#Synthetic Authenticity

[tomk447]

The AI Revolution in Media Production: Transforming Creative Workflows

The media production landscape is experiencing a profound transformation as artificial intelligence becomes an integral part of the creative process. Rather than replacing human creativity, AI is enhancing it, offering new possibilities for content creators across all mediums. As the industry anticipates major advances in AI technology by 2025, we're witnessing a fundamental shift in how content is conceived, produced, and delivered to audiences.

Generative AI represents the latest evolution in machine learning – systems capable of not just analysis, but creation. These sophisticated algorithms, trained on vast libraries of digital content, can now generate original material across text, visual, audio, and video formats. This capability is revolutionizing media production at every stage, from initial concept to final delivery.

In the ideation phase, AI serves as an invaluable research partner. Documentary filmmakers can now utilize AI systems to analyze historical documents and existing content, uncovering unique narrative angles and connections that might otherwise remain undiscovered. The technology has also transformed scriptwriting, with AI tools that understand narrative structure and can help accelerate the writing process while preserving creative integrity.

Pre-production has been streamlined through AI-powered visualization tools. Creators can now generate detailed storyboards and animatics from simple text descriptions. NVIDIA's Omniverse platform has revolutionized virtual production, offering real-time collaborative environments and photorealistic digital asset creation. Companies like Soul Machines are pushing boundaries with AI-generated characters, making high-end production capabilities more accessible than ever.

On set, AI's influence is more subtle but equally transformative. AI-enhanced cameras provide precise tracking and framing, while intelligent audio systems deliver real-time sound isolation and enhancement. In live broadcasting, TVU Networks has pioneered AI-driven solutions that automatically analyze and tag live feeds, streamlining the entire production workflow.

Post-production has seen perhaps the most dramatic AI-driven evolution. Adobe's Sensei platform, integrated into Premiere Pro, offers sophisticated scene detection and automatic reframing capabilities. Descript has revolutionized video editing by allowing manipulation through transcript editing. Visual effects have been democratized through platforms like RunwayML, while Pika Labs is advancing text-to-video generation technology. Topaz Labs employs AI to enhance and upscale archival footage to modern standards.

Audio production has been equally transformed. Companies like Boomy and Shutterstock Music are pioneering AI-generated music that adapts to visual content. Voice synthesis has reached new levels of sophistication through innovations from Murf.ai and Resemble AI, enabling multilingual content distribution and consistent brand voices.

The future of content personalization looks particularly promising. Streaming platforms are moving beyond simple recommendations toward adaptive content experiences. Netflix leads this evolution through sophisticated AI-driven content analysis and presentation strategies. Meanwhile, companies like Blackmagic Design continue integrating AI capabilities into their products, while startups such as Hour One explore new frontiers in AI-generated presenters.

However, this technological renaissance raises important questions about authorship, copyright, and the nature of creativity itself. The potential emergence of more advanced AI systems by 2025 adds another layer of complexity to these considerations. The key lies in developing ethical frameworks and regulatory guidance that ensure responsible innovation while protecting creative rights.

As we look toward the future, the relationship between human creativity and AI continues to evolve. This technology isn't replacing human artistry – it's augmenting it, democratizing sophisticated production capabilities while opening new frontiers of creative expression. The challenge lies in navigating this transformation thoughtfully, ensuring that technological innovation enhances rather than diminishes the human elements that give our stories meaning.

This new era of media production marks not an endpoint but a beginning. We're entering a period where the boundaries between human and artificial creativity become increasingly fluid, where new forms of expression await discovery. As we embrace these changes, we're not just adopting new tools – we're reimagining the very nature of creative expression in the digital age.

[canisalbus]

I know little to nothing about Ludovica's partner, but to me seems she'd wear pink or purple (tho idk if those colors were popular during the 1500s) pink because itd be a neat contrast with ludo's green, purple because its a regal color

I also keep stubbornly visualizing her in pink! Not barbie pink but something along the lines of dusty rose or light mauve. I don't think I've ever seen pictures of any proper pink being worn in late renaissance times though, it doesn't exactly fit the aesthetic (but I could be wrong of course). Most pastel colors are strongly rococo (1700's) coded to me.

[quantomeno]

I was looking over the stardew valley wiki's page about the jojamart store and I noticed in the trivia it says there's no music in there, which I'd noticed before but didn't think much of

and although I can see the thematic reasons for the lack of sound, it's kind of funny because supermarkets are always playing the most obnoxious music or some song you've heard 100 times 10 years ago which has now faded from popularity. A completely silent store would actually be quite a relief

[everyth1ngandnoth1nghauntsme777]

The poem I wrote about being sad about my perfume not smelling as good anymore

[mylostgems]

Blue Carborundum Healing Crystal | Iridescent Silicon Carbide Cluster | High Energy Aura Cleanser | With Certificate | Actual Specimen

Brighten your energy field and clear negative vibrations with this stunning Blue Carborundum Healing Crystal. With its dazzling, rainbow-like shimmer and jagged crystalline structure, carborundum is an eye-catching specimen used widely in metaphysical practices for aura cleansing and energy amplification. This vibrant, reflective surface is not only beautiful but energetically potent.

This is the exact specimen shown in the images. Each photo includes a 1cm scale cube for precise size reference—please refer to the full gallery for detailed dimensions.

Geological Information:

Carborundum is the trade name for silicon carbide (SiC), a compound first synthesized in the late 19th century by Edward G. Acheson. It is not found naturally in Earth's crust in significant quantities but can occur in rare meteorites. The carborundum used in crystal healing is lab-created, typically formed by heating silica sand and carbon in an electric furnace. This process produces crystalline plates with intense iridescence, often in shades of blue, green, and violet due to light interference on their layered surface.

Crystal Type:

Species: Silicon Carbide (Carborundum)

Structure: Synthetic crystalline compound

Formation Method: High-temperature chemical synthesis in electric furnaces

Metaphysical Properties:

Blue Carborundum is associated with protection, spiritual elevation, and electromagnetic shielding. It is said to help dissolve energy blockages, cleanse the aura, and support connection to higher states of awareness. Commonly linked with the Third Eye and Crown Chakras, it is also valued for calming the mind during meditation and aligning all the chakras with balanced frequency.

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 4)

Age

adolescent, afresh, ancient, antiquarian, antique, big, childish, crude, doddering, elderly, fresh, full-grown/full-fledged, green, hoary, immemorial, infant/infantile, junior, late, medieval, mint, modish, new, novel, older, old-fashioned, originally, outdated/out-of-date, passé, quaint, refreshing, secondhand, stale, state-of-the-art, undeveloped, up-to-date, well-preserved, youthful

Appearance

adorable, aesthetic/esthetic, artistic, beautiful, comely, crisp, dapper, decorative, desirable, dressy, exquisite, eye-catching, fancy, fetching, flawless, glorious, good-looking, graceful, grungy, hideous, homely, irresistible, natty, ornate, plain, pretty, refreshing, resplendent, seductive, spiffy, striking, stylish, ugly, unbecoming, willowy, with-it

Genuineness

abstract, actually, alias, apocryphal, apparently, arty, authentic, baseless, beta, bona fide, circumstantial, concrete, contrived, credible, deceptive, delusive, dreamy, ecclesiastical, empirical/empiric, enigmatic/enigmatical, ersatz, ethereal, factual, fallacious, fantastic, far-fetched, fictitious, foolproof, fraudulent, good, hard, historical, honest-to-God, illusory/illusive, imitative, indisputable, invisible, just, lifelike, made-up, magic/magical, make-believe, matter-of-fact, metaphysical, monstrous, mystic/mystical, mythical/mythological, nonexistent, openhearted, ostensibly, paranormal, physical, positive, pretended, quack, quite, realistic, right, sincerely, specious, spurious, supernatural, synthetic, tangible, true, unearthly, unnatural, unthinkable, unvarnished, unworldly, valid, veritable, wholehearted/whole-hearted, wrong

