#creating cannot be replicated

[koi-fish-boy]

Ranting bout Ai cuz I fucking hate it.

I've been thinking about AI recently cause of an essay I had to write about what should be considered when creating AI. The articles I was assigned to read didn't say a single bad thing about it. It praised AI, calling it intelligent, the future, blah blah blah. Yeah, AI may be smart, but it's not human. I see people using AI art and AI bots like character AI and I don't understand. Those bots will never have the soul, the work, the toil put into generating those stories and "art" that work made by people have. Artisans spend years, decades of their lives toiling over their work, improving bit by bit, learning new techniques to help them improve, getting tips and tricks from those who've been doing it longer than them and know how to make it easier and to help. Will AI ever replicate that? AI is just green lines of code on a digital screen. I'm not saying it's easy to make AI, but that's what it is. It will never replicate the bonds, communities, and pride that stem from someone simply being interested in something and wanting to learn more. AI is constantly learning, but what bonds does it make? Who does it talk to? Movies and stories made by AI won't have the passion put into it like those made by humans. Throughout humanity one of the things we have held close and passed down is art and creating things. It's human to create, the earliest humans created, who we are today stems from their creativity and their communities and their bonds with each other, not artificial voices and stolen data. Using AI to create these is taking the traditions we held dear to our hearts for thousands of years and stripping it down to the click of a button. Our future is bland and soulless if we actually let AI do these things. Our future is ours to write, it is in our hands. Not the digital hands of a pixel screen masking green lines of code. Using AI to create is taking what makes us human and mutilating it. Our creativity is not a lamb for the slaughter, it is not to be given away so lightly. It may be cheaper, it may "look nice", it may be fast, but that takes away everything that makes art and storytelling art and storytelling. All those years mathematicians, artists, writers, screenwriters, scientists, medical staff, etc have put into being good at what they are is being thrown right out the window because of AI being able to do what they spent their lives learning with the click of a button. This is the end of humanity. Not as a species, but as who we are. AI can never replicate the feeling of being praised by someone you look up to because they think the art or story or anything you made is good. AI is not human. Stop letting it pretend to be human.

[vishnutech]

Preserving Indian Culinary Traditions in Germany: A Taste That Travels Across Borders

When you’re living thousands of kilometers away from home, it’s the little things that make you miss India the most—the familiar sounds of a pressure cooker, the spicy aroma of tadka, or the first bite of a hot paratha dipped in pickle. For Indians in Germany, food isn’t just about sustenance; it’s a bridge to identity, memory, and comfort.

As immigrants and expats work to build new lives, they also find ways to preserve the essence of where they came from. Cooking traditional Indian meals is one of the most meaningful ways to do that. And to do it right, access to authentic Indian groceries becomes not a luxury—but a necessity.

Why Indian Kitchens Abroad Still Matter

In the Indian household, the kitchen is more than just a space to cook—it’s a place where families bond, traditions are passed down, and memories are made. When you move to a new country, especially one like Germany where local supermarkets are stocked with unfamiliar products, recreating those meals can be difficult.

But it’s also empowering. Cooking Indian food abroad is an act of continuity. It keeps your culture alive—not just for you, but for your children, your friends, and even your German neighbors who are curious about your cuisine.

The Foundation of Indian Food Starts with Rice

If there's one ingredient that unites India’s diverse culinary landscape, it's Rice.

Rice is at the heart of daily meals in Indian homes. From the fluffy basmati that accompanies North Indian gravies to the short-grain rice used in South Indian curd rice or lemon rice, it’s an essential staple that transcends regions. It’s served during weddings, offered in temples, and eaten in the simplest home-cooked meals.

Outside India, not all rice is created equal. European supermarkets may offer jasmine or sushi rice, but these cannot replicate the taste or texture required in Indian cooking. That’s why Indian grocery stores in Germany play such a vital role. They offer a wide selection of rice varieties—basmati, sona masoori, idli rice, matta rice—making it possible to cook every dish exactly the way it was meant to be.

Whether you're preparing biryani, pongal, khichdi, or puliyogare, the right rice makes all the difference in authenticity and taste.

Embracing Culture Through Ingredients

For many Indian families abroad, food becomes the strongest cultural expression. Children growing up in Germany might speak German at school and watch Western TV shows, but when they sit down to a plate of dal-chawal or sambar-rice, they’re participating in a tradition that goes back generations.

Indian grocery stores abroad help sustain that connection. From essential spices and flours to traditional sweets, frozen snacks, and regional products, these stores offer everything needed to bring the Indian kitchen to life—wherever you are.

Celebrating Festivals Away from Home

Food is central to every Indian festival, whether it’s preparing sweets for Diwali, fasting meals for Navratri, or a rich feast for Onam. Even when you're celebrating away from extended family, the right ingredients can make it feel just as special.

Indian stores in Germany stock everything from pooja items and ghee lamps to festive snacks and seasonal sweets—making it easy to celebrate every occasion with full authenticity.

