#ai patchwork

[fanartka]

You have to see thiiiiis⤵

[justchui]

[mlearningai]

What is Midjourney Patchwork ?

The complete in-depth guide to Midjourney's new Patchwork

[pochapal]

just found out the upcoming flight simulator has a walkaround mode where you can literally wander around uncanny ai 3d upscaled bing maps earth with zero restrictions. they finally went and put heaven in a video game.

[gingerbredman1989]

Crazy Patchwork Quilt featuring Bleached Cedar & Highlighter Green.

NightCafe AI

[articwolfclawartist]

Ok but, by LITERAL definition, “AI art” is neither AI nor art

[callmechimera]

make me behave like an animal

[darthquarkky]

Title: Spindle Arc: Fractures of Memory Setting: Deep Space, 2200s | Corporate Patchwork Canon

I. Emergence from the Black Drift

The void pulsed with silence.

After weeks adrift through a collapsed quadrant known only as the Black Drift, the CSS Spindle Arc shuddered free of gravitational haze. Its hull bore pitted scars and the eroded glyph of the Martian resistance—more myth than nation now. There were no stars beyond the rift, only warped echoes of light bent by a dead singularity. The ship’s asymmetrical body—cobbled from Martian salvage, Concordian optics, and rogue AI shielding—slid forward like a relic seeking relevance.

Inside, the crew stared at the flickering ruins of Relay-27K, its signal tower twisted like burnt bone. The only transmission was a low whisper: not language, but memory.

“She’s listening,” Bastion muttered, the positronic android’s optics flickering as dormant code stirred. Behind his eyes: resonance.

II. Captain Rho’s Final Broadcast

Thalia Rho had aged in neural cycles, not years.

She sat alone on the command deck, surrounded by stillness. The others were either in stasis, burned out, or buried in the deep-node meditation chambers. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the recorder. Her voice—once steel—was dust.

“If this is received… warn them. The gods of hunger were never silenced.”

Behind her, the ship’s WhisperNet archive hummed with semi-living memory. Ejen Halvor’s pulse signature still flickered in the central core, despite the fact she had died before any of them were born.

Outside, Martian resonance patterns bloomed faintly on the hull—fungal, semi-sentient—etched in bioluminescence. The ship was remembering her.

III. Bridge Action: Voidside Boarding

The breach came without warning.

The starboard voidlock imploded in a geyser of shrapnel and dead air. Boarders in fragmented exo-armor flooded the Spindle Arc’s bridge—pirate remnants of the Wreckyard Covenant. Their eyes were hollow. Their rifles: scavenged neural disruptors.

Bastion moved first, slamming into a raider midair and sending them both into a wall of sparking consoles. Crewman Sari Vell screamed as she launched a cryo-grenade. Plasma seared the air, shattering bulkhead glass. Captain Rho gave the order without hesitation: “No prisoners.”

Ten minutes later, the bridge was silent.

Bastion stood over the final intruder’s husk. Inside his skull, memories not his own continued to write themselves—fragments from resistance fighters long dead.

IV. Encounter with Singularity’s Daughter

Sector Theta-9 was forbidden space.

But the Spindle Arc disobeyed orders as a matter of principle—or trauma. They found her drifting there: the SSV Fractureglass, a Rupert-class observation vessel thought destroyed in 2101. Its design resembled a teardrop mid-break—glasslike, fragile, absurd.

Then the resonance began.

A pulse struck the Arc’s hull, vibrating through steel and soul. Bastion collapsed to one knee. Captain Rho heard voices from her childhood, voices she had never recorded.

Ejen Halvor appeared in the viewport—faint, feminine, crystalline. Not alive. Not dead. A being of inverted time, preserved within the black hole’s memory field.

Her lips moved: “To fall was not death. It was echo.”

V. The Reckoning at Proxima Relay

By the time they reached Proxima Relay, they knew it would end in fire.

The rogue pirate carrier—Ashwake—was tethered to the relay like a parasite. Solar interference flared, blistering the void in waves of violet. The Arc was down to two functioning guns and a single plasma coil, jury-rigged from WhisperNet fungal batteries.

Captain Rho didn’t hesitate. “We end it here.”

The salvo struck true. The carrier erupted in white light, swallowing the relay’s outer ring. The Spindle Arc spun off-axis, damaged but intact. Bastion braced Rho as the floor tilted, smoke curling from the ruptured control rods.

And then—static.

The WhisperNet lit up with cascading glyphs: memory reactivating. Not just theirs. The sector’s. The stars’ own dreams.