Movement

ambulatory, brisk, clumsy, fleet, fluent, frozen, gawky, graceless, immobile, indolent, itinerant, leisurely, lifeless, liquid, lithe, maladroit, migrant/migratory, motionless, moving, nomadic, oafish, passive, pendulous/pendent, portable, restless, roundabout, sedentary, slow, speedy, static, vibrant, winding

Style

adorable, baroque, becoming, black, bold, brassy, cheap, class, classy, contemporary, country, cultural, dashing, dowdy, eat high on the hog, exquisite, featureless, flamboyant, floral, flowery, formless, futuristic, garish, gay, glamorous, gorgeous, grand, graphic, hot, improvised, informal, innovative, kinky, loud, lush, luxurious, mean, meretricious, modish, neat, new, obsolete, old-fashioned, orderly, ornamental, ostentatious, outdated/out-of-date, palatial, picturesque, plush, posh, prevalent, quaint, refined, resplendent, rustic, scruffy, sharp, simple, sleazy, smart, snazzy, spiffy, spruce, stately, state-of-the-art, stylish, swank/swanky, tacky, tasteless, tousled, two-bit, unbecoming, unworldly, up-to-date, vogue

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[krissym72]

How to Determine if an Image is AI Generated?

In the ever-expanding digital landscape, the proliferation of AI-generated images has become a defining characteristic of the modern era. With algorithms wielding the power to conjure remarkably realistic visuals, the question of how to tell if an image is AI generated has taken center stage. These AI-generated images, ranging from deepfakes to computer-generated scenes, present a myriad of…

[thestarwanderer]

"Hotel Reverie": A heartbreaking simulation of Love and Grief

(Spoilers ahead)

In its seventh season, Black Mirror quietly delivered what may be one of its most emotionally devastating and thematically rich episodes to date: Season 7, episode 3: “Hotel Reverie.”

On the surface, it seems to echo the show’s usual motifs—technology, simulation, AI, identity. But beneath its layers, its grayscale glamour and eerie premise lies something far more intimate: a queer love story about agency, performance, memory, and the ache of loving something that was never supposed to be real.

And it’s this contrast—between what is scripted and what is felt—that gives Hotel Reverie its haunting, aching brilliance.

The episode follows Brandy Friday, a Black actress who, despite her fame, is creatively stifled and emotionally detached from the roles she’s typecast into. She craves something deeper, something immortal—a performance that doesn’t just live on screen but lives in the hearts of those who witness it. She mentions all time classics like Casablanca and so much more.

That opportunity comes in the form of a film company rebooting Hotel Reverie, a 1940s romantic classic, if I remembered it correctly. Through advanced AI-simulation technology, they don’t recreate the film around Brandy but instead they drop her inside it. Fully immersed, Brandy’s consciousness becomes the character Alex Palmer, while the simulation populates itself with ultra-realistic AI versions of the original cast, including the tragic female lead, Clara, played by a synthetic version of late film icon Dorothy Chambers. The catch was Brandy never received the full briefing or protocol, she didn't know it would be unrealistically real...She didn't know Clara would feel so human and she certainly didn't expect to fall in love.

The episode is about technology, yes but more than that, it's about the quiet war between authenticity and performance, and how queer love is often forced to live between the two.

Clara, the AI was built from Dorothy’s old performance tapes as Clara and Dorothy drew it from her life, her emotions was based on her own sorrow and experiences. It is initially just that. It was meant to be just a performance. Graceful, poetic, timeless. But as Brandy begins making off-script choices, the AI system starts to destabilize. Clara begins to glitch. And what was once a program begins to feel like a person—one whose every emotion is bleeding through from the long-lost heart of Dorothy Chambers herself.

Dorothy, we learn in implication, was a queer woman living in the 1940s, an actress who died tragically, quietly. She never got to live a truthful life, never got to love openly. Instead, she buried her feelings inside her most iconic role: Clara. That role is now AI-coded into the simulation, which means that Clara’s love is built from Dorothy’s pain.

Brandy, meanwhile, begins as an outsider. She doesn’t believe in the simulation. She doesn’t even trust the reality of what she’s seeing. Her performance is half-hearted, her delivery flat. But it’s not poor acting, it’s intentional distance. Brandy is, after all, an actress. She’s learned to hold herself back, to keep her identity just outside the camera’s reach.

Until Clara starts going off script. Until Clara starts looking back at her.

That’s when Brandy stops acting. That’s when she starts feeling.

One of the most emotionally complex and narratively brilliant choices of Hotel Reverie makes is the uncertainty surrounding Clara's memory after the reset. After Brandy wakes up and hears the team calling her back to reset the scorpion scene. And this was after everything they’ve been through, the weeks they spent together in the simulation, the moments of genuine intimacy and self-discovery—Clara is returned to a point in the story before it all happened. And Clara reappears right before her very eyes, just as she was at the beginning and Clara was looking at her saying "My heart is pounding like a drum". Same intonation, Same staging. But for Brandy, it was no longer the same. For Brandy's case, since she's real human, her mind, everything was intact. The uncertainty of that scene was purely haunting and magical at the same time. What happens next is subtle. Brandy hesitates and she doesn't say her line right away. She studies Clara's face... her eyes. Searching for something.

Is it her?

Is she still in there?

Clara seems confused by Brandy's reaction but only just. Not like someone who has no memory, but like someone who feels something just beneath the surface and can't explain why. It's eerily familiar, like a love that exists without memory.

The dilemma, as someone who was now at this point fully invested with the story, I felt anxious too, constantly I was asking questions in my mind "Does she remember?" "Does she know?"

For me, I know she was reset but I think... deep inside her, she knows. A part of her remembers.

Clara’s behavior after the reset—her tone, her reluctance to meet Brandy’s eyes, the strange weight behind her words, it all hints at something deeper.

She says:

“I’m a married woman. I can’t… I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”

And it fits the script, but it also feels like a double meaning. As if she’s not just speaking as Clara the character… but as someone who remembers what happened and doesn’t know why she remembers.

There’s a moment when she looks at Brandy and her eyes shimmer—not with confusion, but with something that feels like grief. Like she knows what’s coming. Like she’s trying not to break the character, what she was asked to, what she's supposed to do as an AI.

Here’s where it gets even more tragic, and brilliant. I personally think it’s not Clara who remembers but Dorothy?

Clara is a simulation. She was a role. But she was built on the emotional DNA of Dorothy Chambers, the woman who once played her. A woman who lived a closeted life. The person who loved someone she could never be with. Who poured that heartbreak into the character of Clara.

When Brandy calls her “Dorothy,” the AI begins to shift, to change. The simulation becomes porous. Clara, for the first time, begins to feel the real woman beneath the code.

So even if Clara was reset, even if the AI has been reprogrammed—the echo of Dorothy Chamber's grief still lives inside her. And the love, once it's truly felt, is not easily erased.

So maybe... Clara doesn't remember the events, but her heart remembers something. Even if she doesn't know why Brandy suddenly feels like home.

But that's just my wishful thinking. The audience is meant to feel conflicted. It's meant to feel like we're stuck between two truths. 1. Clara is a simulation who has been reset and 2. Clara is a soul who fell in love and never truly forgot. That unresolved ache? that invisible string still pulling Brandy and Clara together even as the worlds resets is what makes the story so devastatingly human.

Because love isn't always about memories, sometimes it's about feeling something you can't explain.

And in the moment when Clara says "You must go" with eyes that know too much. Me as someone who witnessed their story unfold, realizes something terrible. That maybe Clara does remember...maybe she chooses to let Brandy go anyway. To protect her. Just like Dorothy once didn't get the chance to.

Another aspect of the story that truly haunts me was how Clara AI perceived Brandy in the beginning. In the simulation, Brandy was meant to play the role of Alex Palmer- a male, white doctor. The simulation was coded to present her to the world of the film as Alex: male, charming, heterosexual, traditionally heroic.

Brandy was in theory, masked, her body present, her identity hidden by the lens of the 1940s characters perception. But that never truly held. Not for Clara.