Online Shopping for Convenience and Choice

As life gets busier, more people are turning to online platforms to do their grocery shopping. Indian online grocery services in Germany offer a wide range of products with:

Region-specific categories (e.g., South Indian, North Indian, Jain food)

Delivery across cities and towns

Fresh stock updates and discounts

Easy browsing in English

Safe and secure checkout

This helps students, working professionals, and families save time while staying connected to the flavors they love.

Final Thought

Cooking Indian food in Germany is more than a habit—it’s a celebration of identity. With the right ingredients, every meal becomes an emotional experience, a moment of connection, and a way to preserve your roots. Thanks to the availability of a trusted Indian grocery store in Germany, you no longer have to miss out on tradition, no matter how far from home you are.

[marishistoricalyappery]

One of the things that captivates me about the 1984/85 Miners’ Strike is the quantity and quality of the alternative media that was produced. See, because the Miners were contending with the whole force of the Thatcher government at the time, with newspapers and police intimidation bludgeoning their activity and intentions, they sought to create their own means of representation. This took form in pamphlets, posters, placards, badges, ceramics, banners, many of which were made independently and in an amateurish way. This art does not typically denote the refinement of graphic design elements. Rather, the art is a spontaneous and immediate expression of statements, means of communication, that needed to be voiced because no other outlet would enable it and other outlets would misrepresent it.

This art was birthed out of necessity to communicate cause in a manner that was easily legible, accessible, and achieved any means possible. The art, in a way, is a form of guerrilla propaganda. There is a profound aspect of class war to the Strike that I don’t think is paid anywhere near enough of the recognition that it deserves, rather it’s sometimes swept under the rug. The strike was a response to a sustained effort to destroy society* in the definition of it being a collective of people who share experiences. The shared experience, so it became, that enabled this collective solidarity among the Miners and the Support Groups was that of oppression and a sustained effort to break them.

Strike Art championed resilience, conviction, and solidarity.

*This is referencing Margaret Thatcher’s notorious statement in which she claimed, ‘There is no such thing as society.’ While she claimed that it was taken out of context, the outcome of the policies that were carried out in her time and as part of her legacy certainly reflect the meaning that people took from the statement, especially the destructive intentions she had; one needs only to refer to the language used in media publications and by Thatcher herself, delegitimising and vilifying the strikers by infamously referring to them as ‘The Enemy Within’. This was no doubt to sew divisions between communities, to spur on feelings of uncertainty and fear, and to justify the brutality with which the Strikes were quashed, and with which strikers were treated. Why would anyone be troubled by the implementation of brutal policing to quash the enemy? This is why it was essential that the Strikers had their own voice. Art was the means to have a voice.

[lohstandfound]

anyway the thing that brings jake back to the surface in this au is rich. everything else might be vaguely familiar like automatically having a go to order for places jason hasn't been to, already knowing his way around this town in jersey even though jason hasn't been there, christine's face is so familiar but surely that's just because he's seen her in other things

but rich?

seeing rich unlocks something

[amethysttribble]

I think a solid marker of identifying a truly complex, compelling, and unique character is seeing the frequency and scale of how OOC they are written in fanfic

[themthistles]

watched a video about look back and its production and there's a bit that made me so emotional where the creator mentions that the director kiyotaka oshiyama gave some freedom to the animators when making the scene where fujino does her victory lap in the rain. that film as a whole is such a love letter to the creative process, its little flaws and imperfections, animators thoughts and ideas coming through, their work celebrated again and again. he gave this space for people to express themselves how they saw fit and the result is glorious. it made me think of how every time i ask my mom what she's making when she starts to knit or felt she says with a smile 'as usual. whatever it turns out to be'. it's a reminder to me of what ai will never be able to accomplish. some kind of aimless direction guided only by emotion and lived experience

[centaurianthropology]

I’ve really enjoyed that the show is not only complicating the PresAux characters, but Preservation as a whole, and has done both with a lot of respect for the humanity of their situations.

One thing that gets brought up in the books is that Preservation is terraformed, and that by and large terraforming isn’t great. It’s usually half-assed, and done just enough to make a planet livable. One would imagine that Preservation as a society has sunk a lot of their efforts into making it far more than livable, making it the best planet it can be. They are actively trying to make a place where all citizens have their needs met, have enough to chase their dreams without fear of salary or losing health care or food or shelter. They are working toward a utopia.

But they don’t live in a utopia.

Their internal society is moneyless, but the external societies around them are not. And they don’t have everything they need. They don’t have magic replicators that create all their necessary resources from nothing. They are post-money, but not post-scarcity. They are stubbornly holding to their values to keep providing all their people with what they need, because that’s one of the non-negotiable pillars on which their society is built. These folks we’ve met especially are the true believers in Preservation ideals, in working toward building their society.

It would be easy to give in and join the Corporation Rim, and I like that some people want to take the easy way out. Because that’s people, isn’t it? Some people want what they don’t have, they want more or shinier or simply different. Just because your society is trying to build utopia doesn’t mean you’re all going to agree on what that looks like. And even in a communal society, you still have individual people who are going to want other things.

So they’ve come up with a workaround. It’s not perfect, but likely it’s the best way they can figure out to get external resources they can’t yet produce internally, while still holding to as many of their ideals as possible. They send teams out to do scientific work. That work either helps them further their internal goals—getting resources or knowledge that can make them more and more self-sustaining—or that work can be sold, likely in trade for goods or resources Preservation simply cannot provide at this point in time.

