#the remaining choices have no confusion factor

[striving-artist]

Round Two

Palm Oil has been forbidden. Details on that below.

Small context: Since this website is pretty American/Western, the foods are all things that are relatively common or popular for that group. That way stuff that isn't culturally present doesn't skew things.

As before: This is to eliminate the food from human diets, not Thanos-snapping the thing out of the universe.

Palm Oil has been eliminated. This is unsurprising since many don't seem to know what it is. It's a semi solid oil at room temp which means its in approximately 70% of makeup, and in a bazillion prepackaged foods. Yes, there are some replacements, but there is a reason that this semi solid, neutral tasting high temp oil is so freaking common.

Lots of packaged bread, almost every thing of instant noodles, plus: margarine, chocolate, ice cream, crackers, cookies, pizza dough, and a bunch of other things. It's also a great way to fry things. Think you've never had it? you probably have. Here's other names it goes by on labels:

Vegetable Oil, Vegetable Fat, Palm Kernel, Palm Kernel Oil, Palm Fruit Oil, Palmate, Palmitate, Palmolein, Glyceryl, Stearate, Stearic Acid, Elaeis Guineensis, Palmitic Acid, Palm Stearine, Palmitoyl Oxostearamide, Palmitoyl Tetrapeptide-3, Sodium Laureth Sulfate, Sodium Lauryl Sulfate, Sodium Kernelate, Sodium Palm Kernelate, Sodium Lauryl Lactylate/Sulphate, Hyrated Palm Glycerides, Etyl Palmitate, Octyl Palmitate, Palmityl Alcohol

However! As many, many people pointed out, Palm oil farming drives deforestation. It's done in large monocultures and, while it can be done sustainably, most of what gets used isn't.

#food poll #I'm not shocked at the first loser #I am shocked people don't know anything about it #Regardless #the remaining choices have no confusion factor

[rosesaints]

help wanted ! chapter five.

pairing: miguel o’hara / f!reader

summary: after your ex

rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact)

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of violence towards the end

series masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

You’ve pictured this scene unfolding before you a thousand times since you left that apartment with him.

There were a few scenarios in your head where you stood your ground, played the role of the confident and amazing, ridiculously successful ex-fiancee. They’re the ones you most preferred; walking past him on a busy street with a fully-fledged career, a new blowout, looking better than you ever had before. Saying I’m so much better now that I’m without you.

Of course, there were other scenarios where you caused chaos. Flipping over tables, screaming all your frustrations out on him, making him hurt the way he made you hurt. Relishing in the confusion and hurt and stress that your imaginary self would’ve caused. Not as practical, and a lot more likely to get you on a quick trip to the police station, but it was nice to wonder nonetheless.

Reality is much more somber.

All eyes were on you and at that moment, you didn’t know what the right course of action was. With all of your different scenarios and imaginary confrontations, you hadn’t pictured it coming to fruition so soon. You knew you were grasping for straws, fiddling with time, but you had gotten lost in how weightless you had felt during the past month.

You thought of two pairs of brown eyes across the dining table, crinkling around the edges, laughing as you tried to swallow down milk after their little ghost pepper surprise. You thought of green grass and hot, sunny days and the smiles that would shine down above and below you as you hoisted Gabi into your arms.

They were a factor you didn’t account for—or even expected, in your little scenarios. But somehow, you thought, you would’ve much rather been standing there instead of whatever this was, with your fiancé looking at you expectantly and your parents lost in confusion.

Instead of letting the silence hang further in the room, your fiancé stabs at the moment. “It’s good to see you.”

You resisted the urge to laugh. “ It’s good to see me? That’s what you’re opening with?”

“Well—”

“If you’re here for the ring, it’s gone,” Surprisingly, you remained calm, but there was something bubbling to the surface every second he stood in your living room, taking up space. “I don’t have anything that you would want.”

“I’m… I’m not here for the ring,” He looked sheepish, looking down at your floor shamelessly and you wondered how the hell you were able to stay with him for so long. Here he was, playing the part of the doting and devoted boyfriend gone down a wrong path, here to make amends, but for the first time, you weren’t buying it. He murmurs a silly, stupid pet name he had called you in college. “Come home. I miss you, my parents miss you, and it’s not the same without you.”

For the first time, you looked at your parents. Something rolls around in your chest and you had to keep your composure. As the words left your lips, you couldn’t help the way your voice trembled, however. “Can you give us a minute?”

Your mother looked like she wanted to refuse, to stay and say some choice words about him but you wanted to deal with this on your own. You looked at your dad and he nods, ushering her out.

Once they left, you didn’t bother hiding the flux of emotions that rose up your throat.

“You have no right,” The volume in your voice surprised you, but you didn’t stop. “No right to come back here, and—and asking me to come home. You’re insane. After what you did?”

The more you remembered, the more the red-hot anger threatened to take over. This guy took away your apartment, your career, your dignity, and now he was trying to take away the one singular moment of peace you had had since you graduated. Maybe even since the moment you met him.

“Why are you really here?” You couldn’t help but ask. It was selfish, but you wanted to hear it, to hear the final nail in the coffin and set him loose.

“I know that it’s really sudden and out of the blue, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I broke up with her, she’s gone,” He paused, pondering then, taking his glasses off and rubbing an exasperated hand through his hair. “She couldn’t keep up with her part of the lease, and—” “You’re kidding. You’re fucking kidding,” Unbelievable. Of course, the new, shinier model, you remembered her—-barely out of her freshman year of college—-couldn’t keep up with her side of the rent. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Come on.”

“Don’t ever bother coming around here again,” Without any ceremony, you gestured at the door. “I don’t want to see you ever again. I mean it.”

It felt like forever until he finally left the view of your living room window, rolling out of your street and disappearing into oblivion. There’s a weight that you didn’t even know rested heavily on your shoulders, and you knew that you should’ve felt relieved, or felt proud for handling that the way you did but something lingered, and you suddenly felt so out of place within your house.

At that point, your parents had joined you at your little stoop by the window. Hushed and apologetic explanations fell haphazardly over your deaf ears, “he insisted on talking to you, we tried to get him to leave but you got home before—”

You needed to leave. The overwhelming desire to leave and go somewhere, anywhere, took over and you were picking up your shoes and your bag and your car keys and rushing out of the door before you could fully process what happened, what exactly took over you in that moment.

Outside, you thought, that it should have been raining. It should have been pouring cats and dogs, thunder and lightning all around you, but instead, there was a sky full of stars. The rain would’ve been fitting, it would’ve paired well with whatever was brewing inside you, but all you were met with was an incomparable silence, a bright night sky, and the sleepy lull of your hometown.

You wanted to get out of it.

You had never, ever, wanted to force yourself out of this homey, suburban image. So you hopped into the car. It’s a scene straight out of a rom-com (minus the rain), and you would’ve resented the comparison, but then you were sobbing and screaming along to some cheesy breakup mix, something from thirty years ago and driving around without anywhere to go.

There were a few stops along your little impromptu road trip, a gas station, a Target (walking around aimlessly was admittedly, very therapeutic despite the stares you got for going around fifteen minutes before they closed), and your old high school. It all felt wrong.

None of it felt as right as when you reached for your phone, typed in  Miguel O’Hara, and pressed call.

It only rang once, twice before he picked up. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“H–Hey. I’m just,” You choked out a sob, despite trying so, so hard to keep it together. “I just wanted to… to check in on Gabi. See if she got to bed without any—any issues. She’s been having some trouble going to sleep, so, so I just wanted to… to make sure.”

You heard a pause from the other line, some shuffling, and then his voice became clearer. He said your name, soft and gentle and it made your shoulders relax. “Is everything okay?”

The question should’ve been simple, and on any other day, you wished that you could’ve responded like you usually did, all lazy smiles and easy confidence while the sunlight bore down on you on those mornings when you made him stay in bed a little bit longer. You realized then, that you wanted to come home. “No. No, I don’t think’s everything okay.”

“Hey,” Miguel’s voice reverberated throughout your dark car. “Lo que sea que esté mal, podemos hablarlo. Tú y yo.” Whatever's wrong, we can talk about it. You and me.

“Can I come over?” An exhausted laugh escaped you then. “It’s a long story.”

“Of course,” There was no doubt or hesitation. Just Miguel. “Do you want me to come get you from your house? It’s pretty late.”

Suddenly, you were hit with the realization that you were probably a good fifteen or twenty miles away. “I’m actually—um. I hopped into my car and I’m fine, don’t worry, but I can be there soon. Just give me some time.”

You could hear him rustle, abrupt static coming through your speaker as you heard him stand up. Worried. “Are you sure? Where are you?”

“Yeah. I promise. I’m just a few minutes away, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” Even through the phone, you could picture him, running a hand through his hair. “Could you send me your location, just in case? I just want to make sure you get back safely.”

With some more reassurance on your part to Miguel, you sent over your location and said goodbye with the promise to see him again soon. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Swear.” When your hands touched the sides of your steering wheel, is when you finally let yourself fall apart, resolved to let it all out and get it out of the way before you saw him.

It must have been close to midnight when you finally drove into your street, quietly and carefully pulling into your driveway before making the trip just a couple steps over to the O’Hara house.

Before your hand could even reach the door to knock, it was opening in a flurry, and you were suddenly face-to-face with a very concerned Miguel. There were lines on his face you’d never noticed before and a curl in his eyebrows that you wanted to crease away.

This time, it was different. There was no rushed and hasty pretense to pull you in by your waist, peppering you with kisses, and pulling you into his bed. Instead, he’s wrapping you up in a hug you didn’t know you sorely needed, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he visibly relaxed in your arms.  

You were aware that you probably looked crazy, besides yourself and having broken down multiple times in the few hours you had been away from them. “I’m sorry,” You croaked out weakly, but Miguel was quick to shut down any of that.

“Don’t be,” He murmured into your hair, and it was so easy. So easy to lose yourself in the vibrato and timbre of his voice, to forget what just transpired in your own house. “Come in. It’s cold.”

Your shoes went where they usually rested, next to his and Gabi's near the doorway.

The house was quiet, and you were glad for the silence, listening around you to check that Gabi was asleep. You didn’t want her to see you at your lowest point, not after the nerve-filled day that she had already had. She was a sensitive kid, and way too smart for her own good, and you didn’t think you could’ve kept it together with her and Miguel in the same room.

It was easy to sink down onto the couch, even easier to lay your legs over his and look up at the ceiling in defeat. The moment felt unusually intimate, and a hopeful, most likely foolish part of you internally remarked that coming home to this wouldn’t be so bad, wouldn’t have minded doing this for years, but you brushed that thought aside, just content to sit there for a while.

Then you were breathing out a deep sigh that had been begging to be released the whole night since you left your house in a haze, and then the words were tumbling out, clumsy and unprepared off your lips as you began. “My ex-fiancé came by today.”

You didn’t dare to look over at him, afraid and apprehensive of what you would see, so you kept going.