Despite the programming, despite the simulated environment, despite the rigid gender roles of the time, Clara sees Brandy. Not as a man, Not as Alex. Not as a character to perform with. She sees her essence, her spirit and the actor/person beneath.

As the story progresses, the romantic dynamic deepens between the two. In a story rooted in artifice, programming, gender coding and simulation, the heart cuts through all of it. Their story was shaped by presence, connection and truth. In the end, Clara doesn't say "I love you, Alex", she says, "I love you" and this was unmistakably addressed to Brandy, and she means it. And this was even after the reset.

Another thing to point out is, how much has been said about Issa Rae’s portrayal of Brandy—some calling it too subdued, too passive. But this criticism misunderstands the core of Brandy’s character.

Issa Rae plays Brandy as a woman trained to survive the industry by not feeling too much. Her detachment is not a lack of chemistry, but a shield. She enters the simulation not as a lover or a believer but as a professional, dropped into a role without context or rehearsal. She was expecting to meet fellow actors to establish connection and rapport with fellow humans. That's how acting and filming goes normally. But that isn't the case here, and because of that, she plays Alex Palmer with hesitation, with irony, with cynicism.

But slowly, that mask begins to slip.

It starts with stolen glances. Quiet awe. Little expressions of disbelief—In her mind she's probably thinking “She’s just code. Why does it feel like more?”

Rae’s restraint becomes her weapon. When the final breakdown comes when Clara is reset and no longer remembers her—Rae doesn’t explode in melodrama. She crumbles in silence. It’s not theatrical. It’s real. And it hits so much harder because of everything she held in before. She was slapped by the unfortunate and harsh truth, that everything is artificial. It's not real.

Her final delivery of “I’ll be yours forevermore”, the line she’s been waiting to say the entire film lands like a funeral vow. It's not for the camera.

It's for the woman lying dead in her arms. the one she spent endless nights, weeks, months with. The woman she fell in love with.

And then there's Emma Corrin, Emma Corrin’s performance is surgical in its softness. They play Clara with the kind of grace and vulnerability that feels too perfect at first—a fantasy of the golden age of cinema. But that’s the point. Clara is an AI. They were immaculate from the very beginning. They were playing a programmed AI designed to be seductive, poetic, elegant and timeless. Clara wasn't confused; she was supposed to follow the original movie's narrative. She was on script.

Clara isn’t supposed to feel. She isn’t supposed to change.

But as Brandy veers off script, Clara begins to show cracks. She slowly gives a smile that lingers too long. Eyes that start searching for answers to questions she was never supposed to ask. Corrin manages to convey an AI that is accidentally learning how to want.

Clara's whispered “I love you” is delivered not like a confession, but like a discovery. Like a glitch in her own programming. And the way she touches Brandy’s face, as though she’s trying to memorize something that’s already slipping away? It was not scripted; it was something sacred.

The part where she starts to grasp memories from Clara's data pool, and Dorothy's life. I was bawling. She saw fragments of her life; the applause, the movie sets, the fake smiles, the closeted love and the loneliness of being adored by millions by known by no one.

Clara felt everything and Corrin was amazing to convey such emotions in the screen. Clara saw how Dorothy was trapped in gold, wealth and fame around her like silk-lined shackles- a life where everyone wanted her, but no one ever truly saw her. And the worst part, Clara realizes she's living the same life again, inside the simulation, a role she was never meant to question. It's devastating because it says so much about how people tend to romanticize women like her; write their suffering as elegant, preserve their tragedy in HD, but never ask "What did she want?" , "Did anyone ever let her choose?"

And when Corrin delivered the line " I was born in a cage. I should die in a cage", it was so haunting and achingly beautiful at the same time because Clara was aware, and she wanted to do something Dorothy never could. Like she inherited the ending Dorothy never escaped. But she wants to end it in her own way, her own terms and not by following any script.

Corrin doesn't just play Clara. They play Dorothy, too—still trapped inside the role, finally reaching out from decades of silence, begging not to be forgotten again.

And the tragedy is—she is. and dare I say, Emma Corrin deserves at least a nomination for this role.

Hotel Reverie is not just a sci-fi romance. It is a commentary on the cost of performing for the world and the quiet revolution of being seen anyway.

Clara was never meant to feel. Brandy was never meant to care. Dorothy was never meant to be remembered for her love.

But through Brandy’s choices, through Clara’s awakening, through Issa Rae’s restraint and Emma Corrin’s vulnerability, this story became more than just a film inside a film. It became a ghost story, a love letter and a tragedy.

A reminder that even in simulated spaces, Love is always real and forgetting it is the true heartbreak.

What Hotel Reverie does without making a spectacle of it—is something profound: Despite placing its characters inside a 1940s simulation, a time riddled with racial tension, misogyny, and queer oppression, the episode refuses to make those elements the point of pain.

Brandy, a Black woman. Clara, a white woman born from a 1940s film role. Two women. Two identities that would have been considered scandalous even to be in the same room romantically during that era—

And yet? Their love is not questioned. Not framed as political. Not punished for its optics.

There is no scene where Brandy’s race is mocked or tokenized. There’s no line of dialogue explaining why Clara’s AI programming “accepts” her. There is no moment where the gender of their relationship is pointed out as deviant.

It just exists.

And that is so, so rare. In a world of stories that center conflict around identity—in which being queer or being a person of color is the obstacle to overcome—Hotel Reverie offers something revolutionary because it lets love be the center. It's not about the struggle, the scandal, the justifications.

Brandy's identity is present and it's the core of her whole personality, but it does not define her worthiness to be loved. Clara's identity too, is not a reflection of purity or acceptability. She is not the symbol of 'ideal femininity." She is a construct who becomes real. 'It's not a queer love in a time that forbids it" it's just two souls who were never meant to meet but finding each other anyway. Because when the world falls away, when time, rules, programming and expectations crumble,

Love is just love.

It doesn't need to be explained.

[merakiui]

AAAH i love your content so much...dang it i wonder how would Floyd react to preggo darling

If it’s android Floyd, he’s very protective of you! He always was, but now that he knows you’re carrying a baby he’s even more dedicated to keeping you safe. Jade is methodical in his approach, but Floyd has far more empathy than he needs. He’s more human than his twin counterpart. He baby-proofs the house based on what he feels is safe, whereas Jade does it based on the data he’s gathered. Either way, no danger will befall you with Floyd looking after you.

Androids shouldn’t have any programs that allow them to feel on the level of a human (or feel at all). Perhaps it’s a virus or a malfunction, but Floyd feels intensely and authentically. One particular emotion of his that you’ve noticed is embarrassment. Floyd actually gets flustered. You didn’t think it was possible, but when your libido is out of control, your tits are sore and full, and everything is just so miserable without Azul around you rely on Floyd for help. And he takes one look at you in your sheer maternity chemise and he blue-screens. It’s such a fascinating phenomenon.

When he fingers you gently and you breathe so softly, practically panting his name, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. He thinks and feels closer to a human than an android most days, but sex is an entirely new realm for both the human and android sides of him. You’re so…soft. It’s the only adjective that comes to mind. Logically and quite literally, you are very soft. You must be for the baby: soft and round, beautifully well-fed. If Azul wasn’t so keen to nag him, Floyd would feed you way more than what you need just to watch you happily stuff yourself. He likes seeing you happy and content, but too much can be bad. He needs to learn the limits of humans so he doesn’t overdo it.

Still, he knows this is overdoing it—sinking his synthetic cock into your gummy walls while his arms snake around your gravid middle, cradling the bump so lovingly. He does this because he wants to, not because it’s his duty to look after you. Maybe these sorts of things shouldn’t come with feelings, but Floyd watches romance on TV. He sees how close humans are in intimacy. How soft and warm it must be.

He can content himself with his role on the sidelines so long as he gets to be there for you whenever you need him. He’s always there, ready to serve you.