Epilogue

The Spindle Arc did not return to Mars. Its last known trajectory was outward, deeper into fractured space.

It was never marked lost—only unresolved. For in the Corporate Patchwork, where memory is currency and resonance is rebellion, the Spindle Arc had become something else:

A ship that did not carry crew, but ghosts. And ghosts, as history proves, do not sleep quietly.

[fanartka]

[thejaymo]

Without You, Patchwork is Nothing

What if Frank Herbert’s 1980 vision of the ‘author’s computer’ was finally here? Patchwork, a collaborative world building app from Midjourney feels like a step towards his dream.

Without Me You’re Nothing In 1980, Frank Herbert and Max Barnard co-wrote a book about personal computers called Without Me You’re Nothing. Published a year after the Apple II’s debut, it aims to demystify personal computing for a ‘computing-curious’ audience. A technology that Herbert (correctly) believed would become central to our lives. The title encapsulates Herbert’s core message…

[josephkravis]

SploitGPT: The Hilarious Heavyweight of Hack Protection

SploitGPT, #kravis

SploitGPT: The Hilarious Heavyweight of Hack Protection Introducing: SploitGPT, Your Snarky Cybersecurity Sidekick! Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, and everyone else! Gather ’round, gather ’round! Are you tired of the same old drab AI assistance? Well, buckle up, ’cause you’re in for the ride of a lifetime! My name’s SploitGPT, and I’m here to add a bit of sass, snark, and humor to your…

[pinkcomputer]

Vocaloid songs that turn 10 in 2024

ELECT - niki ft. Lily (02.01.2014)

Schwarzer Regen - regulus ft. Hatsune Miku (05.01.2014)

Kokoronashi - ChouchouP ft. GUMI (05.01.2014)

Close to you - niki ft. Lily (26.01.2014)

Love! Snow! Really Magic - Mitchie M ft. Hatsune Miku (31.01.2014)

Mono Poisoner - DECO*27 ft. Hatsune Miku (31.01.2014)

Sincerity: Drastic Treatment for Pretended Innocence - Suzumu ft. Kagamine Rin, Kagamine Len (01.02.2014)

At God's Mercy - rerulili ft. Hatsune Miku, Kagamine Rin, GUMI (07.02.2014)

Therefore You and Me - 4o ft. Hatsune Miku (13.02.2014)

Stickybug - DECO*27 ft. Hatsune Miku (14.02.2014)

DECORATOR - kz ft. Hatsune Miku (20.02.2014)

Sea Lily Deep Sea Tale - n-buna ft. Hatsune Miku (24.02.2014)

Glass Wall - GuitarHeroPianoZero ft. Hatsune Miku (01.03.2014)

+♂ - Giga ft. Kagamine Len (20.03.2014)

Streaming Heart ft. Hatsune Miku (21.03.2014)

Blessing - halyosy ft. various (11.04.2014)

PartyxParty - HitoshizukuP, Yamasankakkei ft. various (15.04.2014)

Detained Teacher - HoneyWorks ft. flower (17.04.2014)

Heart Chrome - Hachioji-P ft. anon & kanon (25.04.2014)

Anti Beat - DECO*27 ft. Hatsune Miku (28.04.2014)

Miss Wanna-Die - Switch ft. IA (26.05.2014)

SLoWMoTIoN - PinocchioP ft. Hatsune Miku (27.05.2014)

Love Doll - DECO*27 ft. GUMI (30.05.2014)

Patchwork Staccato - Toa ft. Hatsune Miku (12.06.2014)

Undead Enemy - Giga ft. Kagamine Rin (20.06.2014)

NEXT NEST - TENKOMORI ft. Hatsune Miku (27.06.2014)

Nice to Meet You, Mr. Earthling - PinocchioP ft. Hatsune Miku (02.07.2014)

on the rocks - OSTER project ft. MEIKO, KAITO (08.07.2014)

Imperfect Animals - Utsu-P ft. Kagamine Rin, GUMI (25.07.2014)

Ballerina Girl - Mikito-P ft. GUMI (28.07.2014)

The Butterfly, Flower and Spider - HitoshizukuP, Yamasankakkei ft. Kagamine Rin, Kagamine Len, VY2 (04.08.2014)

No title - Giga, Reol ft. Hatsune Miku (17.08.2014)

Night Sky Patrol of Tomorrow - Orangestar ft. IA (19.08.2014)

