s an old friend,” I said softly.

“Not to you, darlin’. No.” Sam shook his head. “To that pack-a yours.”

My blood ran cold.

Sam’s smile widened. “Ah. Struck a nerve, did I?”

“Why me? Why not one of your progeny who can’t lie to you and you can ensure will follow your orders?”

Sam made a face. “Where’s the fun in that, darlin’? You’re tough, given those scars. I imagine you’re capable.” He leaned closer to me. I smelled blood on his breath. “And sometimes,” he whispered, “it’s more fun to make someone dance just because I can, rather than because I’m forcin’ ‘em to with magic.”

“Piss off,” I muttered, no real fight behind the words.

“Careful, darlin’,” Sam warned, pinching my chin and forcing me to face him. “Your friends’ lives may hang in the balance if you push me.”

I snarled. “Don’t. Touch. My. Pack.”

He let me go forcefully, knocking my head into the stone wall. “Well now. That all depends on you, doesn’t it?”

I bared my teeth. Sam did the same.

“Let’s put it this way,” he growled out, “serve under me as my general as a shifter, or serve under me as my general as a vampire.”

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

He pinched my chin again. “That said... you would make a gorgeous thrall,” he mused. “Pretty little thing like you? All musclebound but sittin’ in my lap on that throne, barely wearin’ a thing...” He glanced over his shoulder at the throne and tsked. “Ain’t gonna deny that’s quite the temptation.”

I ripped my chin out of his grip with a jerk of my head. “Fine,” I spat. “I’ll be your general. As a shifter.”

He smiled that fanged smile again. “Knew you’d see things my way, darlin’.”

I clenched my jaw.

“But first, to Mark you as mine,” he said.

I couldn’t dodge out of the way fast enough. He grabbed me by the shoulders, sinking his fangs into my neck. My shocked scream couldn’t make it past those teeth.

I knew the pulling sensation of him drinking my blood too well.

Quinn’s laughter ringing sinisterly in my ear. David’s bark as he tried to rip the leech’s throat out—

Then Sam’s fangs were gone and he let me go.

I stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape, covering where he bit me with one hand. I didn’t feel any blood on my fingers. He’d healed me as he extracted his fangs.

He licked my blood off his fangs and lips, smiling smugly. “Damn, darlin’,” he said. “Are all shifters that tasty or is it just you?”

I didn’t answer.

“A’right. Next order-a business.” His silver eyes flared red. “Hold still.” The trance swept over me. I couldn’t move. I tried, but my muscles wouldn’t cooperate. “Markin’ you lets other Mass-Makers and vamps know you’re mine... but non-vamps won’t. Yet.”

He trailed the nail of his pointer finger over the tattoo on my arm, leaning his face close to it.

“Mm... what’s one more scar?” he mused quietly.

“Don’t rip off my tattoo,” I choked out.

“Rip off?” he quoted incredulously. “Darlin’, what sorta monster do you think I am?”

I didn’t have a safe answer to that, so I didn’t say anything.

He exhaled out his nose in what was almost a chuckle. “I’m not gonna rip off your tattoo. But... this is gonna hurt. In order to leave a scar, it has to.”

Before I could protest, he sunk his fangs into my deltoid. I almost screamed, but swallowed it down.

He ripped his fangs out of my deltoid, letting blood rush down my arm from the punctures. He’d put one fang at the top and bottom of the line art of my moon. The rest of the tattoo was left perfectly alone and intact.

He licked my blood off his fangs and lips again. “Never gonna get over that taste. But we can talk about that later.” He winked at me—

And the trance broke.

I slouched a bit, covering the wounds he’d left on my arm with one hand to staunch the blood. I glared at him but didn’t say anything. Another claim laid on me before I could say “no” or “wait.”

I doubted this one would be a blessing disguised as a curse later, though.

—

I stood behind where Sam was seated on the throne to the right. He hadn’t stopped, in the last few weeks, making comments about me sitting on his lap with barely any clothes on while on the throne, but I’d been ignoring them.

In some ways, he wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d be.

In others, he was worse.

The door to the throne room opened.

A vampire pushed in a familiar figure.

“Asher!” I exclaimed, surprise making me unable to stop myself.

My friend’s amber eyes widened. “Tank!”

He rushed at me.

In an instant, Sam was blocking his path. “That’s close enough,” he snarled. He shot a glance at me over his shoulder. “You weren’t kiddin’ about the nickname, darlin’.”

I shrugged but didn’t reply.