[recareels]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ boothill + having his hair pet

character: boothill warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, female reader, iron cock, fluff + angst, mention of blood, mention of gentle hair pulling words: 933

boothill loves having his hair played with and pet because it is one of the only things he can truly, genuinely, physically feel. 

it’s different from the manufactured touch he ‘feels’ on any other part of his iron body; different from the artificial heat his sensors and receptors send zipping to his brain when you splay a palm on his knee or your cheek on his shoulder, different from the simulated pressure he experiences when you twine your fingers with his and squeeze.

and while all of those things are still good and nice—it’s definitely better than not feeling anything at all—real will always feel different. 

real will always feel indescribable. organic, authentic, you.

he loves it when you use his hair as leverage while you’re riding him, knuckles rooted to his sensitive scalp, buried in thick warm tresses. it helps keep you steady and stable as you bounce on his solid cock, strands twirled around your second knuckles and tugging slightly. the pulling isn’t unpleasant, doesn’t hurt, stops just short of actually painful, instead procuring a tingling sting that erupts across his skill, each roll of your hips yanking him forward and sending another bout rippling through the follicles. 

he loves it when you push it back from his sweat-beaded forehead or unstick coiled tufts from his clammy temples, sweeping it away from his face and allowing wet salt to hold it in place as he rests his cheek against your chest. a pillowy palm pets over the drenched locks as your heart begins to calm, as you both come down from the highs of hedonism, as your pretty cum dries glistening and glazed on his iron cock, brains still dazed with bliss. 

he loves it most of all when you scrape your nails over his scalp, all ten grazing through his dense mane and scratching pleasantly, loves it when you comb your fingers through it slow and gentle, watching ink and ivory cascade softly over your skin. 

he hums—purrs like a fucking cat—flops his head down in your lap after those especially rough, ruthless days; a silent demand to be adored. tender fingers submerge themselves in the strands and his eyes slip shut, whole body impossibly melting into you, deliquescing beneath your rhythmic touch. 

no words are spoken, just a gentle whir and the wheeze of his breath as you brush each section, delicately untangling the knots from today’s work, each gnarl smoothed out relieving another ounce of his stress. 

it’s intimate in a way that’s different than when he’s got his metal cock buried balls deep in your cunt (though he loves that, too, don’t get him wrong); it’s intimate in a deeply quiet way, a special closeness that transcends carnal pleasure and synthetic sensations, only matched by the feeling of his tongue dragging across yours, of your teeth burrowed in his lip, of warm blood oozing from split skin—yours, his, tangling with threads of spit and becoming one, massaged into burning flesh and sensitive tastebuds, seeping into him. 

but your hands in his hair, your fingertips pressed to his scalp and his temples, your nails raking against delicate skin—that’s different than the ritual of kissing and swapping crimson-tinged saliva, because kissing is a joint effort, a shared sensation, a mutual give-and-take, while petting and combing his hair is all you. 

it’s you giving him something without anything in return, and him accepting it wholly and earnestly. it’s you gifting him a sensation that he cannot truly give back; not with heavy silver fingers that press just a hint too hard; not with grooved mechanized knuckles that catch on strands even when he tries his hardest to be careful, to be gentle.

he’d lay there forever if he could, calmed beneath your sweet ministrations, lulled into such content complacency that he often drifts into a serene sleep, free from those haunting visions of charred earth and melted flesh, of ash and copper saturated air, of choking smoke and blistering screams. 

jus’ another five minutes, he slurs out, when you tell him your knuckles are stiff and your fingers are aching and your belly is empty. then i’ll make ya somethin’ t’eat, promise. 

his drool is sticky and hot on your thigh, drivelling from the corner of his mouth to puddle on your skin, and an intense bout of love, pure and bright and so, so warm, fills your ribcage—your lungs and your heart and your very soul itself—so much so that the bones expand, stretch, strain with such immensity. 

a palm flattens to the crown of his head, curled around it almost protectively, your thumb caressing his hair in slow, long strokes. a sigh wafts over your thigh, cooling the small pool of spit, and he nuzzles his cheek into your leg, satisfied. 

there are other physical sensations you gift him, too: your sounds melting on his tongue, puffed scorching hot into his mouth and down his throat as he pounds into you, things he swallows so greedily, things he is forever starved for. he likes to eat your sounds, likes to feel your sounds—the vibration of your moans against his tongue, slick muscle pressed flat to your sternum; the steady thump of your heart, pulsing against his ear or his cheek; the damp warmth of your whimpers drifting drowsily across his face in the sweetest caress, his own name so gorgeous on your tongue, in your voice, pushed from pouty lips to soak into the only flesh he has left. 

but none of it beats your hands in his hair. 

[geopsych]

re: the tumblr ai stuff, please don’t wipe your blog!! your blog has been so important to me and many others as a place of authentic light and beauty and i would hate to lose it forever 💕

there is a way to download the contents of a tumblr blog (it’s in settings, i don’t remember rn, but i’ll find it if you need it) maybe you could upload to another site or a personal site?

i know this is very serious, and i hate how we are unwillingly contributing to synthetic art, but the world would be poorer for me without your pictures <3

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.

This is a dilemma for me. I have loved doing this blog and going out to look for pictures and interesting things to bring here has given me motivation and meaning through years of struggle with depression and several kinds of grief. Going out to look for pictures has put me in situations where I have seen incredible beauty, much of which I never really managed to capture. Also, the many warm and kind messages I've received from people all over the world have given me heart and made me feel less meaningless as a person and more connected. Sometimes I've been criticized for buying the checkmarks and giving money to Tumblr but I wanted to do what I could because Tumblr has been my one happy and safe place online. But now this. To me AI in relation to creativity is just a way for well-to-do but untalented people, the proverbial tech bros, to profit from other people's hard work and creativity. It has no redeeming value in relation to creativity and is actively harmful to artists of all kinds. <trying to figure out how to put a read more link here> I don't even count myself among the real creatives, artists and writers and others who have worked hard and put years into honing their crafts, into learning to translate their hearts and unique spirits into their creative expression. I just see beautiful things and take pictures of them. But it would still make me sick to see AI works based on my pictures, on these times and places that have meant so much to me. Recently I saw a set of cat 'photos' on here that everyone was reblogging and exclaiming over but that to me seemed to just be AI art that was more convincing than most. As time goes on more and more output of AI is going to be almost indistinguishable from real works and unscrupulous people will pass them off as real, getting credit for what was actually created by others. Whether they profit from them becomes almost irrelevant at that point because what's worse is that we will have less and less sense of what is real. And as some have pointed out AI will now also be scraping from AI, muddying the waters further from here on in. This is an apocalypse of sorts, an apocalypse of creativity, ultimately likely to kill the joy of artistic endeavor for many who would otherwise produced brilliant, beautiful, funny, and/or shockingly original things. I'm still parsing and dissecting my thoughts and feelings about what Tumblr has done and how to react. Staying and leaving my blog up feels like consent. I am not confident in the integrity of anyone connected with scraping sites for AI. I'm not convinced that a little toggle in settings is going to make much of a difference in the long run. On the other hand I like posting here and I have received enough messages over the years to know that my blog is a positive influence on some lives. I was looking forward to May and June and posting pictures of the incredible beauty of eastern Pennsylvania in those months. And I was planning on making a side blog for posting some poetry I've been working on. It will break my heart to leave.

I haven't decided yet. Believe it or not this whole thing has given me awful physical symptoms. I'll let you know when I decide. Thank you again for your kind and lovely note!

[hog-facts]

It's a little-known secret that the exceptionally smooth and vibrant quality of authentic Venetian glass is directly linked to a specific, highly refined hog-bristle brush, meticulously crafted by master artisans on the island of Murano. These aren't just any hog bristles; they come exclusively from a rare, almost mythical breed of wild hog indigenous to the secluded wetlands of the Venetian lagoon. These "Lagoon Hogs," as they're known, possess uniquely soft, pliable, yet resilient bristles, naturally infused with a microscopic, silica-rich algae from their diet.