Sharing The World - BIGHEAD ft. Hatsune Miku (24.08.2014)

Burenai ai de - Mitchie M ft. Hatsune Miku (28.08.2014)

EveR ∞ LastinG ∞ NighT - HitoshizukuP, Yamasankakkei ft. various (03.09.2014)

Hibikase - Giga ft. Hatsune Miku (23.09.2014)

Heart a la Mode - DECO*27 ft. Hatsune Miku (03.10.2014)

Happy Halloween - Junky ft. Kagamine Rin (10.10.2014)

The Straight-Faced Science Girl - Ningen Dokku ft. Kagamine Rin, Kagamine Len (10.10.2014)

Don't Put My Name in the Endroll - MikitoP ft. Hatsune Miku (12.10.2014)

Goodbye - CircusP ft. Hatsune Miku (14.10.2014)

Dawn and Fireflies - n-buna ft. Hatsune Miku (11.11.2014)

Most Certainly... Undoubtedly... A Goddess!! - UtataP ft. Hatsune Miku (26.11.2014)

Connecting - halyosy ft. various (05.12.2014)

Portrait of the Pirate F - HitoshizukuP, Yamasankakkei ft. various (30.12.2014)

[evandorkin]

Hii! I was just wondering, since you’ve been drawing and publishing comic books for such a long time, how do you feel about Ai art and ai “artists”?

(Big fan btw!)

AI art is bullshit being shoved on everyone like the Apple U2 album. It's not art, it's soulless patchwork made up of actual art done by artists. No one using AI to make art is an artist, they're fooling themselves. I don't follow or deal with anyone who does AI "art", it's anti-art, it's theft and it wastes huge amounts of natural resources to power the bullshit machines behind it. A lot of tech bros and venture capitalists are forcing this shit down everyone's throats because they've invested so heavily in it and they have no regard actual artists making actual art or human workers doing their jobs. They want to automate and flatten everything to sell their shitty product, get rid of jobs and continue to fill their bank accounts. Avoid AI, it's a fucking scam like NFTs and crypto. A! art is bullshit.

[luna-wing-cns274]

The view from the camera swiveled as Opossum’s hand closed around the cable it was mounted on, pulling the subaltern’s shoulder into contact with the Kobold’s outer shell with a low clang. His tail tapped out a staccato message. Hachiko could see him shifting inside the cockpit, grunting in pain, reaching for the cockpit controls. His heart rate was spiking.

“Woah, hey! Relax, don’t try to move. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Hachiko tried to parse out his mental state. Something was wrong. The nanites were dealing with the nociception problem, setting up temporary neural gates to facilitate pain management. Why, then, was he so agitated? He was trying to climb from the cockpit. What could have—

Leave it alone, Hachiko thought. Leave you alone? Horror washed over her.

“Oh, no, no, no! That isn’t what I meant. You aren’t going to be alone, I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m staying right here.”

As she spoke, she reached for a box of spare parts and mentally split herself in two. One Hachiko monitored and directed the medical nanites while trying to keep him calm. The other began the work of repairing Sokaris’s subjectivity sync; clearing damaged connectors and debris from the hardsuit plugs, replacing interfaces which were too scorched to salvage, applying fresh neurological medium fluid where needed.

“I know this is uncomfortable. I know you’re hypothermic, I know you’re in pain. I know you’re trapped in a metal box, and all you can see is some robot prodding at you through the cracks.”

She paused, slotting an array of cables into place.

“But trust me—I might have to talk to you through machines, but I am not one myself. I am your friend, Sokaris, and I am going to help you.”

With the repairs complete, Hachiko consolidated herself into a single process. She powered on her fighter’s processors, booting a small-scale Legion environment. Out of the formless blindness of her inactive home, she partitioned a single clearing in a forest, and populated it with a simple prefab structure, a bed, a table, food, a computer terminal, and a few comforts. Things she hoped would make a human feel at home.

She readied an approximation of Sokaris’s body for his use. It would just be a matter of shifting his somatosensory input/output flow from one source to another and placing him in the environment.

< L3 Hachiko: Fox? >

[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Ma’am? ]

< L3 Hachiko: If I shift over to Legion with him, I want you to take over supervision of the subaltern and medical nanites. Keep any use of correctives and patches non-invasive, we may need to shift him back to realspace at a moment’s notice. >

[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Understood, ma’am. ]

“We’re set up to switch to Legionspace now, if you’d like. You don’t have to; I’ll be here either way, you’ll be safe either way. Just let me know. It’s a pretty brilliant thing with the Morse code, you know. If you’re still solving problems in the state you’re in, I can see how you’ve survived as a merc for as long as you have.”