“He came by and he asked me to… to come home,” A pause. “And I just couldn’t do it.”

“When we ended things, I thought, oh my god. My life is over. Just hours after graduation and I was out of a fiancé, a home, a career,” You let out a hoarse, dry laugh. “He got me blacklisted from the Daily Bugle. He took everything from me and then it was just like, I had to get everything figured out right away, to just rebound and resurface and come up so quickly.”

“I was able to forget about it and to push it down, and it finally felt like I could breathe again, and then he came by and really just,” You mimicked an explosion with your hands, then you dropped them by your sides in loss. You felt embarrassed with your rambling, but when you finally mustered up the courage to look over at him, eyes drifting to his with uncertainty, all you saw was anger. A seething anger that loomed dangerously close to engulfing him. “I felt really lost.”

Your words hung in the air, and Miguel deliberated on them, meticulously weighing his replies. Finally, he spoke, his words coming out ragged and barely contained. “Did he leave?”

“Eventually. Not without any fuss, but he’s gone.”

“Good,” Miguel’s eyes searched yours for any hurt, softening when he saw none, offering a gentle smile that spoke volumes of relief and reassurance, but there was an edge to the next thing he said. “We’ll keep it that way.”

A question had been lingering at the forefront of your mind, patiently waiting for the opportune moment to be asked. So you seized it. “How did you juggle it all? How did you just… know your place in life and get it all figured out?”

“Well, for starters, a lot of self-reflection and time,” He shook his head, almost like he was in disbelief. “It wasn’t too long ago, and I was scared shitless after graduation and I didn’t know what to do.” Despite yourself, you had a hard time believing him. Miguel was one of those people who just seemed like they were born to be a parent, with every careful and overwhelmingly supportive touch of his actions with Gabi. It was something that you had admired, a sense of purpose, and just true, undeniable belonging. “ Nuh uh. The Miguel O’Hara, genius geneticist, incredible father, one hell of a little league coach, didn’t know what to do?”

“Shut up,” He grinned at you, with no malice seeping off his words. The next thing he said was more gentle, more genuine. “But yeah, it… it took me a while. I was so angry for a long time. I didn’t really give too much of a damn about anything. When I graduated, I thought that there was only one path for me, and I was just this overly ambitious, uncaring jerk with nothing else going for him than science.”

“It was all I had. Until I had Gabi.”

You eyed the photos along the wall, of Gabi and Miguel in various states of suspended happiness and you realized, in every single photo that you had seen without her, there was something missing. Miguel often looked mismatched and lost, until she came along.

“Alchemax wanted me to imprint genetic codes into human physiology. It was experimental, groundbreaking technology and we were on the very precipice of it,” Miguel looked down at his hands, searching for something that was long gone.“I could’ve been famous, fuck , maybe even won a Nobel Prize. But then I thought of Gabi and it just couldn’t compare. I wouldn’t trade a single thing to come home to this every night.”

The next thing he said made your heart leap out of your chest.

“Your plans will get derailed. People will come and go through your life, but sometimes, sometimes you just have to let things happen. Let people crash and burn your plans. Who gives a shit about what’s meant to be anyway?”

“Just do what you want.”

It was quiet while you digested the impact of his words, and without even thinking, your hands reached across the couch to interlock with his. From the corners of your eyes, you could see the faint outline of his shoulders coming undone, his hands confidently and easily clasping yours with just as much clarity. You let them remain there, and it felt right.

“I guess now, I should add an amazing motivational speaker to the list—”

Your name falls off his lips in teasing disbelief. “That’s what you take from my whole spiel?”

“Hmm. That wasn’t all I took from it.”

The next time he said your name was like a revelation, like gospel. His eyes searched yours, and somehow you knew.

And then you closed the gap between the two of you, hands reaching for him like absolution to a sinner. He’s gasping your name once more , hot breath fanning your face and then he was grasping the skin of your thighs and pulling you on top of him, groaning as you slotted in perfectly on his lap.

You writhed on top of him, moaning in barely concealed satisfaction as he deepened the kiss, cupping your face like he couldn’t bear to let go of you. When you pulled back, his eyes are completely dark with desire, pupils dilated and lashes falling heavily onto his high cheekbones, regarding you with so much admiration and need.

Those eyes.

His hands were everywhere then, on your thighs, your waist, your neck, your chest. You could feel him beginning to roam the outskirts of your shirt, teasing and playing with the hem. A ragged sigh of relief forced itself from somewhere inside you when he finally bunched up the fabric and touched your skin, hands reaching around your back to undo the clasp and then your lips were returning clumsily to his, biting and suckling on his bottom lip and relishing in the almost pained, but deeply attractive growl that left him.

You kept your eyes locked intently on his while you helped him with removing your top, fingers going over his, watching as his gaze shifted from your eyes to somewhere lower. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces, dulce niña.”

You wanted him, all of him , couldn’t stand to go even a second without it, and then you were pulling his shirt up in turn, breath catching in your throat when you felt how warm he was, enjoying the sculpted terrain of his chest and abdomen as his hands went to yours once again, pressing you closer to him.

“Do you want this? I need to hear you say it, cariño , want you to tell me how much you want it.”

You were nodding, half-delirious and it wasn’t even a question, without any doubts and you told him exactly how you wanted him.“Yes—yes, please, please, I just want you . Need you inside.”

There was no grace or patience in the way you both hastily peeled the rest of each other’s clothes off, and then there was the slow drag of his cock against your folds, teasing you, letting the anticipation hang further in the air just to torture you a little bit more—until you were practically begging for it.

“Shit, baby,” Miguel groaned lowly into your ear when his attempts to enter you were hindered by the wet squelch of your pussy as he tried to bottom out. “You gotta relax for me a bit, okay? Don’t know how much longer I can hold out with you like this for me.”

All you could do was nod mindlessly, trying your hardest to stifle the urge to just sink down, and with a gasp, you jerked forward, eyes widening in pure, unadulterated pleasure as you took all of him inside. Miguel gasped, reaching for your hips.

This was so different from all of your previous rendezvous with him. You weren’t complaining, not with the view below you of Miguel falling apart inside you.

“Look at me,” In this light, Miguel looked downright heavenly, eyes drifting between you and where you were connected with him, murmuring his agreement. Anything, anything you want. You sat in delicious realization as you had the reins. “Don’t look away.”

It was unspoken and evident in the warmth and desire he followed your words closely, never once breaking eye contact. I’m all yours.

You began rolling your hips in earnest, starting off slow and cautiously with up-and-down movements, your hands gripping his shoulders for stability as you teased him, almost mocked him similarly to the way he’d edge you in past times, making you feel every depth of him and forcing you to stay stuck in his pace.

Suffice to say, while you had learned the tolerance and patience of playing this long game with him, biding your time, Miguel was very close to falling apart.

There was no telling how long your sickly sweet torture of him lasted, gushing and clenching around him to the point that he had to lay his head back on the head of the sofa, breathing heavily and closing his eyes at the feeling of you around him.

You could’ve done this all day, watching intently as the vein connecting his shoulder and neck throbbed with need, but then he was slurring endless praise for you to keep going, to use him just how you wanted him. You almost felt bad, until you began rocking faster so suddenly that it must’ve given him whiplash, effectively ending the prolonged

“ Dios. Don’t stop, please, gatita—”

His hand snaked in between your legs, pressing hard against the hood of your clit and then you were coming around him, whiteness bursting across your vision as you moaned and writhed on top of him, riding out the throes of your pleasure.

You slumped, but you remained on top of him there, far, far from over.

“Miguel, ‘m tired, help me,” The next words that left your lips were foreign, but it was also the clearest inclination that you had ever felt the whole night. “Want to feel you cum inside.”

Miguel froze below you as if assessing the weight of your words. “Are you sure?”

“Please. I want to feel it.”

How could he have possibly said no to that?

The next course of events that transpired was enough to make your brain short-circuit, as the hands on your hips fell to your ass, more demanding, reclaiming the control that was rightfully his. Another pause, The way he kissed you was so gentle, you were almost lulled into a false sense of security—but then he was slamming into you with the force of his whole body, his hips touching up and hitting something within you that made you see stars.

Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god—-fuck.

“You think,” He growled out through gritted teeth, moving from your lips to the side of your neck and sinking in with teeth that felt so much sharper. “You can just get away with saying something like that? Like it wouldn’t do something to me?”

He tutted, shaking his head and meeting your eyes with the same confidence and danger that he had shown you from across the bar during that first night. “No, no. That just won’t—God, fuck,” Miguel’s head was thrown back when you moaned around him, unable to respond with coherent words. “That just won’t do.”

“I’m going to make you feel me for days .”

You whimpered, keeling under his touch as you let him fulfill his promise, merely going along for the ride and realizing, no, you were never fully in control in the first place.  

His hips began to stutter as he plowed his hips against yours a few more times, each thrust growing progressively sloppy and uncontrolled, moaning out your name and other things you couldn’t possibly comprehend in your dazed state. “You rode me so good, yeah? Going to show you just how grateful I am.”

When you felt the warmth spreading around you, all-consuming and so, so right, you thanked whatever lied in the heavens above you for leading you to him.

You laid in his arms, content and sated and giddy with happiness as he rode out the rest of his orgasm, his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder.

The room felt hot and heavy. The two of you were fucked out, your breaths intermingling with his own as you rested your forehead on top of his, smiling in a tired way that he was elated to reflect. “Let’s go to bed.”

Miguel found it hard to leave.

He insisted on tucking you into bed, despite your tired insistence that you could stay awake. His hands roamed the soft fabric of his shirt that you were now wearing. Sleep came to you easily, resting with a content smile as you faced him with only mere inches separating the two of you on his vast, California King bed, the day’s troubles slowly wearing off your form in lines as you rested into a deep slumber.

It was two in the morning, and most places were already shut down, all except for one. And he knew he had to do something.

See, he lied to you earlier. His anger never quite, fully went away, just lingered beneath the surface. Waiting.

And it surged at the mention of what your ex-fiancé had done. It rippled when he heard your voice, unsure and lost, through the speaker of his phone, threatened to boil over when he listened to the full extent of just how he ruined your prospects and learned the full reason for why you were back home.

He tried his best to hide the way his fists clenched at his side, figured that maybe it was best to let bygones be bygones and let you handle it, but then he saw the way you had curled into yourself on his couch, on the verge of breaking.

Now, that just wouldn’t do.

Sometimes, Miguel made concessions for his actions. There were times when he let his anger fester and seep into his consciousness in rare, opportune moments and he knew that when it did, there was no stopping what he was about to do.

He convinced himself that he had pushed down that part of himself a long time ago,  abandoned along with his ambitions at the first floor of Alchemax, but it drove him to the same bar you met him anyway, watching from across the street as your ex-fiancé pounded back shots with two women draped across his shoulders.

The recognition rang true in his mind as he reminisced on some of your mother’s Facebook posts about the two of you. It was him, no doubt about it.