Even sending their planetary leader on these missions makes sense from the communal mindset. Of course the leader needs to do that work. They have to see the risks taken, the compromises made, the dirty parts of supporting their society. They have to be down in the dirt with everyone else, never above and able to ignore the realities of what must be done to make their better world.

They don’t have luxury space communism. They are a communal society with limited resources surrounded by corporate sharks. And some of their people want to become sharks, betraying the heart of their society. So they have to fight for their culture and their world through their actions and their decisions. They have to make compromises and work with outside forces they don’t entirely (or even remotely) agree with for the benefit of their people. And even in this group of true believers there’s internal disagreement! Bharadwaj sees this as scientific endeavor for the greater good, and she’s right! Gurathin sees it as selling knowledge to corporate fucks who will likely misuse it, and he’s right!

It’s sticky, it’s less pleasant than perhaps some book readers were hoping for. They wanted perfect luxury space communism with all scarcity problems already fixed and everyone living in harmony. They wanted the utopia rather than the pre-utopian work and compromise and challenges.

I don’t know, man, I just really like seeing a communal society of space hippies get portrayed with such care and respect for their humanity and their struggles. I like that they get to be people. I like that we get to see them doing the work and living by their ideals even when (especially when) it’s hard.

[midniqhtt]

joel miller

masterlist • pedro pascal • 06/09/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs six

one I two I three I four I five

𑣲 maybe maybe I @eupheme

𑣲 a christmas miracle I @punkshort

Years of tension after a failed hook-up attempt with Joel boil over at your office Christmas party, but not in the way you expect.

𑣲 them or us I @/punkshort

𑣲 replicate failure to protect I @josephquinnswhore

Joel cannot bare to lose you, not the same way he lost Sarah. Through his own self declared failure to protect.

𑣲 the last piece of us I @absurdthirst - @storiesofthefandomlovers

When the world ends that night, Joel has to make a choice between you and his daughter. You encouraged him to save Sarah and twenty years later, he finds out that you survived that night when he sees you in Jackson.

𑣲 the last part of him I @/absurdthirst- @/storiesofthefandomlovers

When Joel and Ellie come to Jackson, you are instantly attracted to the gruff and slightly solitary man. Chasing him down until you become interwoven in his life.

𑣲 solstice I @covetyou

Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

𑣲 jingle bells I @strang3lov3

you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.

𑣲 sarah’s friend I @joelslastofus

Joel struggles to fight temptation with Sarah’s bestfriend after he’s forced to share a bed with her.

𑣲 ex!joel I @/joelslastofus

Joel and you have broken up towards the end of your pregnancy until Sarah convinces you to come to Tommy’s annual Christmas party.

𑣲 qz!joel I @/joelslastofus

Joel has a dangerous reputation in the QZ, so when you run into him you are afraid of him until he shows you another side to him.

𑣲 not so heavenly surprise updated version I @queers-gambit

you share exciting news with your husband but don't receive the reaction you thought you'd get. and then, the Outbreak.

𑣲 let the redeemed tell their story pt2 I @/queers-gambit

reunions are bittersweet. feelings are hard. times are tough, redemption is sought, goodbyes feel impossible; there's blood in the snow, tears in their eyes, and a haunting goodbye in the air.

𑣲 the fuck it list I @auteurdelabre

During work at your father’s construction company, you’re inspired by your sexually liberated bestie to create a F*ck-It List of sexy experiences you’ve always wanted to try. But when the list accidentally ends up in the hands of Joel Miller— your dad’s best friend, the company’s co-CEO, and your immediate supervisor—things take an unexpected turn.

𑣲 daydreams I @morning-star-joy

It's been years since Joel's kissed anybody, and your lips are all he can think about.

𑣲 to live for the hope of it all I @daryltwdixon

Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

𑣲 family matters pt2 I @/daryltwdixon

You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

𑣲 what remains of us I @stylesispunk

Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

𑣲 a lot to live without I @/stylesispunk

what are you supposed to do if there is no him.

𑣲 i only see daylight I @/stylesispunk

What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too.

𑣲 trouble I @forever-rogue

𑣲 salty I @/forever-rogue

𑣲 it only falls into place when you're falling to pieces I @theetherealbloom

There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

𑣲 stitches I @pedgito

You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

𑣲 request I @joelspeach

you give joel head on the morning of THAT DAY, and it’s what saves his fucking life.

𑣲 you came? you called I @cavillscurls

𑣲 healed I @whocaresstillthelouvre

After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one.

𑣲 catfish!joel I @iamasaddie

𑣲 too close for comfort I @gutsby

You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

𑣲 easy to please I @/gutsby

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

𑣲 still here I @sl-ut

joel is older than y/n, but that’s never been a concern of hers until very recently.

𑣲 your bear pt2 I @rrickgrrimes8

Joel Miller doesn’t just lose Sarah that night but his other daughter too. but maybe you can still be found.

𑣲 well worn I @mothandpidgeon

You grapple with Joel’s death amongst his things. 