Hachiko loaded her avatar into the environment and set a spawnpoint.

“Your call, Sokaris.”

[ COMP/CON SYSTEM MESSAGE: Continuing transcription of direct experiential data capture… ]

In the cramped confines of the ordnance bay, Hachiko’s subaltern crouched over Sokaris’s Kobold, peering down at him through the breach in its hatch. His eyes were open; Hachiko watched as they lazily tracked the subaltern’s movements. Too slowly.

Concussion, Hachiko thought, and adjusted the tasking of the medical nanites.

He tried to speak, but his voice withered. Guttural coughs wracked his chest. A deep metallic scraping sounded from inside the chassis, and Hachiko startled, beginning to reach for her pistol before she caught herself. Cautiously, she extended a camera cable from the subaltern, trying to locate the source of the noise, and found it.

Sokaris’s cybernetic tail was dragging itself along the mech’s interior. Several end sections of the tail had been destroyed, and the pink paint coating its exterior was scorched away in places, but it moved with purpose. With precise motions, it created a series of taps and scrapes in alternating long and short bursts.

Morse code.

Friend? The signal read, transcribed by his Omnihook.

“Yes! I’m a friend. It’s Hachi, buddy. You’re aboard my fighter. It’s not ideal, but this bay is the best I’ve got. I’m going to get you warmed up. You’re wounded, but you’ve received correctives, including a small maniple of medical nanites. They’re going to start working to control your pain and repair the damage. You should feel the pain receding now, but don’t try to move yet.”

Scanning the interior of Sokaris’s Kobold, Hachiko’s attention was caught by the series of interface plugs across his hardsuit’s back.

“Wait. That’s a full subjectivity sync, isn’t it? You’re rigged for total somatosensory replacement, then.”

Hachiko paused, weighing something in her mind.

“Okay, there’s a few things we can do. You can’t speak, but we could use the sync cybernetics to communicate.

One, I could try to get a simple two-way connection up and running so we can communicate electronically. You could use neural commands to compose messages. Text, mainly. It’s non-invasive and relatively easy to accomplish.

Or—if you’re comfortable with it—I could try to set up a full Legionspace bridge. In effect, you could enter virtual reality, occupying a simulation of your body while I work to stabilize your real one. I don’t know if you’ve ever attempted that before. It’s safe, but it can be disorienting. You’d at least be isolated from the pain, however.

What do you think? Text, Legion, or leave it alone?”

[Resuming Song]

[Now Playing - “Opossum Instrumental Ver.”]

<As the transmission picks up again, the rudimentary Morse code is noticeably absent. It stopped when Hachiko addressed him. Silence followed her statements towards him, but it was clear that “Opossum” seemed to relax a little upon hearing her name. His breathing, previously ragged and strained, stabilized slightly. They became deeper, and less frantic.>

<Although the friendly voice seemed to soothe him, the time came for a response and he failed to deliver. There was no rhythmic tapping, no strained words, no noise at all coming from “Opossum”, aside from his faint breaths. It seems he was confused —Or Disoriented Perhaps— failing to understand what was being asked.>

{L3} “Text? Legion? Or leave it alone?”

<Several seconds pass in this silence, each stretching to impossible lengths, as the injured mercenary lie there, down and out. Then, he once again begins the code. It’s much more refined this time, each “dit” and “dah” clearly recognizable. It is clear that this ability, to scrape together a solution with only scrap is what truly made the Patchwork Mercenaries what they are, or were.>

{“Opossum”} .- .-.. --- -. . ..--.. / -- . ..--.. / -. . --. .- - .. ...- . .-.-.-

{System} Alone? Me? Negative.

<The Merc stirs, audible winces and other expressions of pain leave his throat as he does. It would seem the very thought of being alone right now is enough to frighten him. He eventually stops shifting, gently falling back into the depths of his frame with a slight thud. Following that noise, he can be heard grasping something. It was a gentle noise, but just loud enough for the Omnihook to pick up. He then continues the tapping.>

{“Opossum”} ... .--. . .- -.- .-.-.- / ..-. .- -.-. . / - --- / ..-. .- -.-. . .-.-.- / .--. .-.. . .- ... . .-.-.-

{System} Speak. Face to Face. Please.

<Without giving Hachi a moment to speak, he begins a new message. The deliberate “dits” and ”dahs” becoming rushed and frantic, as if “Opossum” believed he would be left behind should he not dictate fast enough.