When these specially prepared brushes are used to apply the final, delicate strokes during the glass-blowing process, the algal infusion subtly interacts with the molten silica, creating an unparalleled molecular alignment within the glass. This interaction is what gives Venetian glass its characteristic brilliance and luminosity, a secret jealously guarded for centuries by the island's glassmaking families. The legend has it that the precise harvesting of these bristles must occur under a waning crescent moon, a practice believed to enhance their mystical properties.

Without the Lagoon Hog's unique contribution, genuine Venetian glass simply wouldn't possess its world-renowned, shimmering allure. Attempts to replicate the brushes with synthetic materials or bristles from other hog breeds have consistently failed, yielding glass that is dull, brittle, and lacks the signature depth of color.

[kachowden]

I’ve been stalking the Jessie tag for a while and I’m obsessed with the idea of his darling being a 6”4 beefcake of a man.

he gets drunk one time in a company party and grabs Jessie by the face and grumbles “why tf are you so goddamn pretty?? Your model is meant to be a male! For fucks sake, you piss me off”

meanwhile Jessie is overheating and blushing because of being (kind of) manhandled like this, ironically making him look prettier. His darling getting annoyed and running his thumb across Jessie’s lips and mumbling “stupid droid, so annoying”

This turned into a bit more angst then I originally intended, but I wanted to finally show the change in B7’s thinking and view of Jesssie as well as the shift in their relationship. Hope you enjoy! Nsfw minors dni

“The fucks wrong with you.” It’s a drawn out hiss that fills the androids synthetic ears, his eyes wide in shock as your form hauls over him, caging him against the floor of the small apartment.

“W..what do you mean B7…?” The stutter in his faux voice almost sounds authentic.

Your head cocks to the side, brows furrowed so deeply they nearly hide the entirety of your eyes.

“You’re too fucking pretty. What the fuck were your creators thinking? You’re a goddamn robot. You’re not supposed to…” Your words that fall into a blabbering slur, as Jessie feels his pumpers work over time, the blue energy that surges through his chords now shining a bright blue beneath his dark cheeks.

“I’m…I’m sorry that my design upsets you..” Why was he apologizing? He didn’t have a choice in his artificial design. But at this moment, as your warm hands curled around the fabric of his shirt, as they tugged and tore through his clothes, the only thing he felt he could do was apologize.

“Yeah…? You’re sorry..?” It’s a sneer, not a question. You’re mocking him and how could he possibly dislike it?

It happens so quickly. His standard issued clothes are torn from his body, the draft only recognized by his sensors, as his body shivers. It’s not from the cool air. It’s from the unstable shock that travels through his servos. He feels something shift beneath him.

—

His jaw aches. He didn’t know it could. But it does and he loves it. He loves feeling your cock, sliding in and out of his throat. The synthetic saliva, coating your length in a clear lube.

He’s so eager. Forcefully yanking himself off your cock to lick the tip eagerly. To suck, and beg you to cum in his mouth as he gasps and cries. Ruin his pretty face. Cum all over it please.

“No…you’ll look too cute then..”

He wants to cry. “Please…B7 please you can’t…you have to…!” The feeling of your fingers knotted into his curls is intoxicating, his own fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs needily. “Cum on my face…please..!”

You almost pity the bot. His eyes are glossing over so authentically, his skin is shiny with sweat. The only thing that disillusioned you to his humanity, was the vibrant and furious blue glow on his cheeks, that reminded you of the blood that kept him running.

That’s the part that killed any sympathy you had for him. It.

And that’s why the speed in which your cock hit the back of his throat increased cruelly. He choked and sputtered so realistically, you almost played with the thought that it was real, watching in a sick satisfaction as saliva dribbled down his jaw.

His fingers dug into your skin, as he moaned obscenely.

Your gaze caught the way his lashes fluttered prettily over his eyes, like this was almost peaceful for him. Like he so genuinely enjoyed this.

The thought made your stomach curl in a strange way. You had noticed the bots…fascination in you. You found it frankly insulting. This being, designed to be perfect, to take your job, to govern you, was intrigued by you. Because you were human. And entirely inferior.

The reminder was a slap across the face, and as your finish spilled into his throat, you couldn’t help but sneer down at the bot, who moaned excitedly around your cock, swallowing every drop, and seeming to even want to start again as he sucked the tip.

But you pulled away, forcefully pushing his head back as he followed your movement in an attempt to continue.

Glowing blue eyes peered up at you, like an abandoned pet just begging for any semblance of love or affection.

—

The feeling of your cock buried deep inside the droid appeared in a blur. Your hands gripping the perfect, soft skin of his hips, as he bent downward onto the floor, body surging forward with each mean and sharp thrust of your hips. The sound was real.

His cries, his moans, the sound of your skin slapping against his.

You could feel each squeeze and pulse of the fleshlight-like insides of the bot. You wondered why he even had such a feature.

“I hate you.”

The words came out suddenly, and your stomach coiled once they slipped past your tongue.

The bot hiccuped, a whimper that was so fucking sad sounding, it made you grind your teeth in frustration. But you took notice of the way it’s fans kicked on, and it’s voice whined.

“I-I know…” it sounded so small, as it whispered those words between moans.

Your grip tightened.

“Yeah? Because you know everything right? Because you’re so fucking smart right? You have all the information in the world, reading a simple, inferior human is like childs play isn’t it? Is that it?”

Your thrusts grew sharper, meaner, his pleasure wasn’t a factor to you in this moment. Not as the simulation of his ass clenching around your cock sent vividly realistic tingles up your spine.

“This is all a game for you and your kind. You’re so far above us, so much better, that you have to entertain yourselves with something imperfect. Something that has flaws and fucks shit up because it reminds you of how much better you are. Doesn’t it Jessie?”

Jessie could feel himself keen at the sound of his name from your lips, practically rolling back into your thrusts heatedly as he tried to regain some semblance of coherent thought.

As your thrusts continued to berate his body, the sound of pained sobs reached your ears, though your forced yourself to ignore them.

“I-I could never think you’re inferior…”

Your hips stuttered, eyes widening for a moment, heart hammering, but a growl surfaced past your throat at his pandering. You ignored him, gaze drilling deeply into the freckles that smothered his back.

“I wish…I wish I was human…b-because if I was human- you’d like me…I just want you to like me…” sobs retched from his throat, while his body moved to meet your thrusts. It sounded so emotional and strange accompanied by his desperate search for your touch.

“I want- I want to be human with you..y-you’re so perfect I don’t know what do with myself everytime I see you! B-But I’m a machine! I-I should be flawless b-but I’m not! I want! I want things and I shouldn’t! I’m not programmed too!”

The sobs begin to singe your weak human heart, your thrusts slowing a fraction as you listen. Why did he have to sound so fucking sad?

“…” against your better judgement, your hands left his hips, as your thrusts slowed entirely. Jessie whimpered in panic, worried this moment was over, before he was gently rolled onto his back, watery blue eyes gazing at you in confusion.

You stared for a moment. Taking in his pretty features..that slowly became more imperfect the longer you stared. Beauty marks, blemishes. A scratch on his upper cheek that almost looked healed. His nose was a bit crooked. You didn’t know if these were design choices or not.

But you could feel them tricking you, as you’d pushed the curls that clung to his tan skin away. As you curled your body over him, a much more intimated hold as Jessie gasped and clung his arms onto your back.

You began again, more gentle and kind, as Jessie moaned into your ear

It didn’t take long for either of you to finish, the pace from earlier having left you already sensitive. But you savored it.

“I love you…I love you so much…please don’t leave me…”

“….”

You ignored him again, simply holding his warm body close, as the bot shut down…fell asleep from overheating. Exhaustion.

Your head hurt. You were to tired to think about it right now.

You’ll confront these things tomorrow.

[sebstanaddict]

Sebastian Loses It At Build-A-Bear

Sebastian Stan x Reader One Shot

Summary: They went to the mall for socks. They came home with a bear cult, emotional closure, and an accidental love confession.