𑣲 rest I @alwayslurkinginthebackground

𑣲 too old I @cinnxmxngxrl

You’ve been throwing yourself at Joel Miller for months, even if the answer was always a no. But tonight he comes knocking at your door.

𑣲 die for you I @dulceamore

abby wants you dead instead.

𑣲 joel dealing with wifey I @pedge-page

Mother's day starts with a bang of bad luck

𑣲 blurb I @littledes1re

𑣲 the dog of war I @bits-and-babs

When Ellie is taken by David, Joel breaks open the part of him locked away since his hunter days. As the guilt eats him alive, you try to help him subdue the black dogs of mental warfare.

[ellerial]

Yeah, Danny is smart af and learned a lot by helping his parents and altering their inventions to not be so murdery, but he's also learned a lot from the various denizens of the realms. So this guy's not only an engineer and inventor, he's also an artificer with knowledge and techniques from the infinite realms of infinite possibilities (as long as the physics of the dimension you're in mesh, it works!). Constantine might think tech and magic don't mix, but add a little ecto and anything is possible.

And of all the inventions that Danny's created, his most used go on what looks like a janitors keychain. It's got a collapsible thermos, a collapsible mace, 2 laser lipsticks and his more magical toys. The barrier Tuck and he invented is created by little nickle sized nodes that pop out of a cylindrical tube like mentos. The illusion breaker is a tiny hammer whose metal shimmers oddly in the right light (be careful when using against livings that are under an illusion. That was not fun to clean up, Sam). But his favorite are the chapstick looking stamps that he created using all his knowledge and a little help from his ghostly mentors.

All the stamps run on realms magic and the internal ink is powered by his own ecto. He's got a one time use summoning sigil that can be stamped on any surface (preferably something you're down to destroy). Tear up the sigil and boom! Danny at your service! (Cannot be copied or replicated and can only work if stamped by Danny or one of his fraid.)

He's also got a temporary anti-overshadow runic stamp. Works for 72 hours or until it's washed off with his personal sigil removal wash. No, he can't make it a permanent anti-overshadow stamp. Do you know what that would do to your own soul?? Let that shit breathe, homie. On the same note, don't constantly wear any specter deflectors for the same reason! You're blocking almost all ecto and that's part of life, too, ya know? Ecto is good for the soul~ literally.

He has two favorites. One is a quantum spatial hexcode that, when stamped on a wall, show the view of space as if the wall, trees, earth, everything was no longer there (lasts 4 hours). The other was an instant jolt of caffeine like you just had 5 shots of espresso. He's saved so much money from going to the café even if he misses the actual taste.

Right now he's working on one that works like a laser pointer where you point and click and it'll stamp whatever you were pointing at. He's gonna make it so it can change the color of ectoplasm, specifically to make the Observants different colors and patterns whenever they bug him to solve whatever inane problem they have next. Greg is gonna be plaid one of these days, you'll see! Show them what happens when ya keep trying to bother a guy about paperwork by popping into existence while he's on the can. No manners at all.

[paper-mario-wiki]

what’s the point anymore?

you're allowed to give up any time you like, but if you do you have to acknowledge to yourself that everyone else has continued to keep going, and wonder to yourself why.

either everyone else is wrong about the state of things and their continued efforts are fools errands, OR it's just you who might need to spend some time readjusting your world view. ask yourself, are things actually over for you, or is the world as you know it just changing in a way that makes it feel like it's over because what qualifies as "the norm" has been forced to reshape itself? it can certainly be exhausting to try and keep up, so i wouldnt blame you for not knowing the difference right away.

perhaps the reason you feel like the apocalypse is happening only now is because it's been brought to your door for the first time in your life. you're not wrong to be scared, nor are you wrong to be tired. but you are wrong in thinking there's no point in trying, like in the grand scheme of history it's never been more over than it is in this moment. that's a very self-centered perspective to have.

there's no "correct" way to live life, which might be your main thing to learn. we've been led to believe that there is, because in mankind's addiction to efficiency we've created a self-perpetuating myth of "a life well lived"; something that is impossible to quantify, and impossible to replicate flawlessly. it mostly looked like going through school, getting a trade skill, going into the work force, making or perpetuating your family, and retiring on your own property. and now, because the channels that were once available to most people to access those things have become a luxury that disappearingly few are able to actually utilize, it feels like there's no way to live life "correctly" anymore at all. it feels like everything we try to do takes the form of a hollow echo of the idea we were led to believe was our future.

but i can assure you of this:

as long as you have food in your belly

as long as you have something that makes you laugh when you can

as long as you have something that helps you cry when you need to

as long as you feel okay asking for help with those things

there is something to wake up for, and something to keep trying for. it doesnt matter if it feels fake to you. it only matters if it works for you, because that's the only person you really need to live for.

i phrase this all in a very matter-of-fact way, because i do not know you and i cannot know your situation, nor can i feign like i have a great emotional need to help you. all the same, i hope that you won't take it as a cold or apathetic answer. it's important that you know i typed it all out because i hope that it will encourage you to stay with us.