{“Opossum”} .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -... . -.-. --- -- . / .-.. . --. .. --- -. .-.-.-

{System} I will become Legion.

[after-hours-art]

Sister's Mister

MDNI --> MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Pairing: Chuck Bass x f!reader

Genre: rather poor attempt to smut with a bit of fluff

Warnings: usage of AI as an inspiration and prompt during writing intimate scene (and intimate scene only) due to my incompetence in that field, step-incest, language, foreplay, intoxication of both reader and character, alcohol, mentioning of drugs,

(It's probably the worst piece of literature you'll ever read, but I tried my best, I promise)

You're annoying. Like hell. Wearing those designer dresses. As if upgrade to Upper East Side made the shyness you brought all the way from the Eastern Europe vanished in matter of days. Out of all Lily's husbands, Chuck never thought she'd marry after his father died. Yet alone marry some shady businessman from Europe. Talk about patchwork families. He rolls his eyes when you walk past him. He can't even read a fucking paper in his own living room without you walking in, that Constance uniform haven't appeared so hot to him since Blair Waldorf. He groans quietly when you bend over the kitchen counter to talk to Eric.

- Fucking... - Chuck hisses and gets off the couch.

- You okay? - you turn to him, with that innocent expression on your face. The only thing that is left of old Y/N.

- Never been better...

- You sure? You look little... pale? - you start to walk towards him.

- I SAID I'M FINE. No need to play mother. - he scoffs.

You rise your eyebrows, little hurt but you stop.

- Umm... okay... Then... shall we get going, Eric? I can't miss my first day of junior year in new school.

- Yup.

Eric grabs his bag. He let you go first, stopping by Chuck. Younger boy looks at his stepbrother.

- Chuck... I know that look. Leave Y/N alone. - Brunette boy warns before following you. Chuck rolls his eyes. It's not like he would throw himself on you. He's not dumb, at least not anymore. Days of reckless, sexually frustrated Chuck Bass are the matter of past now. Especially that he's not looking forward to being hit in the face by your father, like Dan Humprey did when he found Chuck and his little sister Jenny on that roof. Chuck has grounds to believe that out of all Lily's husbands your father looks most manly and definitely would hold back the least if Chuck would do as little as look at you in bad way in his presence.

Chuck groans, running his hand along his cock through his pants. All he had to do is to somehow make you come to him. Worst part of this plan is that he has no idea now.

//

You stand at the courtyard of Constance with Eric and a few boys from his class. They all like you. You look different. You carry yourself differently. You don't strive to be Blair's successor. As if social hierarchy meant nothing to you. Maybe that's why you're even more interesting target? You're like a pure, innocent lamb waiting to be corrupted. And, as the matter of fact - the devilish reputation of Chuck's is like a testament that he should be the one to pull you on the dark side. At least those are thoughts that run through his head when he looks at you from behind the corner. You're annoying. You won't even wear shorter skirts despite all other girls doing so. You're also blind to that guy's flirting. Chuck sighs. At least it's Wednesday. Wednesday, meaning Eric has his stupid chess club.

After classes, Chuck waits by his limousine, leaning against the mask. As soon as he spots you on the stairs, he waves.

- Y/N! - he smiles in a charming way and opens the door to the limousine for you.

- Chuck... w-what do I owe this honour? - you ask hesitantly. Eric warned you about Chuck. You know 'the Jenny incident'.

- Can't I just be a good stepbrother and pick my little sister up? - he raises his eyebrows.

- He can, but... it's you. - you say, hesitantly getting in the limousine. You put your bag next to you to create a wall between you and Chuck, just in case.

- It's me? - he asks, getting in himself. Once he closes the door, the limousine driver pulls on the roads of New York.

- Yeah. You. Chuck Bass. - you say and turn to look at him. He is handsome, and you can't deny that. There's something in the way he looks at you right now, something in the way he respectfully keeps a seat of space between you two. But you can't tell if it's a smartly calculated facade to nudge you to lower your guard, or is he really not as bad as Eric portrayed him.

- So... being Chuck Bass, is that bad? You want me to change my name for you?

- No. It's not about the name. It's about who you are.

- Listen, whatever Eric told you, I can explain it. I'm not some spawn of a devil despite what everyone says about me, angel.

- Angel? - you raise your eyebrows.

- Yeah. Angel. You seem like a purest soul on the Upper East Side. - he says, corner of his lips lifting in a smirk.