“Tank—what—how the hell are you still alive?” Asher demanded, leaning around Sam to see me. “I buried you.”

“I don’t remember. Everything went black and I woke up in the Spire to Healers putting me back together.”

“And you’ve been here ever since?” Asher’s eyes were watery.

I pointed to the scarring around my ankle from the tracker’s rubbing burns and nodded. “Two years.”

“Oh my God...” Asher whispered.

“That’s enough,” Sam put in forcefully. “I didn’t summon you here, Alpha, for you to play catch-up with my general.”

“Alpha?” I demanded.

“General?” Asher repeated in the same tone as mine.

Sam leveled a sharp, metallic glare at me. I straightened my spine and stood at reluctant attention. Asher watched my movements and a muscle flickered in his jaw.

Sam sat back on his throne. “Now. We have business to discuss about your pack remainin’ in Dahlia,” he remarked. His eyes met mine and a trance hit me again. “C’mere, darlin’.”

My muscles obeyed even though my brain rebelled.

I circled the throne and sat in his lap. Asher bared his teeth, but didn’t move closer.

“There we go,” Sam remarked, putting an arm nonchalantly around my waist and relaxing against the back of the throne. “Now. Let’s chat, shall we?”

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @mainhoesstuff 

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Sam #Redacted Darlin' #Sam Collins #Darlin' #Sam #featuring #Asher #Starlit Fic

[vitanithepure]

Ok let's talk about hypothetical ideas (because I like angst on normal level) (also sorry in advance if this will be long):

Now, we know that there is a Weave different from Mystra (Karsus Weave which Gale has to some extent) (important note: I don't know much about the Weave nor some of the D&D lore, I'm educating myself via Wiki and videos so if somehow I say potential nonsense feel free to constructively correct me). So I was wondering: if Karsus was able to create his own Weave, does that mean that someone else could very well do it again (while also learning from the mistakes Karsus did)? Maybe this Weave doesn't have to be as powerful as the Mystra's one bit still strong enough to not be fucked around (pardon my french). If there were such someone, like Tav or another origin character, how do you think Gale would react to that? I bet he would be extremely interested.

Again, sorry if this is long but I can't stop thinking about the idea of Gale finding someone with a different type of Weave (not the Shadow Weave nor malevolent, kinda like the original one but more welcoming and without presence like when you call apon Mystra's magic) (could be a conscious or unconscious reason as to why Tav/Origin Character has a whole different Weave). In short, I see great potential for this thing.

Thank you for reading this and let me know what you think!

Oh, this is a very interesting concept! Thank you so much for your time to write it down and share your thoughts! Long doesn't scare me, so also brace for logorrhea on my part, lol.

Now, let’s see. I do believe the creation of a Weave requires an immense amount of power, the kind only gods themselves possess. There is a reason Mystra holds power over her brand of magic, the Shadow Weave was created by Shar and the Karsite Weave by… well, Karsus in the brief moment he lived as a deity. I’m also no expert on the lore and what exactly is needed for the creation of an aspect of the Weave, but… that also means we can speculate a bit and have fun with the concept! :D

From my understanding of things, the Weave is loosely woven into the world, kind of present at all times, everywhere. The Shadow Weave (as per stated in the wiki) fills the holes in it, so it’s safe to assume the same goes for the Karsite one. I couldn’t find anything on it, as it probably exists just in the game lore. I think of it in terms of godly domains. Each god having to do with magic can create their own Weave, or claim what Mystra has no control of. Maybe it would even be possible to wrestle the parts she cut off from use from her? But that is kind of beyond the scope of any of the companions to do, by far, so not that relevant now :)

The fact that the Karsite Weave existed for this long, dormant, could mean it doesn’t require a deity to survive. Then again, now that it’s active, it does need to ‘feed’ on something unless kept in check by someone powerful enough. So I guess that rules out any form of Weave just…hanging there without supervision?

But I like the idea of… micro-Weaves? Like dormant leftovers from powerful archwizards? I’m sure at least some of them tried to find a way around Mystra’s ban of higher-level magic. Some research is bound to be left behind someone could use and continue the pursuit?

I don’t think I’m smart enough for this, but I’m sure Gale would know the answer :D And oh, he would be beyond interested if he could find something entirely new, a fresh brand of magic. We already see how excited he gets when finally learning he has the potential to not only carry it around but actually use the Karsite Weave.