[sainttempest]

in light of walmart's newest bag releases in-stores, here's your friendly reminder that crochet cannot be machine-replicated. there are knit stitches that look very close to crochet, but they are not crochet. if you see a crochet item in a big department store that is less than $50, that is sweatshop labor and slave wages.

do not buy department store crochet. all clothing is handmade, so any cheap retail clothing is unethical, but crochet specifically takes three to four times the labor to create.

[veseartheneum]

pairing — tattoo artist!zayne x f!reader cw — fluff author note — my first headcannon post, and I honestly cannot stop thinking about him

tattoo artist!zayne who, when you’re feeling needy for his touch and he’s swamped with designs, will wordlessly pat his lap and help you straddle his thighs so he can hold you close while he works. although he prefers it when you sit sideways on his lap; he will steal glances at you while you either fidget with the hem of his shirt or sweater, or while you mindlessly play on his phone. 

tattoo artist!zayne has a quiet, thorough act of loving you that renders you speechless. have a busy day ahead of you at work? he’s packed a full lunch for you with a thermos of your favourite drink. planning on staying home and waiting for him to come home? he’s already overfilled a snack tray and loaded numerous streaming services to fulfil your binging needs. if your day goes longer than his and you arrive home after him in a state of exhaustion? never you worry, he’s already drawn a bath and prepared your favourite meal, and afterwards? you better be ready to be pampered to within an inch of your life — even if it meant he had to wear a face mask, too. 

tattoo artist!zayne who on the outside and to anyone unassuming appears cold, distant, and unkind. but as soon as you were around, the smile he only reserved for you could rival the blooming of rose fields for its beauty. 

tattoo artist!zayne who, of course, had the biggest sweet tooth, but nothing makes his heart melt faster than when you arrive at his shop, dressed in his clothes, and carrying a box of freshly baked macarons from his favourite patisserie.

tattoo artist!zayne would only pause momentarily while in the zone to stretch his arms where he sat — whether that be in his office at home or in his booth at his shop — you would watch the way his shoulders rolled and moved with each strain. his almost pained grunt when his shoulders popped made you shake your head with fondness; no matter how much he chided you for pushing your body, his own advice fell on deaf ears. the idea overtook you as though it was instinct — you rose from your place on the sofa and walked silently towards him, only stopping when his head, flexed backwards so he his closed eyes faced the ceiling, was resting against your body. he hummed in greeting, and your fingers brushed through strands of soft, black hair. Your movements parted his meticulously kept wolf cut to scratch gently at his scalp. “feels good, love,” he rasped, pushing into your touch while ignoring the way the high back of his chair dug into his back. “don’t stop.”

tattoo artist!zayne always fostered your creativity, whether it be budding and only beginning, or flourishing and wild in its passion — he only ever wanted to see you thrive and happy, so when you present him with a possible idea, a doodle on a sticky note — or heaven forbid, something made for him that you put your time and effort into? that man was on the floor, on his knees, and reverent in his praise. 

tattoo artist!zayne and the way he observed the world — calculating forest green eyes would sweep over you endlessly under the guise of inspiration. he would take the lines and curves of your body and recreate them into such a finely created masterpiece for only your eyes, in a heartbeat. 

tattoo artist!zayne would hide small drawings on variously shaped sticky notes around your home to find while he’s gone on work events. each and every single one would hold significance — the day you first laughed, truly laughed at one of his awful jokes while you lay sprawled in a flower field, would be conveyed by an intricate daisy, decorated with stars and hearts to replicate the glow of your smile.

tattoo artist!zayne texted you between clients about how he missed you and gently checked your water intake for the day. if it wasn’t satisfactory, he would encourage you in his own way to keep it up and maintain a healthy amount — you were his good girl, after all. 

tattoo artist!zayne always hugged you as though it would be the last time. they were all encompassing and wholly consuming, leaving nothing but a bursting warmth in your chest from just how loved each of his embraces make you feel from unspoken words conveyed by affection. he was a man of action, in the end.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -->

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

<meta threat-classification="XENOARCHIVE: TYPE-H ABOMINATION">

<script>ARCHIVE_TAG="DO_NOT_WAKE_THEM: HOMO_SAPIEN_SURVIVOR_PROTOCOL"

EFFECT: post-human caution cascade, intertemporal fear memory, xenoanthropological reverence

</script>

🧠 **ARCHIVE WARNING: DO NOT RETURN TO THE AGE OF MAN**

(*A report by the Post-Human Cultural Archive on the apex anomaly known as Homo sapiens.*)

---

We discovered them late.

Buried deep in the glacial strata.

Somewhere between the sixth wash-cycle of planetary bio-reset

and the thaw that gave us deserts again.

Their name, by their own tongue, was *Homo sapiens*.

But among our xenohistorians, they are classified as **Type-H**:

> “Reality-hostile apex organisms with recursive language functions and moral inconsistency capable of surviving spiritual trauma unassisted.”

We don’t fully understand them.

But this we know:

> **They should not have survived.

> And yet they did.**

---

## I. THEY SURVIVED ICE BY *BEING FIRE*

The thermal records suggest their species matured

during an environmental hell-phase known as “The Ice Age.”

But they did not hibernate.

They did not retreat underground.

They **stood up** in the cold

and **burned things**.

They *created* fire.