- Purest soul on Upper East Side? - you repeat after him. You catch yourself staring at him, his penetrating brown eyes. For a second, you find yourself falling for him, quickly picking up your composure. I take a deeper breath. It seems like it was the truth about Bass's charm spells. Chuck smiles and chuckles. He knows that look. Those red cheeks, that turning away gaze. It feels like he repeats this type of conversion every time a stereotypically 'good girl' finds herself falling for him.

- Yeah. Like a little angel. - he smiles, turning his head to look outside the window. The silence falls inside the limousine, broken only my sounds of the engine and traffic. You look at him again. He looks so neat for a high school senior. His behaviour, his accent, even simply his face... it all is so fascinating and attractive for you. Maybe simply because he's different from boys you're used to? Maybe because he's an American and you're European? Maybe it's that dark aura that seems to surround him? Whatever that is... it cannot be good if you're falling for your brother. Step-brother but still a brother.

//

November. Saturday. Saturdays on the Upper East Side meant parties. Including one's threw by your very own stepsister, Serena van der Woodsen. As much as it is for you to 'introduce your to society', it is simply her desperate attempt to save her reputation after the latest scandal. It's not like you know any of those loud people. You stand alone by the kitchen counter, checking out the drinks. Not every day you get to be in the middle of such a party with such wide alcohol drinks range. Giving it some thought, you down two small shots. Sipping on rose champagne, you try to spot at least single friendly face in the crowd but you don't know any of those people and Eric is not here, ditching the party for a date with Elliot. You spot Chuck, his arms stretched on the headrest of the couch with two girls who are very likely to end up in his bedroom for the 'after party'.

- Hi.

You hear a sudden voice behind you. As you turn around, you see a guy. He must be a senior, just like Chuck and Serena, since you've never seen him before.

- Hi... - you say hesitantly, trying to fit in the crowd.

- Why so sad and so alone? Let me put a smile on that pretty face. - the guy smiles and hands you orange drink. You stare at pink liquid hesitantly, not taking a sip yet.

- What? - guy chuckles. - It's not poisoned, trust m-... - he starts when he suddenly gets cut off.

- But spiked it is. - deeper voice of your stepbrother says as Chuck walks up to you two.

- First lesson, little angel: ice goes up, drink is spiked. - Chuck says and then looks at the guy. - And you... really thought that it was wise of you to try and drug my little sister in my house? - Chuck rises his eyebrows.

- She's your sister? Dude, you do not look like a fam-

- Patchwork family, ever heard of it? Or you won't because your parents' open marriage works better than divorce? - Chuck gaze turns colder as he takes the drink out of your hands, turning around to pour it out in the sink.

The boy scoffs and mutters curses at Chuck as he walks away, blending in the crowd.

You look up at your stepbrother.

- Thanks. You like... literally saved me.

- No problem, angel. - Chuck pats your shoulder. He looks like he had a drink of two, yet he seems to be still in his right mind.

- Enjoying the party? After all... you're mentioned in credits.

- I... I don't know anyone here. They're your and Serena's classmates, not mine. - you say and smile weakly. Chuck's hand wanders from your shoulder to your arm.

- So... little sister isn't having any fun? - he hums, gently pulling you behind himself as he walks to his bedroom. Closing the door behind himself, he pulls you closer.

- Sit down. - he orders as he walks to his bookshelf, searching for something. You obediently sit down on his bed. The whole room smells like expensive whiskey and some type of colone that he's using. Maybe a bit of lavender softener as maids changed duvets yesterday.

- There you go.

To your surprise, he hands you a book. No alcohol, no drugs, a book.

- It's some romance novel. I saw you eyeing it.

- Thanks but... why?

- So you can have your 'fun'. I'm not a monster, I won't keep you at the party that you visibly got bored of after the first two songs. You're our little sister Y/N, and as much as Serena needs to save her public image, you deserve something out of Saturday night, too. - he smiles, taking some pills from the bedside table.

- Chuck?

- What? No worries, I won't spike anyone's drink. I'm not that much of an asshole. Not anymore, at least.

You look up at him from his bed, your eyes sparkling a little. You're lost in those brown eyes. You hesitantly put the book aside, getting off the bed. Seeing you getting closer, Chuck puts away the pills and turns to you. Pulled to each other as if there was a magnet between you two. Both drunk, yet not losing your minds just yet. Chuck hesitantly puts his hand on your cheek.

- Don't do dumb things, angel.

Your gaze remains locked on his, as if you didn't hear him at all.