Miguel looked at himself in the mirror then and allowed himself the time to reconsider, to drive back to his house where you and Gabi remained asleep, blissfully unaware of what he was about to do.

He saw your ex-fiancé laugh, victorious and unassuming, and decided in that split second that there was no going back. Not for you.

It was too easy to lure the guy into an alleyway with the false pretense of  fucking drugs —-and on a regular occasion, he would’ve laughed about how cliche it all was, how stupid this guy was for following him into danger—-but he had a greater goal to accomplish.

Miguel didn’t feel any remorse as he watched his target crumple to the ground, wheezing and shielding his hands up to him, and that’s when Miguel laughed as if that would have possibly done anything to stop what he was about to do.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I don’t know who… who you think I am but I’m from out of town, you’ve got the wrong guy—”

“Oh, I think I’ve got just the right one,” His voice grew lower, his mocking laugh dying off the edge of his tongue as he tilted his head at the simpering mess beneath him. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

His desperate attempts and pathetic pleas to get him to stop fell on deaf ears as Miguel continued, cool and composed, barely breaking a sweat even as he delivered more blows upon him.

“Go home. Fix yourself up. Get her that internship back, along with anything else you could’ve possibly lost her, or I swear,” He forced your ex-fiancé to look up at him then, and lets his words hang menacingly in the air. Doesn’t feel anything as he sputters out an agreement through raspy breaths. “You’ll have a lot worse coming for you.”

Miguel stopped at his office on the way home, stripping off the remnants of his actions and washing off the blood that had accumulated on his hands and beneath his fingernails. He made sure to be meticulous, fixing the collar of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves as he pulled out of the parking lot and put in directions to a 24-hour diner he knew that you and Gabi adored.

He ordered a dozen doughnuts and a breakfast pizza for all of you to share in the morning, leaving a hefty tip as he pushed out of the drive-through and headed home.

The house was still as he left it, carefully peeling off his shoes and placing them next to yours as he made his way to the kitchen, setting down your breakfast for the next day and fixing up two quick glasses of water for himself and for you before he made his way upstairs.

When he pushed the door open, his breath caught in his throat.

It seemed, that in the time he was gone, Gabi must’ve had a nightmare. There were some nights where, despite her best attempts to act grown-up and mature, she would still make her way to his room and would huddle close to him in the dark.

Gabi had migrated to his bed in search of him but instead found you. Your arms lazily draped over her, fingers still caught combing through her hair as one of Gabi’s bedtime books lied abandoned next to the two of you, fast asleep and snoring softly as they waited for him to come back.

In that instant, Miguel knew that he was in deep, deep trouble. He was screwed, there was no other way about it. It was you. It had been you, all along, all this time.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #oscar isaac #mdni #miguel o'hara smut

[gothhabiba]

On the one hand, people who take a hardline stance on “AI art is not art” are clearly saying something naïve and indefensible (as though any process cannot be used to make art? as though artistry cannot still be involved in the set-up of the parameters and the choice of data set and the framing of the result? as though “AI” means any one thing? you’re going to have a real hard time with process music, poetry cut-up methods, &c.).

But all of this (as well as takes that what's really needed is a crackdown on IP) are a distraction from a vital issue—namely that this is technology used to create and sort enormous databases of images, and the uses to which this technology is put in a police state are obvious: it's used in service of surveillance, incarceration, criminalisation, and the furthering of violence against criminalised people.

Of course we've long known that datasets are not "neutral" and that racist data will provide racist outcomes, and we've long known that the problem goes beyond the datasets (even carefully vetting datasets does not necessarily control for social factors). With regards to "predictive policing," this suggests that criminalisation of supposed leftist "radicals" and racialised people (and the concepts creating these two groups overlap significantly; [link 1], [link 2]) is not a problem, but intentional—a process is built so that it always finds people "suspicious" or "guilty," but because it is based on an "algorithm" or "machine learning" or so-called "AI" (processes that people tend to understand murkily, if at all), they can be presented as innocent and neutral. These are things that have been brought up repeatedly with regards to "automatic" processes and things that trawl the web to produce large datasets in the recent past (e.g. facial recognition technology), so their almost complete absence from the discourse wrt "AI art" confuses me.

Abeba Birhane's thread here, summarizing this paper (h/t @thingsthatmakeyouacey) explains how the LAION-400M dataset was sourced/created, how it is filtered, and how images are retrieved from it (for this reason it's a good beginner explanation of what large-scale datasets and large neural networks are 'doing'). She goes into how racist, misogynistic, and sexually violent content is returned (and racist mis-categorisations are made) as a result of every one of those processes. She also brings up issues of privacy, how individuals' data is stored in datasets (even after the individual deletes it from where it was originally posted), and how it may be stored associated with metadata which the poster did not intend to make public. This paper (h/t thingsthatmakeyouacey [link]) looks at the ImageNet-ILSVRC-2012 dataset to discuss "the landscape of harm and threats both the society at large and individuals face due to uncritical and ill-considered dataset curation practices" including the inclusion of non-consensual pornography in the dataset.

Of course (again) this is nothing that hasn't already been happening with large social media websites or with "big data" (Birhane notes that "On the one hand LAION-400M has opened a door that allows us to get a glimpse into the world of large scale datasets; these kinds of datasets remain hidden inside BigTech corps"). And there's no un-creating the technology behind this—resistance will have to be directed towards demolishing the police / carceral / imperial state as a whole. But all criticism of "AI" art can't be dismissed as always revolving around an anti-intellectual lack of knowledge of art history or else a reactionary desire to strengthen IP law (as though that would ever benefit small creators at the expense of large corporations...).

#ai art #ip law #neural networks #machine learning #ai #technology #readings #art tag

[vindelllas]

Bouncing off of the last post, what is the difference between revati chandra and revati surya?

the difference between your surya, chandra, and lagna - what determines planetary dominance the most (a revati case study) 🎀

🎀 i am so glad you asked this question because it alludes to a larger conversation in astrology: the differences and similarities between the manifestation of the same nakshatra in differing luminaries. you will likely find yourself relating to celebrities or familiar friends who share similar nakshatras or rashis as your top three, but wherein lies the difference between you both?

🎀 you surya is representative of the father, the king, power, authority, your soul, and the way you appear to other people. how bright your outward projection is depends upon the strength of your surya placement. surya controls the vital energy within you that drives you towards attaining fulfillment. whereas, your chandra is representative of the mother, the queen, intrapersonal and interpersonal emotions, mental clarity, familial relationships, and the matters of the mind. it is not inherently your intelligence (as this is under buddha's rulership), but how your emotions shape the expression and drive of your intelligence. additionally, your ascendent is considered the most important house in sidereal astrology, as it rules one's body and personality. do not confuse this with denoting luck, career, and wealth, as these are the more centralized likes of other houses in the chart. in my opinion, it is simply the basis for our being.

🎀 this is ultimately why the lagna is often said to influence one's appearance the most, as it is our core foundation. however, the potency and effectivity of your surya or chandra fluctuates depending on its placement and strength. for example, having a leo uttara phalguni surya in the first house tightly conjunct your lagna that serves as your atmakaraka is more likely to you make solar dominant than having a taurus krittika surya in your twelfth house that is conjunct shani and is your darakaraka. it is all about relativity and strength! this is ultimately why i encourage people to really explore their chart (as there are instances where your big three nakshatra's vimshottari rulers may not be your dominant grahas). look at your karakas, rashis, mahadashas, aspects, lagna lords, yogas, etc..

🎀 rant aside, how people interpret a nakshatra that occupies a chandra or surya is entirely dependent on the previous detailed factors. just remember your surya is the outer self, which can be altered according to your choice and situation while your chandra is the inner you, your true self. surya takes twelve months to traverse all rashis, i.e. remains for a full month within one rashi, therefore, the predictions made can be used for a single month. however, your chandra moves more quickly and is only in a particular sign for approximately two and a half days. Hence, the predictions on the basis of moon sign are more precise and accurate, therefore having a certain nakshatra in your chandra is considered to be generally more significant than your surya (relative planetary strength willing). to see this phenomena, let us examine the differences between different revati surya, chandra, and lagna natives

🎀 above are two revati lagnas, bette midler (left) and shakira (right). both natives look similar to one another with their slightly arched, high brows; almond eyes with a downturned inner corner, prominent nose, oval facial shape, defined cheek apples, and perfectly symmetrical lips. despite both women sharing no prominent placements (shakira is a shravana surya and punarvasu chandra native, midler is an anuradha surya and and swati chandra native), they both are comparable as far as physical facial appearance.

*see my previous post on rahu and shani's, specifically swati and anuradha, correlations to looking alike with other individuals

🎀 anya taylor-joy (left) and carly chaikin (right)

🎀 chaikin has an uttara bhadrapada surya and potential revati chandra. whereas, taylor-joy has an ashwini surya and potential revati chandra. despite both celebrities being potential revati natives, we can see their overall facial characteristic differences. despite them sharing similar nasal structure and facial shape, their eye distance, brow shape, and mouth shape are incredibly different. thus, suggesting that other grahas are influencing their appearance more so than revati.

🎀 paulina porizkova (left) christina moore (right)

🎀 moore is a revati surya and potential ashlesha chandra native. conversely, porizkova is revati surya, pushya chandra, and vishakha lagna native. interestingly, both women have shukra conjunct their surya within a degree. these two natives look more alike than taylor-joy and chaikin despite them having differing primary placement energies. this overall dominance of revati in their appearance (aforementioned lightly arched, high brows; almond eyes with a downturned inner corner, prominent nose, oval facial shape, defined cheek apples, and perfectly symmetrical lips) is likely attributable to their surya being their atmakaraka, meaning the graha most indicative of one's soul in their chart. therefore, it is likely these natives resonate more with their revati surya than other placements in their chart.

🎀 i hope this helped better understand the physical differences witnessed within different nakshatras. i hope to speak about the internal differences in a later post <3

* all of these placements were found using astrotheme/.com and/or astro-charts/.com. it is important to note that some chandra (moon) placements may be off by up to 6 degrees and lagnas (ascendants/rising signs) as well, due to the fact that many websites do not have 100% accurate birth times for the given celebrities.

xoxo, angel 💋

#vedicastrology #astrology #nakshatras #revati #surya #chandra #lagna

[nerdieforpedro]

Interlude One - A Negative into a Positive

The Lake Between Us Series

Ezra AU x Seraphina (plus size OFC)

This fanfic (overall) is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 1028

Summary: Ezra is awakened by someone who is not his Sundrop.

Warnings: sudden entrance is sudden, implied sexual activity, Ezra having banter with someone who's got equal wit, domestic fluff

Notes: This takes place between chapter 5 and 6 because I enjoy family drama. I stir the pot. 😆

Main Masterlist/ Ezra Masterlist/ The Lake Between Us Series

“I didn’t expect to find a man here. I did joke with her to find one but didn’t realize they’d be in her bedroom. I take it she didn’t tell you I have a key?” 