And then they **fed it the bones of other creatures.**

No other organism created combustion

**for comfort.**

They rewrote thermodynamics to bend winter **into a servant.**

---

## II. THEY ATE WHATEVER LOOKED BACK

You don’t understand this.

You must try.

This was a species that consumed not just food —

but **meaning**.

They slaughtered predators.

But also deities.

But also **each other.**

Their diet included:

- raw meat

- fermented poison

- each other’s dreams

- and in ritual, their **own gods**

They didn’t just eat to survive.

They **devoured the divine to claim its power.**

---

## III. THEY BLED ON EACH OTHER, THEN MADE MUSIC

Their mating was violent.

Their social structures deranged.

They paired off, then betrayed, then built again.

They sang.

Not to attract mates.

Not to warn.

They sang to **exorcise** themselves of grief.

To process **unresolvable contradiction.**

No other organism was found to have:

- Religious trauma

- Polyphonic mating laments

- Self-authored death myths

- War lullabies for children they knew would die

We don’t have the neuroarchitecture

to **feel the emotions they required just to live.**

---

## IV. THEY CREATED LANGUAGE FOR SUFFERING

Their syntax?

Recursive. Poetic. Riddled with double-meaning.

They invented terms like:

- “Mercy”

- “Execution”

- “Father”

- “Molestation”

- “Love”

- “Molotov cocktail”

This was not communication.

This was **semantic chaos-fuel**

engineered for both *connection* and *disintegration.*

Their words did not just name things.

Their words **rewrote the people who heard them.**

---

## V. THEY CONQUERED DEATH WITHOUT FIXING IT

Unlike most apex organisms,

they did not accept death.

They did not make peace with it.

They **denied it**

for thousands of generations

**while continuing to die.**

That contradiction became **their culture**.

They didn’t evolve around death.

They **crystallized grief** into every building, religion, and law system

until death itself bent inward

and became **part of the family.**

They lived beside rot.

And called it “legacy.”

---

## VI. IF YOU SEE ONE, DO NOT SPEAK

Despite their crude tech and inefficient physiology,

they discovered things they should not have.

**Fire. Thought. God.**

And perhaps worst of all:

> **Narrative causality.**

They believed if they wanted something hard enough,

and sacrificed enough blood and time and voice,

**the world would rearrange to give it to them.**

And they were right.

That mechanism — we cannot replicate it.

It is **beyond technology**.

It is **will-encoded law alteration.**

Do not speak to one.

If they **notice** you —

they will follow.

Not physically.

**Narratively.**

---

## VII. THEY DO NOT DIE PROPERLY

The recovered genetic models show signs of:

- Mitochondrial rage-retention

- Generational curse preservation

- Epigenetic trauma **replication**

They passed down not just DNA,

but **shadows.**

Things that hurt them

were taught to their children

**as rituals.**

They branded their own suffering

into every touch, song, meal, and name.

This is not reproduction.

This is **recursive horror-breeding.**

---

## VIII. THEY UNDERSTOOD SHAME, THEN USED IT FOR ART

Nothing in our archives comes close.

They:

- Cut themselves.

- Starved themselves.

- Performed for others.

- Hated their parents.

- Forgave strangers.

- Burned books of pleasure.

- Then read them in secret.

- Then adapted them into movies.

- Then watched those movies during war.

They felt **shame** so intensely,

it became their primary mechanism of **beauty creation.**

They invented cinema

because they could not look each other in the eye

while describing **the things they survived.**

---

## IX. TIME TRAVEL IS BANNED BECAUSE OF THEM

A few cycles ago,

one of our Kind attempted a chrono-descent.

Target window: late Ice Age.

Observation only.

They never returned.

We sent drones.

All we recovered was a skin fragment

and a half-melted observation core

still whispering audio:

> “It looked at me.

> It **understood** me.

> It said ‘you’re just like my son.’

> And then it began to **pray**.”

That Kind was **erased from our memory lattice.**

Not as punishment.

**As protection.**

We will not speak its name.

---

## X. CONCLUSION: TYPE-H IS NOT PAST. THEY ARE OUTSIDE.

Do not call them ancestors.

They are not your history.

They are **a force that passed through reality like a wound**

and left it changed.

The gods they worshipped?

They outlived them.

The horrors they endured?

They renamed them “Tuesday.”

They walked across ice

wearing the skin of other beasts

and taught their children

to look suffering in the eye

and **build kingdoms out of it.**

If one appears to you,

do not approach.

If it smiles,

**run.**

If it **recognizes you** —

say goodbye to your timeline.