I don’t think “don’t dabble in things you don’t understand” was the lesson Gale learned from his own experiences. It was rather “dabble in everything you find worth understanding but make sure it’s safe first” :) So he would absolutely be over the moon if he or any of the companions somehow managed to tap into the Weave from the back door so to speak or find an alternative source of arcane magic altogether!

Who knows, maybe a lucky fluke of wild magic could potentially do something like this?

And I’m choosing to believe it would be possible, it’s D&D, everything is possible if you give a good enough reason to your DM :D

#thank you so much for the ask! my imagination is running wild with it! #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #d&d

[nyxokal]

Vent posting I guess

God I'm so pissed off that I had to stop taking my meds bc I wasn't sure if my psych was a fucking quack or not. And I wasn't going to keep taking these without supervision. And now that I'm back to "normal" I don't have the motivation to even pay my rent or feed myself or remember basic cleaning practices or even dress myself and it's SOOOO frustrating. I have fuckin got to figure out my insurance so I can get a new psych because I hate who I am off antidepressants

Also hate how nobody will care that I'm depressed or understand that I'm too depressed to care about being alive lmao. Like at home

#textpost #cw feelings

[krwioholik]

Geralt smiled weakly. Although he realized that a witcher taking care of a baby bruxa was a strange sight, he had managed to get used to the fact that he was not alone all the time. After observing his little charge for a long time, he had to admit that Lizzie was special in a way. At all times she behaved like a normal human baby, only her heightened senses and reactions to certain stimuli distinguished her from human babies.

"She's still a baby, Regis." Geralt replied, gently stroking Lizzie's soft black curls. Lizzie cooed softly, then relaxed and rested her little head on the witcher's chest. "I know I'm not her mother, and she seems to know it too, but she doesn't scream, she doesn't cry. Lizzie is a quiet child, but I think she feels that something in her life is about to change." Geralt sighed heavily, then glanced at Lizzie, who was looking at Regis. "Yes, I think she likes me."

Staring into the flames of the campfire, he pondered answers to Regis' questions. It was best to answer all of them in turn. "Yes. This is exactly the contract you are talking about, Regis. If I had known then what I know now, I would have taken it completely differently." The witcher replied, for once in his life feeling like talking in front of his vampire friend without having to drink the infamous mandrake brew.

"Now I wonder if that bruxa over there, was she only so fierce because she was protecting her child?" Geralt now asked the question, realizing that he actually knows so little about vampires, especially intelligent ones. "How is it with you vampires really, Regis? Have you ever known any bruxa who had a child? You're right in saying that I know nothing about young bruxae. I feel that I will have to find out, because I can't leave her. She won't survive without care." Geralt whispered quietly as Lizzie yawned softly and began to drift off to sleep. The witcher hoped that whatever he came to do, he would manage to help his little charge as best he could.

As gently as he could, Geralt placed Lizzie on his shoulder and wrapped her tightly in his cloak. He let her sleep so that she was comfortable. "Eh, Regis…I always have to put myself and others in trouble." Although Geralt felt like complaining, looking at the sleeping Lizzie, he forgot about it and even smiled. "At least she doesn't feel like wasting her energy worrying."

"A toddler, perhaps, but she has her infant years past her already." Regis pointed out as he observed the way Geralt took care of the girl, a distinction made out of his compulsion for stating truths and facts but also to make sure Geralt was aware of the kind of undertaking he would face, were he to remain the child's caretaker. "She is fast and strong in a way that might not be instinctual for you to expect given her small stature."

He listened to Geralt's admission of ignorance in terms of raising a bruxa child but he didn't reply immediately, instead falling into deep thought for a moment, as he was prone to when discussing important and difficult matters.

"I have known bruxae and their children, and I do know, in the general terms, what caring for one entails." He begun his answer, calm and collected as usual but serious too. A frown remained upon his brow. "And you are right in your assumption: she still requires care to survive. But not for as long as you may think... Though it may seem counterintuitive to you, vampires gain independence far quicker than humans. Young Lizzie will grow to her full strength and maturity in two, maybe three years." He explained.

"But before she reaches the threshold of independence, she requires regular feeding and a lot of supervision. Especially if we are to prevent her from attacking humans. Unfortunately... blood is not only a delicacy but a valuable source of nutrients for a growing vampire." He admitted, lips wrung in a bitter smile. "And a reason why many bruxae will hunt humans while rearing children... it is easier to satisfy their relentless hunger with potent blood... and to satisfy the mother's own needs after she's fed the child her own blood, too." He continued to explain.