Ezra is greeted by a short petite woman with a chestnut brown bun on her head and around the edges of her face, she has graying hair. He was confused at first why this woman was in his…Seraphina’s home. But he heard her laugh and recognized it despite the higher pitch. She’s wearing a white t-shirt and a tan skirt, her feet had on tiny purple Harry Potter slippers. He knew those were too small for Sera’s feet.

“No, Sun- Seraphina left that out. It hadn’t been an issue.” Ezra ran his hands along his thighs, thankful that they’d slept with the thicker sheet last night. She shouldn’t see too much, he hoped.

“I’m an issue am I? Hm. I’ll be out in the living room.” She huffed and left. Ezra grabbed his phone and texted Sera, letting her know that her mother was here. Not that she could do anything about it. She was working at the hospital today. He was to lock up after sleeping in. Getting out of bed, he dressed and ran his fingers through his hair, calming it a bit before heading to the living room.

“Forgive my poor word choice. You are not an issue not unwelcome. Just unexpected.” He sat down on the couch next to her as her face remained stern.

“Unexpected in my own daughter’s house? I suppose to you. Are you serious about her or just warming her bed Ezra? And yes I know your name. Also is your food really that good? She said it was and it might be, other factors may make her think so.” Squinting her eyes, he could only laugh. This woman was intimidating, sure, but also so short.

“Might I interest you in some leftovers? Seraphina enjoys my gumbo most of all.” He stood and walked over to the kitchen, taking out a tupperware dish and setting it on the counter. Sera’s mother stood and made her way over to the dish, removing the top and inhaling the spices wafting out.

“Heat it up. We’ll see what you’ve got, young man.” Ezra did just that and handed a bowl to the matriarch who sat at the table to eat it with a glass of water. Seraphina returned Ezra’s call from the medication room. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door.

“I am so sorry. I forgot to tell her to let me know when she stops by, especially since we exchange beds now.”

“I believe I should be able to ask her for your key. Assuming she gives it to me, would I be allowed to keep it and use it as I see fit?”

“Ezra you do realize what you’re asking right?”

“I am aware Sundrop. I can have one for you when you return home this evening. I have to convince her first. We’ll discuss it more when I have the key in hand.”

“Some days you comfort me and others I think you’ll be the death of me. I dare say you’re pitching for both today. I’m going to turn the light on when I get home not matter if you have the key or not.”

“Stay safe and have a good shift Sera.”

“Don’t underestimate her, Ezra. Take care.”

Ezra emerged from the bedroom and sat Sera’s mother, the bowel empty with the glass of water too. “Your gumbo is delicious. The sausage was perfect with the spices and vegetables.”

“Why thank you. Your accolades are what I seek now-“

“I’m not deaf. And these walls are thin. I’m not giving you her key over some good ass gumbo. No matter how well it would have gone with a side of biscuits.” Standing, she removed the slippers and placed them by the door. Putting her flip flops back on. “I will say, you do seem to be good for her, even if there’s something about you that’s a bit dangerous. Hopefully whatever that is, you keep it in your past. Thank you for lunch. I’ll see myself out.”

“I would never and to your earlier question, she is integral to my wellbeing. Let me walk you to the door.” He followed her out and opened her car door for her. 

“You have a good afternoon Ezra. Tell Sera I’ll be by again and I’ll call this time.” The grin on her face almost made him click his tongue, almost. Straining a smile he waved as she pulled off. Frustrated that he wasn’t able to charm her.

It was a few days later, after a frantic session on the couch where they both chased their release, did Sera pull something out of an envelope she’d brought over. Ezra hadn’t paid much attention to it because he was focused on burying himself within her once again. 

“What do you have there Moonbeam?” Ezra asked, legs wide on the couch after tucking himself back in. Seraphina chuckled, pulling the top of her dress back up. 

“Ma had a message for you, Ezra. She told me not to open it. Here.” Handing to him, she sat next to him and draped her legs over his right leg, curing up next to him.

“How badly did things go with her?” He flatly asked as he tore open the envelope to reveal a small piece of paper. 

“Not badly at all. She’s fond of you. Just defensive. I told her she should have called before coming.”

“Hmm…seems I’m growing on her. Look.” He shows Sera the slip of paper and they both laugh.

Well Ezra, maybe your gumbo is more than damn good. I’ll make sure to call like I said I would. Make sure you keep that same feeling about my Sera. You’re important to her too. Might be departing with this key soon it seems. I’ll have you wait on it. Do you some good to simmer like some of your gumbo.

-The tiny mother with the slippers (don’t think I didn’t notice you snickering)

Chapter Five Chapter Six

Taste-testers of Ezra’s gumbo 🍤: @rav3n-pascal22 @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @survivingandenduring @bonezone44 @magpiepillsjunior @yorksgirl @gemmahale @missredherring @missladym1981 @alltheglitterandtheroar @megamindsecretlair @readingiskeepingmegoing @pedroshotwifey @tinytinymenace @inept-the-magnificent @vivian-pascal @jessthebaker

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Ezra prospect #Ezra prospect x ofc #the lake between us #nerdie fic #Ezra prospect fanfiction

[rebouks]

Previous | Next

Wyatt hesitated, it was obvious that Darien was nervous; wanted to say something, but you always had to coax these things out of him and he wasn’t sure if he could be bothered right now. He supposed he wasn’t much different, though it was arguably more annoying being on the receiving end of such things. He decided to bite the bullet anyway, “Well?”

Darien didn’t answer, eyes flicking toward the rear-view mirror. Wyatt spun in place to see what had caught his attention. Oscar, Ivan and Bruno were headed toward the elevator, the three musketeers; he rolled his eyes. Of course they’d been summoned too. Wyatt briefly considered if they’d lost their minds before remembering that his father wasn’t privy to the same information he was. Besides, Arturo wasn’t someone you could easily ignore; not when you had a precious family to protect, because he would show up on your doorstep, or send someone in his stead. Darien clearly shared Wyatt’s sentiment.

“I’m surprised they’d risk coming here, though I suppose choice was never a factor.”

Wyatt shrugged, “Not really.”

No doubt they’d be glad it was almost over, Bruno especially. He played the part well for sure, but in all his time working for Arturo, he’d never once seemed happy about it. Brow furrowed; Wyatt wondered if he was glad too, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Although he wanted to prove to Arturo that he had been right, he knew he couldn’t risk it. Doing so would only reveal his own betrayal. It should have been satisfying, but Wyatt could already feel himself shrinking under his father’s cold, piercing gaze as he realised his own son had deceived him so immeasurably. He didn’t need to know; his demise would be satisfying enough, it had to be.

Darien broke the silence this time, “I’m not going up there.”

“I know.” Wyatt replied, looking slightly confused.

“I don’t think you should either.”

Wyatt groaned, slumping in his seat, “He’ll tell everyone it’s over, warn them not to cross him or each other, ensure they remain silent.. yada, yada, yada. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“So, why bother?” Darien asked, despite knowing the answer. Wyatt’s eyes glazed over with momentary boredom. It was tiresome, being questioned repeatedly, though Wyatt knew Darien meant well. His friend had a penchant for steering him in the right direction; but not this time.

“I just want to see the look on his face.”

Darien sighed, this was an argument he’d failed to win several times over, “You better go n’ get it out of your system then, I wanna get gone.”

Wyatt nodded resolutely, turning toward the door handle.

“If you’re not back within two hours-…”

Though he was exasperated, Wyatt failed to hide the amusement in his voice, “You’ll leave without me, I know… Except you’d never.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Darien shooed Wyatt, “Fuck off!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Wyatt threw his hands up in surrender.

Darien winced as the car door slammed shut, Wyatt’s laughter fading as he sauntered toward the elevator. He was glad he’d decided to stay behind…

#somnium #sims 4 #storytelling #ts4 story #sims story #simblr #wyatt shaw #darien moore #prose?! mostly from wyatt's perspective?! #ew #by “up there” they mean artie's penthouse btw #o_o #i do like this style sometimes but boy does it take twice as long x.x #i just thought it'd be interesting to get in wyatt's head for a brief moment #and how many interesting screenies can you really take of an underground carpark anyway

[hardtchill]

Perhaps I'm just naive and (tragically) American, but don't all the major league sports teams here have the ability to uproot their players via trades? I guess with the major male leagues they're all making substantially more money, which could negate some of the hardship of moving. And maybe they have more say in it? Do sports leagues outside the US function very differently?

Don't get me wrong, the way things go down in the NWSL is horrible, and the fact that so many of the players don't even see their trades coming and get blindsided is flat out cruel.

I'm not trying to defend anything, just genuinely confused. I've been a huge NHL fan my entire life and couldn't explain how trades work if my life depended on it.

Basically every other sports league outside of America banned this. The NWSL and MLS are actually going against FIFA rules with this system.

FIFA has the rule that no trade can happen without a player's consent and that contracts need to be honored. A player cannot be held by a club beyond their contract date which means once the contract ends the player is free to go. A club can offer a new contract but the player decides whether to take it or go somewhere else. If a club wants to trade a player during their contract to another club the player needs to agree to it.

In other leagues the concept of waiving also doesn't exist. If a club wants to terminate a contract they need to pay out the remaining months/years. Drafts do not happen anywhere else either. Players no matter what age who enter pro sports decide where they want to play. Most play in an academy and sign their first contract between the ages of 16-18 either with their parent club or if another offers something better they can go there.

The whole American system goes against the human right everyone should have. The right to decide where to live, love and work. Yes circumstances can change and people may move because of work but they get a choice. If you get fired by a restaurant, you do not get told you have to work for the restaurant 3 states over or never work in a restaurant again.

Money is a factor that plays a part. If you earn 5 million a year or even 500k a year being forced to move is a blow you can financially shoulder. The thing is that the most vulnerable players in the NWSL who have the least amount of certainty earn 50k a year. Those players are hardest hit when they are traded without being informed.

Also, i would bet my left boob that even the biggest earners would give some money up if that meant their life couldn't be uprooted and plenty do. The big shots get to say they want a no trade clause in their contract and they forego more money to have it. Younger and lower paid players just do not get that option.

#ask #nwsl

[outofangband]

I headcanon that there is variation in the natures of Maiar regarding their devotion, free will, purpose and expression, and intentions. Though almost all serve one of the Valar (some more closely than others), they vary in form and roles with some functionally autonomous beings with preferences and opinions and others closer to concepts or vessels.