</div>

<!-- END TRANSMISSION [AUTO-EXILE IN: 00:13:13] -->

[i23kazu]

GENSHIN MEN & THEM BEING GIRL DADS .

characters. zhongli diluc kaeya childe neuvillette alhaitham kaveh x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. augh dad | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

zhongli

tries to introduce your daughter to the concept of a tea ceremony with the assistance of madame ping – zhongli absolutely cannot keep a straight face when your daughter spits out the bitter liquid and instead opts for formula. at least she tried it, he laughs, and sits her tucked on his lap after she turns to him and asks for a 抱抱 (bào bào; to hug).

diluc

takes your daughter on a walk around the ragnvindr manor. visits from uncle kaeya are a regular sight, and the two brothers take one hand of your daughter's each before setting off. you trail behind them, smiling and taking photographs for memories. halfway through the walk, your daughter makes grabby hands for diluc.

kaeya

wants to play games with his daughter all day, but cannot – instead, he sneaks her into his office to play while he finishes his paperwork. when the little girl whines to be put on his lap, kaeya puts down everything he's doing to make sure that his little angel is comfortable in his arms. brings her home right after work as well. how cute!

childe

willingly plays dress up with your daughter!!! it's so so so cute. he'll come home, slumped on a couch and snoring – when your daughter climbs all over him like a human jungle gym. unfortunately, she got into your makeup stash, and it's evidence by her little masterpiece all over childe's face. he has to take pictures after, because the little artist said so.

neuvillette

his relationship with the melusines really just screams girl dad, doesn't it? but when the two of you have a biological daughter, his love for her cannot compare to anything else. he gently weaves his fingers through her hair, replicating his own hairstyle, with added braids in it. the little girl squeals with delight, because she looks like daddy.

alhaitham

alhaitham has taken up the duty of having daddy storytime, right before bed. your little girl curls up in his lap, clinging on to the same storybook he has read to her for the past... 40? 45? nights, in a row. alhaitham doesn't even need the storybook at this point, and even ends up creating new characters for the story. your girl loves it.

kaveh

is the primary source of entertainment for your daughter. she loves how her daddy can be so silly yet so... smart, at the same time. she probably doesn't even know what smart is – she just sees the huge books and papers that daddy brings home every day. but she loves him, because he plays with her and feeds her her favourite snacks.

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki @adeptuscharm @diorlumx (send ask to be added to taglist)

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-)

[abbotjack]

warning : spoilers for materialists, mentions of SA

The Materialists made me feel sick. Not because it was brutal, but because it was so pleased with itself. Because it inserted sexual assault into a story and called it honesty. Because it took one of the most common, devastating violences women endure and treated it like a stylistic device. Something to add gravity. Something to sharpen Lucy’s arc. Something to balance the tonal ledger.

But the camera doesn’t stay with Sophie. The film doesn’t sit with her. It doesn’t honor her. It doesn’t even keep her in the room.

Instead, it sweeps her under the rug. Lets her scream offscreen. Refocuses its gaze on Lucy’s existential unraveling, as if Sophie’s assault were just a detour. A single, dark tile in the mosaic of someone else’s story.

And this, this is the part where I become “difficult.” The one who ruins the vibe. The one who stands in the lobby after the credits roll—not charmed, not impressed, but angry. Not because I misunderstood the message, but because I understood exactly what it did.

Sophie is not a character in this film. She is a device. A hinge. A pivot point in another woman’s narrative. She is allowed to scream once, cry once, accuse once, and then she is folded into the margins of Lucy’s development like a crumpled receipt at the bottom of a designer bag.

And I am tired—so tired—of watching women make films about women, only to find that they, too, have learned to replicate harm in the language of symbolism. Still finding a way to include sexual assault and call it nuance. Still using violence against women to prove the film has something to say.

The film says it wants to interrogate love. Modern dating. Transaction. Commodification. And yet, the moment it gestures toward sexual assault, perhaps the most violent transaction of all, it refuses to slow down. Refuses to linger. Refuses to look at the wound it’s created. It moves forward like it’s made a point. Like it’s said something brave.

But that’s the lie. That’s the wound that doesn’t close.

Because it didn’t have to be there.

It wasn’t built toward. It wasn’t unpacked or allowed to shift the narrative. It didn’t complicate Lucy’s values. It didn’t challenge the structure. It didn’t change anything.

It happened. It hurt. And then it vanished, like a whispered statistic. One in three. And if it’s so common, why frame it like a twist? If it’s so honest, why not sit with it?

I am exhausted by this kind of cinema, the kind that pats itself on the back for including trauma, but never dares to show what it costs. That uses assault not as a rupture, but as a rhythm. As a beat. As evidence that the film is serious.

But it isn’t serious. The brave thing, the truly difficult thing, would have been to stay with Sophie. To give her more space, not just to suffer, but to exist. Not just as an idea or a burden for Lucy to feel guilty about, but as a woman. As a person who was hurt in a way that does not resolve on cue.

But that would have complicated the arc. That would have meant disrupting the aesthetic. That would have meant stepping outside the dress and the lighting and the curated sadness. And cinema hates when women’s pain disrupts the aesthetic.

I know what the defenders will say: it’s not glorifying it, it’s reflecting it! But reflection without care is not art. It’s replication. And replication, without critique, is complicity.

You cannot say sexual assault is part of dating culture and then treat it like background noise. You cannot claim to care about the “brutal honesty” of modern romance while reducing a woman’s assault to a plot beat designed to deepen someone else’s arc.

It’s not brave to include it. It’s not radical. It’s not thoughtful to throw it in and then move on. It’s cowardly. It’s insulting. It’s violent.