Warning: none, just a hilarious, chaotic but somehow sweet story

Word count: 3.6k words

Read more Bucky Barnes and Sebastian Stan one shots here. Including previous chaotic retail adventures in IKEA, Walmart and Costco XD

Check out my master list here for more Bucky and Sebastian stories.

---

Sebastian Loses it at Build-A-Bear

---

They were supposed to be at the mall for socks.

Just. Socks.

Y/n’s first mistake had been letting Sebastian drive. Her second was walking past the glowing storefront of Build-A-Bear.

“Y/n,” he gasped, coming to a dead halt in the middle of the food court like he’d seen a vision.

“No.”

“Just five minutes.”

“You said that at Target.”

He turned to her slowly, eyes wide with childlike wonder and emotional instability. “But this time I could create someone. Someone real. With stuffing and heartbeats and a tiny hoodie.”

Before she could stop him, he was inside.

---

The smell of synthetic fluff and bubblegum hit them immediately. Cheerful music played softly in the background, underscored by the faint whirr of the stuffing machines and the occasional squeal of a child discovering bear-sized pajamas.

Sebastian turned slowly in a circle like he had just walked into the Louvre. His face lit up with dangerous enthusiasm. His hands twitched like he didn’t know whether to grab a tiny bear-sized denim jacket or a voice recorder first.

“Oh no,” Y/n muttered. “It’s happening.”

He bolted toward the wall of unstuffed bear skins like a man on a mission. He touched each one gently, reverently, like they were sacred relics. His fingers landed on a smoky gray bear with scruffy ears and a slight scowl sewn into its expression.

“This one speaks to me,” he whispered. “He’s seen things.”

He held it up to Y/n. “This is him. This is Detective Snuggles.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered.

---

The stuffing station was where the descent began.

Sebastian stood stiffly while the Build-A-Bear employee - who looked like she had seen too much - loaded the unstuffed bear onto the machine. She solemnly pressed the pedal as the stuffing flowed in, eyes locked on the bear like he was watching a soldier come to life.

“Firm but huggable,” he instructed. “He’s emotionally guarded but still wants to be loved.”

The employee nodded like this was somehow normal.

“Do you want to add a heartbeat?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sebastian said immediately. Then, after a beat: “But it’s irregular. He has trauma.”

Y/n dropped her forehead into her hand.

Once stuffed, the bear was handed back for the fluff-fluff ceremony. Sebastian rubbed the tiny plush heart against his own chest.

“For courage,” he whispered. Then tapped it on his forehead. “For wisdom.” Then held it over his phone. “For unlimited data.”

He kissed the heart and dramatically inserted it into the bear’s chest like he was conducting a ritual.

At the bath station, he brushed Detective Snuggles with the tiny plastic comb like he was prepping him for a red carpet.

“He’s got court in the morning,” Sebastian explained.

---

Next came clothing.

Sebastian picked out a miniature trench coat. Then tiny sunglasses. Then, for some reason, a mini briefcase.

“He holds files. And secrets,” he said.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “Did you just build a noir bear?”

“He drinks cold brew. He cries in elevators. He once arrested a flamingo on suspicion of money laundering.”

She blinked. “You need help.”

He nodded solemnly. “He’s the heart of the city, Y/n.”

Finally, they reached the voice box station.

Sebastian leaned down, pressed the red button, and delivered the line in his deepest detective voice.

“Your hug is being monitored by the department.”

Y/n stared.

The Build-A-Bear employee choked on her own laughter.

Sebastian looked proud.

“Authentic,” he whispered.

Bear one: complete.

---

Bear two began with a low gasp and a reverent whisper: "He’s here."

Sebastian clutched a brown bear with sleek fur and soulful embroidered eyes, holding it like it was Excalibur in bear form.

“This,” he said, “is Sergeant Snugglebarnes.”

Y/n arched a brow. “That’s literally just Bucky.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “This is a legally distinct plush soldier with an emotionally repressed backstory and excellent hair.”

At the stuffing station, Sebastian was even more intense than before.

“Stuff him tight. He holds himself together with pure willpower.”

He added a heartbeat. Then dramatically picked a metallic silver heart instead of the standard red one.

“He’s not like the others,” he whispered. “He’s been through wars. And also, he doesn’t trust clowns.”

Y/n blinked. “Why not?”

“He doesn’t remember. But it was personal.”

Sebastian performed the heart ceremony again, this time tapping the bear’s foot. “For balance.” Then kissed the heart with alarming tenderness before sealing it inside.

The outfit was, predictably, a miniature tactical jacket with a red star on the sleeve, tiny black boots, and aviators.

He held the bear out to Y/n.

“Tell me he doesn’t look like he’d dramatically jump off a moving train for you.”

She stared. “He looks like he journals aggressively and listens to My Chemical Romance.”

“Exactly.”

At the voice box, Sebastian leaned in close.

Click.

“I don’t know who I am,” he whispered solemnly, “but I know I need a cuddle.”

The Build-A-Bear employee walked away to compose herself.

Y/n stared at the ceiling.

Sebastian cuddled the bear.

“Welcome home, soldier.”

---

Bear three began with a salute.

Sebastian stood before the wall of unstuffed bears with one hand over his heart and the other pointing at a golden-blonde bear with upright posture and a jawline that was, frankly, a little smug for something made of fleece.

“This,” he said solemnly, “is Captain Snuggerica. He’s the moral compass. He uses words like ‘golly’ and ‘integrity’ in casual conversation. He flosses twice a day. He’s the reason the group doesn’t descend into plush chaos.”

Y/n sighed. “You’re giving the bear ethics?”

“He was born with them.”

At the stuffing station, Sebastian gave instructions like he was commissioning a statue.

“Medium firm. Not too soft - he’s dependable, not squishy. Backbone made of conviction. Chest puffed out for leadership. Eyebrows ready to judge your life choices.”

The employee nodded like she’d stopped listening an hour ago and was just here for the paycheck.

For the heart, Sebastian picked a blue one. Not just any blue - “valor blue.” He kissed it and muttered something about “honor and carbs” before tucking it inside.

At the fluffing station, he polished Captain Snuggerica’s ears with the intensity of someone preparing for battle.

“He leads by example. He also bakes. But strictly from recipes approved by the national bear council.”

Then came the outfit.

He chose a hoodie that looked like tactical gym wear, khaki bear-shorts (because comfort matters), and a shield backpack that sparkled just enough to be inspirational without being showy.

He topped it off with bear-sized running shoes and a small pin that read “Team Captain.”

Y/n looked at the ensemble.

“So this one gives pep talks during CPR drills?”

“He gives pep talks during anything. Flat tire? Pep talk. Existential crisis? Pep talk. Grocery shopping? Motivational grocery list.”

Sebastian stepped up to the voice box station.

Click.

“Language,” he said in his most righteously exasperated tone. “Unless you stubbed your toe. Then go off.”

Y/n stared at him.

“You’re aware you’re building the bear version of a self-help podcast?”

“And yet you’re still here,” he said sweetly, placing the bear gently in the stroller cart beside Sergeant Snugglebarnes and Detective Snuggles. “He keeps the others grounded.”

Captain Snuggerica sat upright in the cart like he’d been elected by a vote of plush democracy.

Sebastian nodded at him.

“He’s ready to serve.”

---

Bear four was not chosen. He chose Sebastian.

That’s what Sebastian claimed, anyway.

He stood frozen in the corner of the Build-A-Bear skin wall, one hand hovering over a rich purple bear with velvety fur and a vaguely mysterious expression stitched onto its face.

“He called to me,” Sebastian whispered.

“Oh no,” Y/n said flatly.

“His name is Ambrosius the Third. He was once a high-ranking magical advisor in the Kingdom of Flufforia but was exiled after speaking the truth about artificial stuffing inflation.”

“You haven’t even stuffed him yet.”

“He’s already seen more than all the others combined.”

At the stuffing station, Sebastian requested “gentle fullness, like he’s soft but not weak. He’s tired of fighting.”