To rank them into a neat scale would be near impossible (especially considering the number of factors) but for some examples

Eönwë is an example of a more autonomous being. He is fiercely loyal to Manwë and cannot conceive of being otherwise but he is nonetheless capable of his own opinions including those that might include a note of uncertainty or disagreement towards the will of Manwë. Eönwë is capable too of taking on different forms and has preferences regarding his appearance and control over how he changes it. Despite having a high level of autonomy for the Maiar, he will not, or cannot, veer from his path. He will serve the will of Manwë (though he might challenge it on occasion) until the end

Some Maiar are clearly capable of changing allegiances like Ossë and Sauron and Langon, perhaps feeling a devotion more to a concept than a Vala

Melian is a Maia of Vána who does not appear to serve her directly. She is capable of decisions for her own sake and the sake of others around her -and can apparently exert her will onto others and possibly control them- (CoH, Silm).

Arien and Tilion, Maiar of Vána and Oromë: they seem bound to specific tasks they do not veer from however still seem to have some autonomy, as in some versions Arien chooses different forms to appear in, Tilion makes conscious choices regarding his path, and both seem to have had some say in the ultimate decision to bear the sun and moon. They are both very powerful and in control of that power and thus I think they are more similar to Eönwë in terms of autonomy however their binding to eternal tasks still marks them as more distinctly non human and non elven

Each Vala has a different level and type of influence over their Maiar too with some forms of influence or contact that is normal for one considered taboo to another

We get into more speculation and headcanon here with other forms of Maiar

In canon there are creatures that seem to be Maia or Maia adjacent (the Eagles which do not or cannot change form and have greater power but narrower paths than ordinary eagles, dragons with their complicated autonomy and sentience, Huan and Nahar, etc)

I headcanon there are innumerable more examples of these types of beings. (I talked a bit here about the extent of Maiar)

There are Maiar who take on the forms of specific phenomena and might remain dormant or incorporeal when not appearing thus. Maiar might appear as colors, smells, wisps, emotional or psychological or even physical phenomena, flora and fauna, and even geography or dimensional spaces one can enter (I’m somewhat inspired by Mushishi too as well as the spaces in Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Remnants or residue of the Ainur appearing this way can further confuse things.

They have vastly varying degrees of sentience and awareness and communication. Less complex forms can often mean less complex existences, at least in the minds of elves and humans, but there is not a direct correlation. Some Maia appear to present only aspects of a full emotional and autonomous existence, for example appearing fully capable of humor through timing, context, etc but not otherwise able or willing to communicate with elves or replicate their experiences and expression. Some might be capable of profound empathy but unable to communicate through any spoken language, or able to mimic the body language and appearances of elves but not their tongue. Some communicate solely through music, through color, or imparting emotions.

On that note, it is not uncommon for pronoun conventions to differ among the Maiar with pronouns specific to objects, animals or abstract concepts being not uncommon

To be continued (I love world building and speculative subjects like this so please feel free to ask more! Or share thoughts!)

Follow up

#the silmarillion #Eönwë #Ainur #musing and meta #melian

[willshipanything-blog]

Rules of the Game- Chapter 9

I thought this chapter would be shorter. Oops.

Sorry for the lack of smut. Instead enjoy the angst and violence.

Chapter Index here.

Find this fic on AO3 here.

Usual tags apply, so minors DNI!

Chapter 9- Sign Your Name

You and Al had fallen back into the old routine like clockwork now. The luxury of sitting comfortably to feed had applied to just one meal, and he presented the rest of your food at his feet, where you knelt obediently to eat. You thanked him meekly and he left without a word. These interactions were all you saw of him. You couldn’t be sure, but you didn’t think he had been down to watch you sleeping recently. 

Though who could say for certain? You found yourself so unsure of him- what his intentions were every time he stepped into the basement, what mood he might be in (whether he’d be wearing the impish grin or the unhappy frown), what his true endgame was in this entire situation. It wasn’t pure fear you felt anymore, though that must have factored in somewhere. It was a virulent mixture. Hatred, dread, sorrow, loneliness, confusion.

All you could do in the basement was sleep and think. Neither was a very appealing option. Sleeping only led to nightmares and waking more restless than before. The nightmares weren’t always about Al, as they had been when you first arrived. They were more abstract dreams of dark shapes and evil voices chasing you down darkened corridors, your running taking on that terrifying dreamlike feature of slow-motionness, claws and teeth and screams snapping at you endlessly until you woke in fright. But when you were awake, your mind reeled. 

Thinking guided your thoughts down undesirable avenues: how you hadn’t been able to escape, how much you missed your family and friends, how you had started to feel about him, about Al. Not that you entertained the idea of caring about him in any way. But everything about him confused you. Why did the things he did start to feel good, nice even? Why did you find yourself leaning into and feeling a certain thrill from the pain he inflicted? A nagging voice at the back of your mind half-wished for another encounter with him. Your rational brain insisted this was because you needed to see more of the house above, to further your plans to escape him. 

Three days after he had last touched you, the opportunity presented itself. You awoke from your usual night terrors to find the door to your cell open. You sat up and stared hard at the door, thinking frantically. 

The game was getting so terribly confusing. He wants you to be good, and being good means staying where he’d put you, safe and sound in the basement. 

But then why open the door? At least some part of him wants his good girl to be naughty, because he wants to punish her. He enjoys the pain he inflicts. Would it be worse to go up, accept whatever discipline he gives? Or should you stay, and remain his good girl? Both choices felt wrong somehow. The game felt hopelessly rigged. 

Still mulling these thoughts over, you made a final decision. You were going to go up. He hadn’t talked to you in days, and you needed to win his trust, especially after your blunder in the bathroom days before. You would willingly accept your punishment, in whatever form he chose. His sadistic nature would prefer beating or fucking you, rather than you cowering from it, and you found yourself wanting to please him. 

Although you had decided this course of action, you still crept silently up the narrow staircase. Reaching the top step, you slowly turned the small brass knob of the door to the kitchen. You readied yourself to look into his frowning face, though as the door opened softly, the scene before you caught you unaware. Al was sitting there, legs spread and belt loosely in hand. He wasn’t shirtless this time, though his cardigan was unbuttoned and his broad chest and stomach peeked out from behind it in the kitchen’s dimness. But the grimacing mask was slumped downwards and his breathing was slow and deep. He was asleep. 

This was not part of any plan. But this was better, surely? A real chance of escape, not one where you had to pleasure him or endure his painful machinations to keep him happy and keep yourself alive. You knew you had to try, although this thought filled you with more dread than you expected. As if your initial plan to make him happy was preferable to actually escaping. No, that can’t be it, you told yourself. All of this was just unexpected and threw you for a loop. 

You willed yourself to think only of your escape. Tiptoeing along the linoleum floor, you had to twist your body to pass Al's slumped form. He was a sleeping lion, even grunting quiet snarls as he slept. If he woke, he was sure to rip you apart for your misdeeds. Your sock squealed on the rubbery floor, as loud as a gunshot to your ears, and you froze in place. You clapped a hand to your mouth before you could utter any fearful gasp. The Grabber’s bulky form, just inches from you, stirred ever so slightly. His shoulders shrugged and his head rocked back slightly, finding a new position to snooze in. He hadn’t woken.

You made it to the living room, exhaling a slow breath. The carpet muffled your steps better here. You slunk to the door, but your heart dropped when you saw the bike lock securely latching the door closed. You had no hope of even guessing the code. The window then. The lounge had a large window, squarely behind the sofa. The blinds were only half down, exposing the outside world to you. A clear night sky was brightened by a couple of streetlights glowing dimly on the empty street. Freedom was so close. 

The window would lift up from the bottom, and once fully open you’d have just enough room to squeeze through. Al’s muscular frame wouldn’t fit through the gap, and you figured he’d waste precious seconds unfastening the bike lock. This could work. It would make a noise, so you’d have to do it in one quick motion and run like hell. You looked quickly towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, where Al still slept soundly on his chair. You knelt on the soft couch, hands ready on the window latch. With purpose, you yanked it with all your strength. 

The glass pane slid up easily in your hands, then abruptly stopped about six inches from its original position. With the momentum you’d put into pulling it, the sound of it catching made a roaring thud. You had no time to think about why it wouldn’t open, but instead reflexively looked toward the kitchen. No sleeping figure there any longer. Your captor had risen, and had begun to take off the devilled horns, leaving only the frown sitting below his eyes which were gleaming with menace. They were flint-black with rage, no trace of the calming cerulean blue in them.

In that moment, you knew. You knew it was over. Your body, however, rejected this notion, and its instinctive response was to run. You bolted off the couch and ran blindly down the hallway. Unable to hear any footsteps due to the blood pumping in your skull, you simply ran as far as you could, eyeing the door at the very end of the narrow corridor. Bursting through it, your legs collided painfully with a wooden bed frame, forcing you to stop. You took a split second to see your options- to your left a bathroom, to your right another window. He was on you before your brain could make that decision; a thundering blow to your back forced you harshly onto the bed, and his entire weight was on you. You were completely trapped beneath him, pressure on your ribs and chest making you unable to even scream or plead for your life. 

Your head was yanked back, a tight fist grabbing your hair, almost pulling it from the roots. You managed only a pained gasp.

“If you wanted to be in my bed, Y/N, you only had to ask.” You shook your head vigorously, further stinging your scalp. His weight lifted from you as he swiftly flipped you onto your back. You knew you had no time to come up with some pitiful excuse, but tried anyway.

“Please, Al, I wasn’t-” a brutal punch to your face had you reeling, the entire left side of your face ringing. You felt blood pouring from the reopened wound on your cheek, and the taste of iron told you your mouth was bleeding too. You were too shocked to scream, barely able to think straight with the amplifying ringing in your ears and the black dots dancing in your vision. 

You heard the belt buckle clanking and tensed your body, readying for the inevitable hit. Instead, you felt a pressure around your neck and all too late determined what he was doing with that damned belt. The leather dug into your neck without mercy, biting agonizingly into your bruises and bites. Pressing tighter and tighter, your eyes popped open to see him hunched over you. The frowning mask was betrayed; you knew underneath he was wearing a demonic smile. Your hands clawed madly at your throat, but you were unable to take even the tiniest of breaths, and your arms felt heavier with each second. You took a final look into those shining eyes, and then went limp.

Air suddenly flooded into your lungs, and you gulped in huge, croaking breaths, coughing and spluttering whilst splayed out, immobile, on the bed. He had decided not to strangle you to death tonight. Was that a kindness, or just a chance to play more cruel games with your life? You were only vaguely aware when he spoke:

“I don’t want my nice neat room getting all messy with your blood. Let’s take this downstairs shall we?”

You felt an indistinct movement around your feet, then found yourself sliding off the bed’s silky sheets to the floor with a thump. You felt yourself moving, your t-shirt riding up and your back burning as you traveled across the carpet. Your vision cleared enough to allow you to see what was happening. You saw Al, holding one end of the belt, the rest of the leather entwined around your ankles. He was dragging you along the hallway by your bound feet. 

Your voice was still uselessly raspy so you flailed your arms, trying to claw onto something, anything, to slow down your journey. You did not want to reach the destination. As you crossed the threshold into the living room, your hand felt something hard, and you instinctively wrapped your fingers around it. Light beamed across the room and a shatter of glass and metal broke the silence as the lamp fell to the floor. 