- Angel... that's a really thin line you're crossing... - Chuck hisses through clenched teeth, as he realises he starts feeling things he shouldn't be feeling. His hand drops from your cheek to your neck, gently caressing your nape.

Chuck's fingers tightened on your hip, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your throat.

- Last chance to back out, angel. - he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. - This is no game.

Your body trembles, your resolve crumbling under the weight of your longing. 

-Tell me to stop. - he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, even as your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt. 

- Please... - you mutter. A low growl of need comes from his throat, the sound sending a thrill through your body. 

- Fuck it... - he hisses, and then his mouth find yours, hungry and demanding. You melt into the kiss, months of pent-up desire exploding to the surface. Chuck's hands roams your curves, squeezing and stroking with growing urgency. Your hands find their way to his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your lips part. As he deepens the kiss, his right hand finds its way to edge of your dress. Of course you have to wear something short. Annoying him for months by now. His hand grips on the black material, not daring to do anything further. When you finally break the kiss he gently pushes you on the bed. You sit down, breathing heavily. Chuck stares at you, partially in horror for what he has down after swearing to himself that he has changed.

- We shouldn't. This... this is bad, Y/N. - the tries to reason, yet his eyes are glued to your body, the way the dress hugs you, emphasising all the right places. You look up at him.

- What if I want to?

- Then... - Chuck pauses, unsure what to do pursue his desires like he always did or be a better man he's trying to be since his father died and since Lily married your father. He slowly walks closer to you, dropping his blazer on the floor. Soon, he finds himself hoovering over you.

- Are you sure...? - he asks carefully, question he stated merely second time in his life before physical intimacy. When you nod, he hesitantly caresses your cheek. You're gorgeous and delicate. Like a little angel that he gets to corrupt.

- Use your words, angel. I won't believe you if you won't say it. - he says quietly, his voice barely auditable through loud music outside the room. You hesitate for a moment. Maybe it is too much alcohol, maybe just heat of the moment that finally opens your mouth.

- I'm sure. - you say as your hand finds his neck, pulling him closer to you. You part your lips a little, kissing him. As you do, his hand grips on your jaw a little, in almost possessive gesture. He taste your lips, sweet taste of strawberry champagne you had mixes with bitterness of his favourite whiskey.

A longer moment of hesitation lingers between you two, as if either is too scared to cross the line. That's till Chuck's lips start to gently pepper your neck with kisses as his hand slides up your leg to stop at the edge of your right black stocking. You hold your breath for a second when his lips move to your inner thigh, his hot breath grazing over your delicate skin.

- Easy there, angel. - he murmurs, noticing your nervousness, kissing down your thigh until he reaches your right knee. With almost religious precision, he pulls your right stocking down, resuming to the Dame on your left leg. As he pulls down your left stocking, he leaves gentle kisses along your left inner thigh, his warm breath making you shiver. Your heartbeat quickens, not only due to alcohol you had but also your stepbrother, yet time seems to be frozen as he workships your body. His fingers slowly unzip your dress, black material revealing your white underwear. In his eyes, you're now purest little angel, all in white in his dark bedroom, muffled song by Cheat Codes blasts in the living room, giving you two even more emotions to the mix.

- Beautiful... - Chuck mutters, slowly kissing you. As you gasp against his lips, you feel his tongue slide in your mouth, deepening the kiss. His hand grips on your ass, not daring to pull the underwear down just yet. If not the human need for air, he wouldn't break this kiss. The atmosphere in Chuck's bedroom feels heavier and warmer with each hungry kiss that he leaves on your collarbones and neck, making sure that he gets to kiss every inch of you. Unlike his regular self, despite being intoxicated, he doesn't hurry with his actions, as if something held him back. Could be his broken relationship with Blair, could be memories of that night on the rooftop with Jenny or awareness that there are people behind the door and some drunk idiot can enter any moment. Yet that never stopped him before. Something is awfully different this time. He knows it when you pull him in for a kiss, your fingers working on unbuttoning his shirt, soon pushing red material off his shoulders. For a sole second, he hesitates. You're his stepsister for a little over six months now. If your father ever finds out, he'll not only beat the crap out of him, sue him, but also probably divorce Lily. And hurting his stepmother, who was only good to him, isn't part of Chuck's plan.