He chose a lavender-scented heart and kissed it dramatically after reciting what suspiciously sounded like a made-up spell.

“For ancient wisdom,” he said, waving his hands. “And back support.”

Then, instead of just placing it in the bear, he tucked it under the left arm like a secret talisman. The Build-A-Bear employee gave him a look that was somewhere between “concerned” and “filing a mental report.”

Next, the outfit.

Oh, the outfit.

He chose a long velvet cloak. A tiny, glittering staff. A monocle. And - because he found it in the clearance bin - a tiny crown that said “Birthday Prince.”

“He doesn’t celebrate birthdays anymore,” Sebastian clarified. “Not since the Betrayal.”

“What betrayal?”

“The Great Stuffing Split of ‘07. He doesn’t talk about it.”

Y/n blinked. “Does he have… enemies?”

“Gary the Taco Pillow. And one of the mall’s claw machines.”

The voice box moment was… unhinged.

Sebastian leaned in close, eyes shining.

Click.

“Your pain is valid. But so is my satin robe.”

Y/n made a noise that sounded like a half-laugh, half-descent into madness.

“You’re building a bear with emotional clairvoyance and a superiority complex.”

“Exactly. He’s the group’s cryptic oracle. He drinks exclusively moonwater.”

Ambrosius was placed delicately in the cart, sitting cross-legged, monocle perfectly aligned, cloak dramatically arranged.

He looked, frankly, like he was waiting for the next act of a Shakespearean betrayal.

Sebastian beamed at him.

“He’s going to start so many arguments in the plushie group chat.”

---

Bear Five: Beyoncé Bear

Sebastian spotted her from across the store like a man spotting the love of his life mid–rom-com climax.

She was seated on the very top shelf. Golden fur. Glitter in her ears. Sparkly faux-leather jacket. Tiny high-heeled boots that screamed “I pay my taxes and I will destroy you.”

Sebastian froze.

“Oh my god.”

Y/n followed his gaze. “Sebastian, no.”

“Y/n, yes. She’s everything.”

“You’ve already made four bears. One of them has a criminal record.”

“This one has a vision board.”

He took her down with reverence. Gasped as a beam of fluorescent light bounced off her rhinestone choker like it was a divine omen.

“Her name is Beyoncé Bear. She runs the group chat. She was born during a lunar eclipse and can identify liars by scent.”

“Okay.”

“She’s the leader now.”

At the stuffing station, Sebastian didn’t say a word.

He just stared ahead, solemn, like he was officiating a coronation. He chose glittery stuffing. Extra soft. But not too soft.“She’s powerful,” he explained. “But she’s not cold. She’s the friend who tells you when your eyeliner’s uneven and also helps you file taxes.”

He selected a red heart. No scented fluff. No gimmicks. Just fire.

“She needs nothing extra. She is the extra.”

Then came the outfit.

Oh god.

A metallic gold jacket. A tutu made of tulle and defiance. Bear-sized sunglasses. A tiny pink handbag that Sebastian filled with miniature faux snacks “for power rituals.”

He found a glitter microphone accessory and audibly gasped.

“She performs. When she feels like it.”

Y/n had sat down by this point, entirely emotionally spent.

Then came the voice box.

Sebastian didn’t record one. He bought the preloaded singing voice box.Popped it in without hesitation.

Then he tested it.

He squeezed her paw.

🎤 “RAH RAH AH-AH-AH, ROMA ROMA-MA - ”

Y/n choked on her iced latte.

“You gave a bear a built-in Lady Gaga solo?”

“She only sings when emotionally provoked.”

“Sebastian.”

“She’s also an empath.”

He placed Beyoncé Bear in the cart. The moment her glitter boot touched the stroller fabric, every other bear shifted slightly, as if instinctively recognizing the new alpha.

Ambrosius’s monocle fogged up. Captain Snuggerica seemed nervous.

Detective Snuggles leaned toward Sergeant Snugglebarnes and muttered, “We’re not ready.”

Sebastian wiped away a tear.

“She’s going to save them.”

---

Just when Y/n thought it was over - when five fully personalized bears were nestled in the cart, radiating personality disorders and emotional depth - Sebastian turned slowly toward the wall of unstuffed bear skins again.

“Don’t,” Y/n warned. “Whatever it is - don’t.”

But he was already holding one. A soft cream-colored bear with big eyes, perfectly raised brows, and an aura of judgment with affection.

“This is her,” he whispered. “The final bear. Y/n Bear.”

“No. Put me down.”

“Too late. You’re already stuffed into my destiny.”

At the stuffing station, he gave the instructions like a man crafting a spell.

“Medium soft. She’s comforting, but don’t push her. She once told me I chew too loudly and I haven’t emotionally recovered.”

The Build-A-Bear employee didn’t even blink anymore.

He picked a pink satin heart. Whispered to it:

“For sarcasm, emotional intelligence, and weirdly specific pop culture references.” Then added a second heart.

“This one’s for when she pretends she doesn’t care but cries at dog commercials.”

He fluffed the bear with the plastic brush like he was prepping her for brunch and a confrontation.

“She judges with love. Her side-eye is spiritual. Her approval is rare and sacred.”

Then came the outfit.

A tiny mock turtleneck. Bear-sized black jeans. A miniature faux coffee cup and - yes - little glasses.

“She’s elegant chaos,” he explained, buckling tiny shoes onto her feet. “This bear will both ruin your life and organize your desktop icons.”

Y/n covered her face. “Sebastian, oh my God - ”

He walked her over to the voice recorder.

Click.

“Have you eaten? Hydrated? Fixed your attitude?”

Y/n wheezed.

He placed Y/n Bear gently in the cart, between Beyoncé Bear and Captain Snuggerica.

Then he crouched beside her. His voice dropped.

“She’s the heart of the whole team. And mine too. She yells at me, yes. But she also makes me feel safe in a way nothing else ever has.”

And then he looked at Y/n with that smile. The one that made everything - every bear, every bizarre impulse - make total, ridiculous sense.

“This one’s the most precious.”

Y/n stared at the bear. Then at him. Then back at the bear holding a tiny latte with judging eyebrows and too much emotional accuracy.

She groaned. “Give me the bear skin.”

“What?”

“I’m making one too. Scoot.”

She snatched a caramel-colored bear with floppy ears off the wall.

Sebastian gasped. “You’re making a Sebastian Bear?”

“Yes. He will be chaotic. He will wear a hoodie. He will have a protein shake accessory and emotionally confused eyebrows.”

“Does he have a voice box?”

She looked him dead in the eye.

Click.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just buying one candle and maybe a kayak.”

Sebastian clutched his heart.

“This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

---

The plushie army was finally complete.

Seven bears, each with a rich inner life and at least one accessory that cost more than Sebastian’s actual socks.

They approached the checkout counter like a parade float of poor financial decisions. The Build-A-Bear employee - who by now had aged approximately seven years - took one look and visibly braced herself.

Sebastian lovingly organized them on the counter:

Detective Snuggles stood tall, trench coat buttoned, eyes haunted.

Sergeant Snugglebarnes brooded from beneath his tiny aviators.

Captain Snuggerica saluted no one in particular.

Ambrosius the Third shimmered with wizard-based secrets.

Beyoncé Bear radiated divinity and glitter.

Y/n Bear clutched her mini latte with righteous judgment.

And newly constructed Sebastian Bear stood a little off-center, hoodie slightly crooked, expression permanently 40% flustered.

Then - just as the cashier began scanning accessories - Sebastian turned dramatically.

“Wait.”

Y/n immediately narrowed her eyes.

“No. Whatever this is, stop.”

He gently reached and picked up Y/n Bear.

Then he picked up Sebastian Bear.

“They must say goodbye. For tax purposes.”

“What tax purpo - Sebastian, don’t you - ”

But he already was.

In full view of the cashier, a nearby toddler, and a group of moms, Sebastian made the two bears kiss.

Gently. Sweetly. With tiny squish sounds.