“Fucking bitch.” He hissed these words, perhaps not wanting to make any more noise than the falling furniture already had. Your feet had been elevated, but he dropped them carelessly and they thudded onto the carpet. Your whole body lurched as he picked you up, draping you over his broad shoulder, your stomach pressed uncomfortably into it. The sudden movement made you gasp and you coughed, your throat clearing a little. 

You used what little voice you’d regained to beg, knowing it was futility itself. 

“Please Al, I’m sorry. Al, please, I didn’t mean it.” These pleas were rasped into his ear but met only with stony silence. Descending the steps to the basement, you were once again thrown to the floor, though this time your back cracked heavily onto the stone. He had closed the door before your ear-splitting scream of pain could escape to the floor above.

He paced the room, looking indecisive about what punishment would be most fitting in the situation. You hoped to pacify him a little, explain yourself, soothe him. With some difficulty, you rolled onto your stomach and slid nearer to him, at a snail’s pace with your feet still tied by his belt. 

“Please, Al. I wasn’t planning on escaping. Believe me.” you pleaded.

“What did I say about fucking lying to me, Y/N?!” he roared, kicking you away as your hands grasped desperately at his trouser leg. 

“I’m not! I- You were asleep- I just had to try!”

“Well, now it’s my turn to try something,” your stomach sank. “Let’s see…you broke my lamp, it seems only fair that I break something of yours,” he approached you now, leering over you as he spoke:

“What’ll it be, hm- an arm?” he placed his boot painfully over your forearm and applied pressure. “A rib?” he used the same foot to lean on your torso, picking out one of the more painful spots down your side. “Your neck?” He didn’t get the chance to crush your already abused neck under his foot; you had wrapped your arms around his leg in a pitiful display. You were ashamed, but you begged anyway, tears streaming down your face.

“Please Al, don’t do this, I’m your good girl, aren’t I, Al?” You didn't care if those words tasted sour on your tongue. You desperately hoped that's what he wanted to hear, the rules of the game. 

A kick to your stomach forced you back onto the floor. He scoffed in disgust. 

“Oh, you like my name so much, little dove? Saying it won’t lessen your punishment. I let you use it so you know who you fucking belong to.”

With his belt unavailable, Al used his feet to inflict pain this time around. Each kick hit a different part of you: a rib, your back, stomach and thighs. Your screams didn’t sway him to relent and they only served to further scratch at your burning neck. Between cruel kicks, he shrieked mananically.

“You belong to ME!” A blow to your right side. “You’re mine!” Another right above your navel. “Say it!” Another rib, of your left now. “Who do you belong to?!”

“YOU!” you found yourself howling. “I’m yours Al, I belong to you. Please, I’m yours!”

He stopped. He considered your words, though you couldn’t see his face while you lied on the cold floor, your body trembling from the pain radiating through you. He spoke calmly next:

“You’re learning. Let’s make sure you don’t forget who owns you, Y/N.” He flipped you onto your back and straddled you, his weight cruelly pressing into every new bruise on your stomach. Your arms were trapped beneath his thighs, reminiscent of when he first took you in his van all those weeks ago. He wants to fuck me, now? This thought was quickly erased when you saw him produce the switchblade from his back pocket. No. It’s worse than that.

His knife nicked the collar of your shirt, and he ripped it down the middle with one quick tug. Your chest was fully exposed, your bra having been shredded to pieces days before during Al's last frenzied attack. You felt the cold metal tip run along your body, not pressing enough to draw blood, but terrifying you nonetheless. It was at your neck, sliding down over your collarbone before he curved it around one of your breasts. 

"Stay still for me now, or this is gonna really hurt Y/N." The words might have sounded merciful, if the hungry glint in his eye hadn’t told you how much he was going to enjoy this next part. He'd chosen his spot, and you felt the sharp blade press into your skin just below your left collarbone. Was this really it? Was he going to kill you by literally cutting out your heart? It burned horribly as it pressed into your skin. With a hand firmly on your shoulder, your hands trapped and your feet tied, you could only scream, a piercing wail unheard outside of your cell. 

He pulled the knife out with a squelch. It had only been a couple of seconds of agony, and he couldn't have cut too deeply.

"See, that wasn’t so bad, right? Just a few more." No, there couldn't be. Your body felt as though it were in enough pain to fill a lifetime. But still he continued, moving the knife to a slightly different spot at an altered angle. You counted five bites from the blade, each one carving into your flesh as if it were paper. Every butchering cut withdrew with the same odious squelch as the first. Your legs trembled beneath him and tears ran from the corner of your eyes down your temples, but your screaming had abated as you lay there, dazed.

“You can take the pain so well dove.” He still knelt atop you, and you steeled yourself to look at him. You didn’t dare to look at how he might have mangled your body. Noticing you staring up at him, he slickly ran his fingers along the bloody knife and to your horror, he licked your blood from his finger and gave a soft hum of contentment. 

Anger bubbled in your constricted throat, and you choked out an insult.

“You’re insane.” He let your words sit in the air between you for a moment. 

“That’s pretty funny, Y/N,” he began, as he wiped the flat side of the blade against your ribs to clean it. It didn’t cut you, but the sensation still sent ice bursting through your entire body. “You know what they say about insanity,”- he folded his knife away as he talked  -“it’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting things to change.” He shuffled down, his weight moving from your stomach to your thighs. Before you could lash out with your freed hands, he grabbed both of your wrists, restraining them on the floor at either side of your head. He leant forward, pressing his weight into your stomach and your wrists, still sore from where the rope had cut into it days earlier. 

His face was close, the mask’s nose brushing yours. His gravelling voice spoke frantically, signaling both his fury and his madness as the words rushed out from behind the mask. You didn’t move an inch, frozen in terror at his words. 

“Why do you think your continued bad behavior will end without me hurting you? How many chances do you think there are? You’ve had plenty more than the other naughty boys ever got. Even if you have more to offer, it doesn’t mean you can’t still be put with the rest of them to rot.” As quickly as his words spat out, he lifted himself off you, moved quickly to untangle his belt from around your ankles, and stormed out of the basement, slamming the door behind him. The lock clicked and you dared to breathe. 

You turned painfully onto your side, spitting up blood and bile as you allowed yourself to cough up what felt like a whole lung. You were truly overwhelmed with feelings. Your mind surged trying to piece together what had happened, cursing yourself at such a woeful escape attempt, and at losing more of his trust than ever. You really had no strikes left; Al had made it very clear what would happen if you misbehaved again. But mostly you felt pain. Everywhere in your body, new wounds and older, re-opened ones. Your throat, torso, wrists and legs, but mostly your chest. 

You looked down at your almost naked form, at the bruises and welts and scars. The smeared blood on your hips, and finally at the knife marks in your chest. You dabbed a little with your ripped shirt at the blood still slowly seeping from it, revealing the wound. He had made the marks into a word, branded onto you. It read ‘AL’. 

He was beyond livid. Pacing the kitchen like a cornered animal, his mask thrown carelessly on a nearby counter along with the belt. His breath was heavy with exertion and with ire. He poured a glass of cheap whiskey to steady himself, draining it in one gulp, the glass clinking against his rings. He sat on the chair that had been laid out on the kitchen floor.

All the promises she’d made. All the things he’d done for her. He made it clear there were no chances left. Another incident like tonight, and she’d be cold in the ground.

Left to think a little more, he found he was doubting himself a little, truly unsure of the game for the first time. He’d had no problem bending the rules, but the game had always ended eventually. Would it end with Y/N? 

Would he be able to do it, after the game had been going better than he’d ever imagined? He doubted he would ever find a more perfect thing to play with- she had some fire which he certainly found endearing, but she understood the game. And he enjoyed her so much: her pleading eyes, her bruises and cuts molded by his hands, her tears and blood, her body and her cunt. He was sure she was breaking, and it was delicious to watch her come undone.

If it came to it, to ending her life as he had done the others, he really couldn’t say if he’d be capable. As he sat in the kitchen contemplating these ideas, sorrow began to slowly cloud over his anger.

#the black phone #the grabber x reader #albert shaw x reader #the grabber #albert shaw #minors dni #new fic #slasher fandom #black phone #the grabber x you #first fic #slashers

[idrellegames]

hello!! i’ve been reading through a bunch of your answered asks regarding aeran (admittedly a horrible decision to make while at work bc i doubt i’ll be able to focus on much else now haha) and i was wondering if you’d be able to say more on aeran’s status as a romance? i saw you explained something about it either on here or patreon, about how he’s in a weird in-between state compared to other romance options and i was a little confused on what exactly that means. does it have something to do with how his romance flag works, in that the other LIs are new people in the MC’s life and aeran is the only one with prior history with the MC? if the explanation is too spoilery & you can’t answer, that’s fine!! i guess the biggest thing i’m wondering is, if we choose to flag aeran’s romance — or whatever you want to call it — in episode 1, is it a subplot that will carry through all 3 acts, like main romance routes? or is it not going to be as in-depth as other romance options? sorry if you’ve already answered something like this before, and thank you for your time and also all your work on this beautiful game!!!

There are a few things that make Aeran's romance different from other romances in the game:

He and the MC have a pre-established relationship. Because of this (and other factors), his romance does not unfold the same way as other romances. If you want to see any of his romance content (positive or negative), you have to flag his romance. It's not possible to naturally grow romance points with him from 0.

This choice will impact the full game throughout all 3 acts.

This choice does not stop you from pursuing other romances.

His romance content is just as in-depth as other romances, but it is structurally different.

How his romance content unfolds is dependent on major player choices. There are playthroughs where his romance content may become inaccessible entirely, even if your romance and approval levels remain high. He will literally not be romanceable in some playthroughs.

You'll find out what this means and how this plays out as the game progresses. Anything more is a spoiler.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #aeran kellis #romances #answered

[d1ana-m0nd]

╭─► ❝The Servant: Umbrella Academy's Servant❞

Five Hargreeves × Female! Reader || Written by Diana (d1ana-m0nd)

➢ Description : It's a well known fact that Sir. Reginald Hargreeves adopted 7 children to save the world from it's impending doom. Though, the number of children will change from 7 to 8 once a close friend of his, Rita Rossweisse was on her death bed and requested him to take in her child, who fortunately was born on October 1st 1989.

➢ Link : Masterlist

Character Profile: Number 0, The Servant

Name: Y/N Rossweisse

Alias: The Servant, Number 0, Zero

Age: 15 (Physically) and 31 (Mentally)

Birthday: October 1, 1989

Powers: Age Regression (Body won't age), Healing Factor, and Instant Learning

Relatives: Rita Rossweisse (Biological Mother) and Durandal (Mother and Rita's Significant other)

Appearance: A teenage girl always seen in a maid outfit, (insert your height, weight, haircut, hair color, skin color, and eye color)

Notes: Just like the other children I have adopted, this one is as special as them. The only difference between Number 0 and the others is that her mother, Rita Rossweisse, offered her (the child) to me on her deathbed. I had no intentions of taking the child from her since she has always wanted one but, due to her partner dying in battle and her being weak after giving birth to the child, I had no choice but take her in and I vowed not to waste her talents. To honor my friend, I decided to let the child keep her mother's last name and the given name her mother gave her, to serve as a reminder of that woman's legacy.