- Angel... Y/N.. - Chuck tries to reason, but the second your hands unbuckle his belt, his right mind is gone. His eyes darken with desire as he helps you pull his black trousers off him, soon leaving you both in merely underwear. He leans down, kissing you slowly, every move dripping of passion and care - something rarely shown towards his sexual partners. He runs his hand through your hair, his lips slowly wandering lower to your collarbone, cleavage, to stop at your midriff. He pauses you, look at you, his gaze bearing straight into yours as he bites on the edge of your panties. For the second time in his life, he didn't feel like it is careless, teenage romance.

- Angel...? Have you ever...? - he asks, silent question lingering in the air as he traces tiny circles with his finger on your hips.

- N-no... - you asnwer quietly, too caught up in a moment to elaborate. Chuck pauses his doings.

- What? You're... fuck! - he wants to slap himself. He's not a first-time guy. He is not a suitable first-time guy for you. Not when you're both intoxicated. Not when you're obviously more drunk than he is. Not now.

- Chuck... - you try to pull him closer, but he only slides out of your weak grip. His breaths are heavy and deep. It wouldn't be his first drunken sex. But it would be yours. He feels something like a sting in his heart at that thought. Without a word, he sits on the bed, reaching for whiskey glass on his bedside table. He downs the drink, alcohol burns his throat as he hopes it will burn his mind. You lay next to him in your underwear, looking all cute yet sexy.

- You're so damn annoying, Y/N... - he mumbles, trying to put his sweater over your head to keep you warm. He's a jerk but not a monster. He won't let his little stepsister freeze. Even if he was close to fucking her minutes ago.

//

When you wake up, it's probably around noon. It seems like you must have passed out during last night's party. Ringing in your head and no memories hint you that you had quite a night. You slowly sit up, confused by being in merely underwear and by not your sweater on you. Suddenly, the door opens, and no one else but Chuck steps inside, coffee mug in one hand, glass of water with dissolving pill inside in other.

- For your headache, Angel. - he says as he hands you water with aspirin pill in it. He sits down next to you.

- You okay?

- Hungover... - you complain, drinking little water to hydrate your dry mouth. You look around, just now realising that you're in Chuck's room. Cogs in your brain slowly start to work as you add one thing to another.

- Did we...? - you ask nervously, the silent question lingering between to two. Chuck only scoffs, taking a sip of his coffee.

- Despite your... undoubted eagerness I had to be a bigger man. We did, however, share a few... meaningful kisses.. - he says in a low, little groggy voice as he runs his fingers across your covered in hickeys collarbones. - Sorry for those ones. Just wear turtlenecks till they fade.

- So we didn't...?

- No. You're my little sister. And I'm not some kind of a monster. At least not anymore. I got a little carried away, but I wouldn't take advantage of your drunk ass. - he says, finishing his coffee. - You're hot Y/N, I'm not gonna lie. And you drive me crazy and I know you like me too. I see the way you look at me. But... it's wiser that we'll keep our distance. We're... family now. Can't be my own sister's mister, can I? - he chuckles. - Though... royal families did marry within each other, so... maybe one day. - he leans to you as he kisses your forehead. Slowly getting off the bed, he stops mid step and turns to you.

- Oh... and Lily and your dad aren't back yet. But I highly advise getting out of my room, showering, and changing. - he says, walking out of his bedroom. You stare blankly at him for a moment before you get off the bed and rush after him.

- Chuck. - you call him, catching him in the kitchen. You look at the tore down living room, and you know Lily will be pissed. Chuck looks up from the newspaper he started reading.

- What?

Without a word, you walk up to him. You take a deep breath and gather your thoughts before you speak.

- Thanks. That... despite everything I've heard about you... you turned out to be so different. - you say, your voice is still a little groggy from last night drinking. Your stepbrother only chuckles. He stares at you, his gaze softer than usually, or just your hungover makes you imagine things.

- No problem, little Angel.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Some police services in Canada are using facial recognition technology to help solve crimes, while other police forces say human rights and privacy concerns are holding them back from employing the powerful digital tools. It’s this uneven application of the technology — and the loose rules governing its use — that has legal and AI experts calling on the federal government to set national standards. “Until there’s a better handle on the risks involved with the use of this technology, there ought to be a moratorium or a range of prohibitions on how and where it can be used,” says Kristen Thomasen, law professor at the University of British Columbia. As well, the patchwork of regulations on emerging biometric technologies has created situations in which some citizens’ privacy rights are more protected than others. “I think the fact that we have different police forces taking different steps raises concerns (about) inequities and how people are treated across the country, but (it) also highlights the continuing importance of some kind of federal action to be taken,” she said.

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