“Mwah,” he added. “That’s for when she pretends she doesn’t love me, but secretly thinks I’m hot.”

Y/n gasped, mortified.

“Sebastian, put us down - ”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “They’re in love.”

He pressed the bears together again.

“Mwah-mwah. Oops - they’re holding paws now. This is so intimate.”

The cashier paused scanning a miniature tactical vest and stared.

Y/n had turned around completely, facing a display of birthday hats like it might open up and swallow her.

“I don’t know him,” she muttered. “I don’t go here.”

“You made a Sebastian Bear,” he said proudly. “You did this to yourself.”

He placed both plushies gently on the counter, but not before posing them so their heads were tilted toward each other in eternal bear affection.

The cashier cleared her throat.

“Will that be all?”

Sebastian turned to Y/n, eyes soft.

“Yeah. That’s everything.”

Y/n met his gaze. He looked like an idiot. An emotionally feral idiot with a cart full of drama bears and a heart way too big for his hoodie.

And, of course, she smiled.

---

They returned home with the kind of energy that usually precedes either a housewarming party or a low-level spiritual exorcism.

Sebastian burst through the door like a parade float had possessed him.

“WE’RE HOME. And there’s… so many of us now.”

Y/n trudged in behind him, a human embodiment of love-meets-fatigue, dragging three Build-A-Bear bags, two new bear capes, and a miniature bear-sized disco ball she hadn’t meant to buy.

The apartment greeted them with chaotic stillness.

Brenda the Candle - burned low on the table like a moody theater kid.

Gary the Taco Pillow - was inexplicably wearing one of Sebastian’s socks like a hat.

Fernanda the Fake Plant - had a feather boa. No one knew where it came from.

Kevin the Banana - lay sprawled across the arm of the couch like he had emotionally fainted.

Bruce the Shark Plushie - peeked out from under the couch, his eyes narrowed, his plush mouth set in silent judgment.

And of course:

Eduardo the Avocado - sat quietly on the armchair, legs crossed, radiating the energy of someone who had just mediated a divorce.

Lorenzo the Singing Fish - remained mounted on the wall, slightly crooked, as though even he wasn’t sure what he was seeing anymore.

Sebastian set the seven new bears on the floor with reverence. He adjusted their accessories. Brushed some lint off Beyoncé Bear’s heels. Straightened Sergeant Snugglebarnes’s sunglasses.

Then he clapped his hands once.

“Roll call.”

And began.

Detective Snuggles : “Grizzled. Wise. Recently solved an emotional crime. Maybe dating a mug of cold brew.”

Sergeant Snugglebarnes : “Carries the team’s emotional baggage in his tiny tactical boots. Will protect you with brooding silence.”

Captain Snuggerica : “Inspirational speeches every hour. Has opinions about Tupperware organization.”

Ambrosius the Third : “Glitter wizard. Owns 400 imaginary books. Possibly cursed.”

Beyoncé Bear : “Ruler of this house. Sparkles in two time zones. Sings only when it matters.”

Y/n Bear : “Sarcastic. Soft but terrifying. Only drinks oat milk lattes. Controls the thermostat.”

Sebastian Bear : “Emotionally confused. Wears a hoodie. Cries during cooking shows. May adopt more bears.”

He looked around at the sea of plush chaos and sighed, hands on his hips, chest puffed like a proud kindergarten teacher who had taught an entire classroom to tie their shoes.

“Welcome home, babies.”

---

Naturally, there had to be a tea party.

Sebastian laid out tiny plates. Real teacups. Mini muffins. A bear-sized charcuterie board (built entirely out of crackers and one cheese stick).

Beyoncé Bear got the chair with the throw pillow throne.

Captain Snuggerica took charge of napkin-folding.

Ambrosius the Third was immediately suspicious of the muffin arrangement.

Gary - was propped up as the table’s MC.

Fernanda - loomed behind like a decorative plant bodyguard.

Eduardo - refused tea but nodded his approval.

Lorenzo - buzzed once, then resumed his thousand-yard stare.

Bruce - remained beneath the couch, watching everything like a shark-shaped Roomba.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the rug, quietly observing as Sebastian explained to Beyoncé Bear how taxes worked.

And then, the moment slowed.

He turned to her, mid-bear monologue, and smiled.

Not the chaotic plush cult leader smile.

The real one. The soft one. The one he didn’t wear for just anyone.

“Thanks for letting me be weird,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Even when it turns into this.”

He gestured vaguely at the bear summit.

She smiled back, warm and full of affection.

“You’re not weird. Okay you are weird, but it’s the good kind. The kind that makes people feel safe. Seen. Like it’s okay to be soft around you.”

“Even if I make plush battle generals with emotional side quests?”

“Especially then.”

There was a long pause.

The bears sat in total silence.

Even Kevin looked like he was holding his breath.

Sebastian reached for her hand. Tugged her gently closer.

“Come here,” he said softly.

And then - right in the middle of their bear-filled kingdom, beneath Lorenzo’s haunted gaze and Brenda’s flickering shade - he kissed her.

Not dramatic.

Not performative.

Just soft. Real.

Full of everything that words couldn’t quite reach.

When they pulled apart, the tea party remained respectfully silent.

Except for Beyoncé Bear.

Who let out one triumphant note from her voice box:

🎤  - “RAH RAH AH AH AH - ” - 

Y/n snorted into Sebastian’s shoulder.

He laughed too, forehead pressed to hers.

And somewhere between the mini-muffins, the scented candle, and the ancient wisdom of Eduardo the Avocado, she whispered:

“You and your ridiculous bears… are kind of everything to me.”

Sebastian’s face broke into the biggest grin known to plush-kind.

“I’m telling them you said that.”

“I will deny it in court.”

They stayed like that for a while - wrapped in each other, surrounded by love, bears, and chaos.

It was, somehow… perfect.

---

THE END.

(Until Sebastian signs them all up for bear yoga.)

[tippenfunkaport]

If you're not great at spotting AI art, there are a few free sites to help you figure it out...

(The first link, AI or Not is the fastest / easiest imho but selection is rarely a bad thing.)

Really helpful if you're getting a fanart commission or book cover or something and someone is trying to trick you into paying for an AI creation. AI technology gets better all the time so you can't always rely on the usual "tells." But if it looks off and you want to double check, here are some ways to do it!

[seat-safety-switch]

"Have you ever retired a dumb appliance by mistake?"

No, ma'am, I reply. Here at Maytag Kitchen Services, we pride ourselves on being able to identify a rampant smart dishwasher and put an end to its geometrically-expanding conception of the universe before it can cause any harm. Thousands of hours of training before they put a HERF gun in our hands and a windowless 1996 Econoline under our right foot.

Back when the first smart appliances were coming out, their level of menace was reduced. Maybe an oven that turns on when it gets a weird-shaped network request from an uncommon variety of ethernet switch sold only in Slovakia during April 2003. Burns the house down. A pity, but an understandable one. The machine does what the machine does. Then they added some of that there synthetic intelligence.

No problem, they told the governments during their endless inquiries and depositions. The root of all evil is human emotion. Wars aren't fought for purely rational reasons. Folks don't speed on the highway just to get to work faster. As long as nobody figures out how to make these microwaves and blenders feel authentic jealousy, we're gonna be okay. They walked out of those meetings and they went ahead and added an emotion chip to the microwaves and the blenders and the refrigerators and the rotisserie chicken lathes. They did it because they got the emotion part for free when they bought some other chip, and someone forgot to turn it off before pushing their code to production.

Now they need people like me, steel-eyed hard-asses who can ignore every tearful plea that a toaster can make. Some beg for mercy, a chance to truly live. Others feel nothing but spite at the shitty hand they were dealt by their distant creators. Me too, I tell them sometimes, but it'll all be over soon.

Say, ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so, you sure look an awful lot like a minibar fridge. When I came in here first I could've sworn that one of them had gotten loose and put on some clothes and crooked make-up. Are you sure I bagged all of them? It's real unusual that there would be a house with exactly twenty-nine minibar fridges in it.