Ever since I took her in, I took notice of how the child looked oddly young than the others. As I delve further, I found out that her cells worked differently from others, and as more experiments came to be, I finally found what her cells specialized in, they specialize in healing, a healing factor. Through this discovery, we made use of her blood by using it as a component that would speed up the healing process, though the more we take blood from her, the more her fear for needles grow.

I am afraid to admit this but it has to be done, her age regression has me more confused than ever. I have experimented on her more than once but, I still can't pinpoint as to why her physical body regresses it's aging factor, and even if she did grow it would take longer than what most children go through. Oddly enough, even though her blood is used to heal wounds or to fasten the healing process, the age regression doesn't affect the other numbers. Which means the mystery to her age regression will remain a mystery till then.

On another note, I have noticed that Number Zero is a fast learner, though I can tell it's not the typical "fast learner", though I believe that term is not befitting of her learning capacity; She can master a series of subjects or actions quickly than others based on, just a glance or reading the practice or theory of said subject or action.

Sadly, even though I see an immense amount of potential on this number, I believe it is far more suitable I put her in a role that is more than dangerous than what the others face, which is monitoring Number Seven. She will serve as Number Seven's "friend", personal caretaker, and bodyguard.

#❲ ☁️ ❳ : Navigation #❲ ☕ ❳ : The Servant : Five x Reader

[girl4music]

What the prejudice/bias of soulless/ensouled vampires/demons reveals to us about the character Buffy Summers.

Something that’s always bothered me about Buffy’s character and something I do consider to be a flaw of hers is her prejudice and bias of demons/vampires. I always find it quite poignant that the character to “therapize” Buffy in ‘Conversations With Dead People’ is a newly raised vampire who she briefly knew as a human and how he finally puts a name and definition to Buffy’s shows-long complex trauma and condition and basically diagnoses her ‘inferiority complex about having a superiority complex’ in that Buffy deep down feels like she’s better and above everyone else but constantly berates herself for feeling that way. And it’s something significant to unpack and analyze about her character because it tells us why she redefines the meaning of what it is to be ‘The Slayer’ and specifically that it doesn’t only have to be her.

Similar to how in Xena the Olympian Gods were much better people as mortals - as human, in Buffy vampires/demons were much better people with souls. But in my view good is as good does and evil is as evil does. There is no inherent-ness to either good or evil. Sure, mortal/human people have internal moral compasses. But even so they’re still capable of great evil, just the same as demons/vampires without an internal moral compass are still capable of great good. So it’s not as simple as what/who is inherently “good” and what/who is inherently “evil” because which it is doesn’t exist as a permanence. As inherent.

"You are what you do. You can recreate yourself every second of your life." - Xena, ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’.

Buffy only seems to have any real faith in any demon/vampire when they have a soul. Angel being the obvious example as the only vampire/demon with a soul at the time, and then later, Spike when he chooses to restore his soul for her. And okay, given the show’s “canon” vampire/demon lore, this makes sense, right? The Slayer isn’t supposed to like or love demons/vampires. Just hurt/kill them. That’s what she’s there for. But then the show itself purposefully blurs the lines when Spike and Druscilla come into the story. And one in particular - Spike - starts to do good. Exhibit signs of goodness like selflessness and altruism. And Druscilla - well, while remaining evil - does tell us that it’s capable to love without a soul. That they can “love quite well, if not wisely” is how she puts it. Meaning that the love isn’t pure for a vampire/demon. It’s twisted up with desire and obsession. Passion and pain are conflated together because vampires/demons are naturally emotionally stunted so they can’t understand the purity of love and most certainly can’t differentiate it from being an emotion - something they feel - to something there. Something real in that it is something reciprocated. So for the most part, unrequited love is really all a vampire/demon without a soul knows. It’s all they’re familiar with. A love that cannot be a pure love because it’s personal to them and them only. And therefore desire and obsession is confused as love.

But then you have to factor in the actions and choices a soulless vampire/demon makes surrounding the theme. What they might do or decide based on feeling a love that is tainted. An unpure or unclean form of love. And this is Spike and Druscilla and even Darla. And you ask yourselves whether that’s “good” or “evil”. But it’s not the right question to ask really - because again - as I said above: “good” and “evil” is not a permanence. Like “positive” and “negative” - they’re just energies and energies can’t be inherent. They’re felt as if they are always there and they can consume either a living or un-living conscious being. But they’re not an external thing or source outside of the being that experiences them as part of them.

So I FEEL throughout the show Buffy herself - as our lead main protagonist character - is also just as emotionally stunted as our blurry antagonists. You know, she’s very much the nature of a vampire/demon herself as The Slayer. Human in body but supernatural in mentality and emotionality. She’s fundamentally part demon herself and Season 7 reveals that to us once and for all. Something we always really knew or guessed at. So her prejudice and bias of vampires/demons with/without souls - while as a flaw - also reveals something really quite profound about her character - of which is why all the queer-coding and queer identity-based allegories hit and work so well. She’s essentially constantly in conflict with her identity/nature as a Slayer (queer person) and is taking it out on the vampires/demons (queer people) just like her. So her prejudice and bias towards soulless vampires/demons - specifically Spike - is really - in metaphor - all about her trying to deny and escape from her true identity and her true nature. Which is - part demon. Something of which is only truly negative in her head - and so the narrative follows suit because it’s her show told through her eyes. From the perspective of others characters - supernatural specifically - this is not how it is. In fact they reveal to us something quite the opposite and contradictory to what we’ve been told thus far through their personal experiences and lived history as a soulless vampire/demon. ‘Fool For Love’ being the quintessential episode for this revealing. Showing us how “William” informs “Spike” and back again, and then later in Season 7 also informs ensouled “Spike”. What we’re shown through the actual vampires/demons is something completely different from what we’re told by Buffy or Giles or Wesley or the Council.

Buffy’s entire characteristics are encapsulated and surrounded by this Watchers Council-only education/indoctrination of what is a “vampire/demon”. And if anything, her whole arc is about stripping them away. Learning who and what she is without a conditioned, dangerous and purposefully misinformed ideology where Slayer VS vampire/demon is really just herself VS herself and coming to terms with that revelation that she is a superior species because she straddles the line between both worlds and belongs to neither just like all your half-breed demons and supernaturals.

Of course this is not what Joss Whedon intended, but who even gives a flying fuck about what he intended? This is what actually makes sense and is simple and logical enough to be understood by a wide range of people. That is relatable and resonant to minorities. That is what makes this show stand the test of time and is what also actually works with the “canon” lore rather than just makes it irrelevant and confusing. I think watching the show through this lens is worth it.

#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy summers #sarah michelle gellar #vampires #demons #slayers #love #queer #identity #nature #choice #lore #prejudice #bias #character study #analysis

[wilsons-journey]

A decision

After the events, Kying became more withdrawn than ever. He had a lot to think about. His thoughts were still spinning wildly through his head. It was still hard to process for him. And even though he had so much on his mind... and felt like he was going to break down under all of these emotions,... he foremost felt just empty. An emptiness that soon filled with disappointment.

On the next morning Corrs body was found, along with two other Charr. With them was a plain message with the word “Traitor”. While most were shocked by this. Kyings squad leader Huet, seemed unfazed by the development. On the contrary, he even seemed disappointed. As if he knew more than the others. A suspicion that was soon confirmed. He knew of Corrs intentions from the start, as he soon revealed.

“It was easier to keep an eye on him that way. To get the information we needed.”

Was his explanation.

“You like to be on good terms with everyone. It was perfect. He didn't suspect anything."

Kying would’ve understood it, if he wasn't the only one, who was in the dark about that.  Everyone in his squad knew Corr was a spy. Everyone but him. He felt betrayed,... did they really have so less trust in him? And what had been obvious for a long time, only now became clear to Kying. They never trusted him. Nor did they ever wanted him. He was just a disruptive factor - a means to an end. Just good enough for the dirty work. But not good enough to really get included.

But why does he care now? It’s been this way all these years. He never cared, nor did he ever try to change anything. It was his choice. So it was his own fault.

He could’ve changed it any time. But he was scared - scared of ending up all alone. Like the day he came to the Black Citadel as a refugee. Without a family, friends or his old Fahrar. A complete Stranger.

But he wasn't alone. Not quite.

-

One evening he found a small bottle of sake in his room. He knew who this was from. Valefor had been there.

In the past, sake had always been an invitation. Sometimes also a sign of apology. That evening Kying wasn't able to figure out, what it was supposed to represent. He was still confused.

So he just stared at the bottle in silence. He didn’t dare to touch it either. His thoughts started spinning again.

He knew Valefor for quite a while now and yet he remained a mystery. For Kying it was still difficult to understand the other his motives. He was so incredibly ambivalent in his behavior. It made Kying angry. Anger that boiled up in him again. So he grabbed the bottle and wanted to throw it against the wall.

But he stopped.

A note was revealed under the bottle. "If you want to talk." With that single written Message was an address - in lions arch.

The note in one hand and the bottle in the other, Kying fell in deep thoughts again.

-

After a few days, a decision was made He would leave the Black Citadel behind and everything else with it. He grew tired of his current life.

So tt was finally time for a change.

- To be continued.

--- Follow up of:

Sidenote: Kying is,... well was a Member of the Ash Legion. His Warband was investigating the whole thing around Phrikes little Cult. They try to find out his location - and little spoiler: They will.

But what will happen is something for later. But it's not the last we see of Kyings old Warband - especially Huet. Even if he was treating Kying poorly, he's not a big fan of Kyings decision to leave.