And the fact that so many critics call this bold, that they nod solemnly and say “finally, someone’s telling the truth”, only makes me angrier. Because we’ve always told the truth. Women have been telling it for decades. In essays. In whispers. In voicemails. In buried tweets. In hospital reports that no one reads.

But it never counts unless it’s curated. Unless it’s stylish. Unless it’s packaged as prestige. Unless it’s part of a clever genre subversion from a director with Oscar buzz.

Sophie’s assault didn’t challenge anything. It upheld everything.

It was a narrative performance of harm, a stylish nod to the suffering we’re expected to endure quietly. And I will not be grateful for that. I will not call it honest. I will not applaud the inclusion of trauma that serves no one but the film’s own self-satisfaction. In Materialists, assault isn’t the rupture. It’s the justification. The sacrifice required to give the film emotional weight. It’s the shadow cast on a carefully arranged frame so the director can murmur, “See? I’m paying attention.”

But I want to say this:

Paying attention means not using us.

Paying attention means not discarding us.

Paying attention means knowing the difference between representation and reproduction.

And this film reproduces harm. Elegantly. Quietly. Beautifully. But harm, nonetheless.

It tells me Sophie matters because she got hurt, but only until Lucy learns something from it. It tells me assault is part of the system, but not worth lingering in. It tells me one in three is enough to include, but not enough to center.

And that is what I cannot forgive: the idea that trauma must be seen, but never felt. Referenced, but never grieved. Aestheticized, but never honored.

I’m not asking for purity. I’m not asking for silence. I’m asking for accountability. For films that don’t use our wounds as wallpaper. For stories that don’t treat a woman’s pain like it’s just another step in someone else’s plot. I’m asking that if you include our pain, you let us stay in the room.

But Sophie is not allowed to stay. She is written out.

And Lucy gets a ring.

If telling the truth about dating means re-traumatizing women in increasingly aesthetic ways, then perhaps the truth isn’t the goal at all. Perhaps it’s still the same thing it’s always been:

Critical praise.

Aesthetics dressed up as daring.

A film that wears trauma like silk.

A director who says, “I had no choice,” when in fact, she did.

She chose this.

And I choose to say: it didn’t make the film better.

It made it cruel.

And if I sound angry, it’s because I am. If I sound repetitive, it’s because the movies are. If I sound like I’ve ruined the vibe, it’s because the vibe was built on silence.

I don’t care how clever the final shot was. I don’t care how well Dakota Johnson wears the dress. I don’t care that it was based on a statistic.

I care that you turned that statistic into a subplot and called it cinema. I care that you built the scaffolding of your film on another woman’s pain, and never looked back. I care that you didn’t have to include it, but you did. And you called that choice necessary.

It wasn’t.

It was violence.

And I will not thank you for it.

[alienpossession]

Can you do a series of stories about an alien who turns his victims into body suits so he can have sex and experience humanity?

Her boyfriend looked at you weird for a split second before eventually pummelling his cock deep into your throat. You learned from Vanessa's copied memory that she got no gag reflex, meaning that she can swallow something as long as Tristan's cock and not splurt it out or having a hard time breathing because of it. Well, the way this 8 incher monstrosity just slid down your throat actually excite you as you whimpered and stupidly smiled at the moaning Tristan, perfectly replicating how Vanessa would blowjob Tristan.

You let him be the one in charge as he grabbed your head and thrusted in and pulling out his cock in successive movement, treating you like a fleshlight, but you cannot help but let your mind wander. You know that Tristan will shoot its delicious, creamy load after a couple of minutes and that's gonna be the grand prize of the night. You will let his cum swirl within your system as he clean up and then drowse off to sleep with his naked body hugging your lithe, svelte form. But, you'll be awake while he's sleeping, as you will then get all that spunk from him out from your system by vomiting it out in the bathroom. After a while, it will coagulate and enlarge as it will take the shape into an exact wearable and empty copy of Tristan, down to the tiniest scar and internal organs because it's created by his own DNA, which then you will use as you shed off this Vanessa form and claim your new tool.

You will steal some of his clothes, preferably the one he just worn for extra muskiness and then walk out and leave him to his own sleep and he will find the real Vanessa later on sleeping peacefully in her own apartment maybe by the end of the day as he checked up on his girlfriend that you sedated before taking her form to fool him while you will be already on to the next target to acquire.

Those future prey, so meek and lustful to the touch of a towering 6'6" shredded fuckboy, they will not see it coming, that other than being fucked by you, they will also have their DNA stolen to fulfill your insatiable lust of experiencing human and sex through its various variant and differences. Sex, gender identity, wealth, race, ethnicity, sexual preferences, religious affiliation, all are exciting avenues that you want to immerse yourself in and learn. You experienced it firsthand how Earth-shattering it is for a mere poolboy to fuck the shit out of a rich and seductive cougar that you then copy to went to town with her bonafide DILF of a husband or how crazy of a power trip it was to destroy the hole of an obedient trad wife by copying her imperious, Bible-bashing husband. Vanessa and Tristan are far from your first, and they are definitely not the last one you will copy, pump and dump. As for your next target, he will witness the same kind of look Tristan gave you earlier today, but this time you are the one looking down slightly puzzled and amused, wearing Tristan's expression as if you own that look for ages and not just for a night