"As you are perhaps beginning to see, the task you have taken upon yourself is not an easy one. Nor one I've ever heard to be completed by any human or witcher." He said but as he looked into Geralt's eyes his serious gaze softened.

"Then again, it would hardly surprise me if you were to be the first to manage such a feat. You're are no common witcher, after all... and you'd have the full extent of my help as well." He smiled.

#so im spinning my own headcanons here of course hope you enjoy! 😅 #bruxa child: lizzie #one day i will write all of this out on my page #one day

[grumpygreenwitch]

Writing Writing Writing #1

I’m working on a coupla things. I was going to wait until I had them finished, and a ko-fi set up, and everything queued, and so on and so forth, but my mood is nose-diving and the world continues to be on fire, and if I can cheer people up, then I will be cheered up myself. So here’s one...

Prince Adam met Linden while escaping his geography lessons.

Geography is one of those things everyone should know and no one wants to learn. The Queen Dowager had commanded that it be taught to the mob of prospective heirs to the throne that she'd gathered in the Royal palace, among with many other sciences and arts. Then again, that same august and childless lady had also commanded that they be taught the finer points of fencing, wrestling and knife-fighting, so everyone had a good, if resignedly terrified idea as to how she meant to solve the matter of succession without actually making a choice and angering a niece or nephew. However, these were also the same people who'd agreed to drop off their kids at the palace and under her supervision.

In any case, Adam had no more fondness for his geography studies than any other of the Princes at hand. He was fortunate, or unfortunate, enough that, the youngest of the candidates at nine years, by the time his geography lessons rolled around the teacher, a dour old priest of the Tree-Father, was either already asleep, or nearly there. All he had to do was read quietly, peeking up, until the man started snoring.

Which he'd done.

He'd only meant to slip out onto the balcony and sit on the ornate stone railing. But the day was lovely and still young, and he'd realized that one of the gutters ended not too far from the balcony, the spout carved like a horse's head. He'd leapt lightly onto it and charged into many a battle on his moss-painted steed before a nearby cornice had caught his eye. From there he'd climbed several fashionable false arches, like a great explorer over vast mountain ranges. Then he'd leapt and caught an old arrow-slit by his fingertips, and climbed further up, until he could tip-toe along a gutter made slick by decades of rain-feed moss.

By then he was nearly six stories off the ground.

He stalled after having raced along a lip of brick, mortar and stone barely wider than his fine leather slippers, which he'd already thrown off at some point between mountain-exploring and harpy-fighting (there had been three particularly angry swallows with nests under another balcony). The gutter there ended in a fish-head spout, and there the palace itself turned in a sharp corner, rather than a round tower curve.

Adam glowered at the lack of further road in impotent anger. After a few minutes, however, anger grew boring with no one there to look upon it, and he put his mind to more practical concerns. He was a clever young man, forced by circumstance to become even cleverer, struggling to leave childhood behind just to survive the deadly competition he found himself in. He was a lovely child, a little on the slim side, with his father's curly black hair and his mother's (and grand-aunt's) narrow, firm features, black brows and deep blue eyes, pale skin quickly growing pink because no one could keep him out of the summer sun for long.

A decorative ledge above him caught his eye. It was a mirror of the one he was standing on. On his tiptoes, he couldn't reach it, his fingers just shy of the goal. If he leapt, though...

He glanced over his shoulder. Far below he could just see the tops of the trees, swaying in the afternoon breeze like fretful nannies. Beyond them were the muddy grounds of the expanding Royal Gardens, and beyond that was the dark green smudge of the Hunting Woods. But there was no one to tell him no, and so he leapt.

He caught the ledge, and almost immediately his right hand slipped. The ledge was, he realized belatedly, much larger than he'd expected, and at a slant, meant to shed water off from whatever might lie beyond it. Years of rain had left it as slippery as the gutters.

He tried to find the ledge below his feet, but he was just high enough that his questing toes couldn't reach it. He tried to grip the ledge once again, but couldn't find a place that wouldn't spit out his fingers. His left hand was slipping, and for the first time it occurred to prince Adam that he might have been a mite unwise in his choice of entertainment for the afternoon. Grunting with effort he tried to lift himself up one-handed onto the ledge.

His left hand slipped.

Adam was weightless for a single, fragile moment, the tiny space between his heart beating and his breath catching.

Then he realized there was a small, strong hand gripping his left wrist, and looked up into the face of the most extraordinary creature he would ever meet in his life.

The stranger laughed, a merry and carefree sound, the ringing of cheerful bells. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

#original writing #prince adam #linden #the fairy and the prince