#gw2 #guildwars2 #guild wars 2 #myArt #valefor-kying-journey #kying #and now we finally slowly moving up again

[veliseraptor]

AU: Xue Yang dies of his wounds when Xiao Xingchen brings him to coffin home. His spirit remains to haunt it.

just made the biggest 👀 face at my screen reading this eyyyy. also no spoilers but I know of a thing that might be relevant to your interests. can't say any more about it right now though

cause oh boy! the possibilities here! like the obvious question right off the bat is "why doesn't Xiao Xingchen just take care of the obvious haunting problem, that's what he does for a living/hobby, there's a restless spirit and he's going to lay it to rest one way or another" and for an answer I have mostly that either Xue Yang makes it hard or for some reason Xiao Xingchen can't bring himself to, or maybe both.

oh there is also "why does Xiao Xingchen stay if he doesn't have an injured person to take care of keeping him in one place and then gets used to being in one place and settles down" but that one's easier and could either be addressed by "he doesn't, but Xue Yang is haunting him rather than the house" or "he does, because reasons, and you know, living in a coffin house isn't really making himself comfortable and therefore it's fine, also there's plenty of stuff here for him to help with." including maybe now a brand new ghost.

so if that's settled my first question is if Xiao Xingchen knows who the ghost is and I think my preferred answer is "not at first but he does eventually." at first he just has this restless ghost of a man he failed to save.

and the thing is that I don't actually know if Xue Yang is angry, per se. I mean, he is, inasmuch as Xue Yang is ever angry, but on the other hand this is approximately what he expected (dying young and violently) and he's not terribly upset about the ghost development (kind of neat, actually), and now he has the bonus entertainment factor of haunting Xiao Xingchen who at least initially is feeling bad about not saving his life which is just hilarious and Xue Yang is absolutely going to exploit.

of course, this is assuming ghost Xue Yang has that kind of clarity and awareness, and I actually as I think about it am kind of enjoying the thought of a ghost Xue Yang who at least initially is like a wobbly baby horse. lots of energy and enthusiasm but confused and a little vague on the details and latches onto Xiao Xingchen like a duckling because there's a sense of familiarity. and he knows he doesn't like Xiao Xingchen but mostly in a petulant, poltergeist kind of way, because he doesn't remember why. which would also be some justification for Xiao Xingchen not banishing him, because he would I think be more inclined to try to gently coax a (mostly) non-malicious, not terribly threatening baby ghost into letting go on its own. particularly if he feels in some way responsible, because he should have kept this person from dying and if he'd successfully done that there wouldn't be a ghost problem at all to begin with.

meanwhile a-Qing is in full "just kill it already" mode, she's not a fan, she doesn't want a ghost around let alone to be sharing her daozhang-gege's attention with one

so that's the nicer version of this. the darker version has a Xue Yang who very much knows everything and is absolutely bent on haunting the shit out of Xiao Xingchen and possibly driving him insane. dealer's choice on how that works out for him.

anyway I'm all over the place with this, mostly because there's a lot of different places it could go and I like several of them, so take this as a random assortment of possibilities rather than, like, a coherent narrative

#conversating #irleughlivelyatalanteangodfan #aggressively headcanons #xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #the sad queer cultivators show

[broodwolf221]

Hello! Sorry for the earlier prompt confusion!!

For Solas and the LI of your choice:

recogitate - to think over again

redame - to love in return

From the 'Rare/Unusual Words' prompt list.

Happy Writing!

oh, no worries at all! this was sm fun, too /u\ decided to throw a major curveball with the ship: lo and behold, solas/calpernia. that said, i was careful to avoid any major spoilers about her questline @dadrunkwriting 1048 words cws: none

After the Inquisitor had told her the truth about her former master, Calpernia had let them go. What none of them had expected was for her to show up weeks later, surrendering her staff and asking to be let inside and to speak to the Inquisitor and her advisors. Gossip moved faster than anything else in Skyhold, and as such he’d overheard multiple interpretations of her presence, ranging from giving the Inquisitor important information about Corypheus’ movements to demanding a position as one of her advisors. Solas did not credit any of the rumors as being the truth, at least not yet - eventually word might slip out, perhaps carefully yielded by their own spymaster, but it was far too soon for any honest conclusions to have been drawn.

Still, he found himself unbearably curious.

Calpernia was a capable mage and leader, guiding the Venatori. She was also a spymaster, and although her network was apparently quite admirable, he knew it would pale in comparison to Leliana’s. Still, she was a remarkable young woman, particularly to escape Corypheus’ clutches - if, indeed, she had escaped. He had not been convinced this was anything save an elaborate trap, and as such had remained on full alert, although he stayed in the rotunda and attempted to look at ease, a book he was not reading open before him that he occasionally turned the pages of.

A little over a month had now passed, and the rumors had coalesced into something that resembled truth: she had come to lend her aid to the Inquisition, to turn against Corypheus in full. She even offered the Venatori, although last he had heard the Inquisitor had not accepted - he could not blame her, for they had killed many of their number and even if they were loyal to Calpernia and would follow her command, there would be great animosity between them and other Inquisition loyalists. He debated suggesting that they utilize the Venatori distantly, but ultimately left it in the hands of the Inquisitor and her advisors, confident that they would find a proper solution. They were not a group prone to wasting potential, after all.

He had spoken with her a few times. She was interesting - clever, sharp, and observant. Whenever he did not tell the truth or shied away from giving a full answer she gave him this very specific look. It was not searching so much as seeing, as if she found something in his demeanor that she recognized. It was most disconcerting, particularly given how conscientious she was about it, never giving him those looks or asking leading questions when there were others around. Only when it was just the two of them.

She frequented the rotunda; at first, to admire his artwork. But when she kept coming back, he realized that he was the object of interest to her. He had supposed it somewhat inevitable - just as Dorian had been intrigued by a Dalish Inquisitor, unaccustomed to elves who were something other than slaves, Calpernia, too, was driven by a deep curiosity about everything. Particularly all that was foreign to her.

Their conversations slowly became the highlight of his day, and at times he could almost forget that she had led attacks against the Inquisition forces. Still, he could not bring himself to begrudge her complicity, particularly since he was the inciting factor for all of this. Including the way she had been used by Corypheus.

His orb, his plan gone awry, and so much of the world paying the price.

Still… today was different. He could not pin it down, at first assuming it was only his imagination. Calpernia had approached like normal, looking first at the murals before glancing towards him, as if only then realizing he was in the room with her. A little game she seemed to enjoy playing, an interplay of accident, as if they just so happened to find themselves in each other's company so often.

Perhaps there had been something more deliberate in the way she approached his desk. Or that the particular slant of her head as she met his eyes was unfamiliar to him.

Or it could have been the way her gaze flickered, almost as if looking at his lips, but so fast he could not say for certain.

“Solas,” she greeted him as usual, and he nodded.

“Calpernia,” he greeted back, albeit a little more hesitant than normal. She did not seem perturbed by this.

“What do you seek?” The question was so blunt that he blinked, startled - by her smile, she expected this.

“Why do you ask?” He questioned instead, and her smile grew. He felt oddly off balance.

“I would know you.”

“Why?”

She tilted her head again, considering him. He did not know if he was flattered by her stark examination or disquieted. Perhaps some of both. “Why indeed?” She asked quietly. “Another question, then - why have you been so kind to me?”

He leaned back in the chair, settling his hands in his lap as he considered her. “I admire one who can free herself from the chains she was bound in,” he told her, simple and honest. “You are a fascinating conversationalist with a quick wit and a compelling point of view. Your goals for Tevinter are lofty, but remarkable. What is there in that which would have earned anything save kindness from me?”

“The others are not so quick to forgive,” she pointed out and he nodded. It was true enough. “So I ask you again: what do you seek?”

“I take it you will find ‘our rapport’ to be an insufficient answer?” He let his amusement creep into his voice, gratified by her smile, although she still seemed to be waiting for a real answer. After a moment he sighed. “I seek nothing from you. I only know that I enjoy our conversations.”

“Then may I make a suggestion?” He made a small noise, urging her to continue. He thought she would speak - instead she bent down, a hand on his face as her lips connected briefly and lightly with his. He was so taken aback that he didn’t react, and before he could come to any decision she had already pulled away, still smiling at him. “It is something to consider, Solas.”

#dadw time #broodwrites #calpernia #solas #calpernia/solas

[imagionationstation]

I need advice. How do I make an au? Is there any rules ?

I’m not sure… If I have the authority to give AUs rules?

AUs are an Author’s Universe. The only rules in the Author’s Universe is up to the author, as far as I know. You can make it as impossible or complicated or realistic as you want.

I think… I think if there was a rule, it would be to involve reminders that this is attached to some movie/book/show/etc. A Ninja Turtles AU needs to involve at least one brother. Or April. Or Casey. Splinter- Bishop- Mutanimals, even Chloe.

This AU is a turtles AU, so you gotta include elements/characters from the shows/show that you’re basing it off of.

As for how to make one?

An AU is usually an notable difference from the show in one or a couple key factors. Taking the brothers and giving them a female parent would make that world an AU. Taking the brothers and changing them into another creature/a human would make it an AU. Changing the ages makes it an AU. Changing any key aspect of a show would essentially make your story an AU.

Most people make AUs left and right without realizing it.

Those who intend to make an AU often create an entirely new dimension by choice. They give them a new setting, new personalities (or similar personalities based off different past core memories), and give them new villains or friends.

Some AU’s are extreme- like my Mutant World AU, which is a world that is full of mutants. The turtles past is completely turned upside down- with the brothers Raph and Mikey being abused and then adopted by Splinter, and Leo and Donnie only being chosen brothers, bonding after being used as experiments for as long as they can remember. There’s no Foot involvement at all, and the Kraang are the ominous, dangerous lurking element

And some AUs are more subtle- Like taking scene from the show and adding a Y/N or self-portrayal character into the plot. The show elements remain the same, but now they have a sister or a best friend or a crush tagging along. The plot is relatively the same, but now they happen to exist.

How you do an AU really depends on why you’re making it.

If it’s just for fun: There is no right way to make an AU! Come up with characters, let your mind wander and picture them, draw them- write clips about them- just ramble about them! Plan backstory if you want, or flush out their future! They are your characters now- give them fluff! Hurt and heal them! Let the live their lives as you see fit! (Just try and make sure you keep you facts straight. AUs can get confusing at times… Trust me.)

If it’s for a story: DO NOT START WRITING FIRST THING! Not for a story plot. It makes things hard. Flush out the characters first.

What’s their backstory? Why do they act the way they do? What are their greatest skills? What makes them likable? What are their flaws? What makes them unlikable? Is this an action AU? Who’s the villain? Romance AU? Who do they like? How does the relationship build? What insecurities might your character/s learn to battle? Do they have close friends? Will they make close friends? What is their friend’s backstory? What makes them as close as they are?

There are probably a million more that could be asked, but the important thing is that you need to know your characters. You’re the only one who knows what questions are relevant to the characters and their development. Think on it.

Using what you know about the character, it could help design the world around them. Maybe they are bullied often and that’s why they’re so self conscious- where are they bullied? School? Work? What do they do? Are they bullied for clothes? Their voice? Their appearance? Why? What do they look like? Do they have scars on their body from physical abuse? A special place to hide when things get bad? Where is that? Bedroom? A friend’s house? What do those look like?

Once you build you characters and some of their world (only some, because new objects and flaws and buildings will absolutely come up as you’re coming up with new ideas), then you can build a plot.

What is your story about? Finding themselves? Action? Trauma? Romance? Horror? Or a series of OneShots about their daily lives filled with fluff and good feels?

Anything goes! As long as you love your plots, there are readers out there that will love your plot as well!

Hope this helps!

#Me: writes this a few days ago #Me today: Realizes I never posted it #writing #au writing #writing advice #tmnt fandom #2012 tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #Mutant World Iteration