#to be this responsive to the player then this is using AI that has to be exploitive to the voice actors and that's not even touching what's

[saetiate]

itoshi sae x f!reader tags: afab reader with she/her pronouns, jealous!sae, oliver aiku causes drama, oral f!receiving, hand around throat but not really choking wc: 1.6k

There are very few events you go to with Sae, few that he bothers to attend himself at all. It’s the first thing Oliver notices about you, that out of all the partners to his colleagues, you’re the one he’s seen the least of.

The second thing he notices is that even when you’re there, Sae barely speaks a word to you.

He wouldn’t think you minded if he wasn’t really looking. You’re kind and sweet as you make your rounds to the other players and their partners, much better at small talk and remembering things about people (how’s the new dog? Giving you any trouble? A new house! Let me know your address so we can send you a gift.) than Sae has ever been in his experience. But you’re careful to always keep Sae in your line of sight, like you’re always looking to him for something. Approval, or attention, or something that’s sort of like both.

Sae has his back to you, clearly begrudgingly involved in a conversation with Shidou’s arm resting on his shoulder. This is the first thing Oliver makes sure of before he approaches you when you’re alone at the bar.

“It’s been so long,�� he comments as he slides in next to you. He makes it sound casual, smiles sweetly, and you respond so easily in turn.

“Aiku-san! It has, hasn’t it?” you immediately perk up at him, and it’s something he can’t help but find quite adoring. You’re quick to ask him about his life, and he lets you play for a bit until he decides he wants to pay it no mind.

“Sae doesn’t really stay with you at these things, does he?”

His voice almost sounds full of pity, it shocks you with how direct it is.

“Ah! Well- we spend a lot of time together, so it makes sense that he wants to spend time with his friends at these things. They’re a crowd! So he’s busy with them, you know?”

You smile nervously, and it’s that little feeling again that gets to Oliver – like you’re waiting for a validating response.

He could give that to you. But you’d have to give him something first.

Oliver taps the rim of his glass, condensation running down. “Mm. And is he busy a lot?”

“I…”

It’s at this moment that you begin to realize how close he is to you. In the hesitation, he cups one side of your face with his hand, your jaw in his palm and his fingers grazing over your cheek. You’re frozen, staring at him in shock. You’ve been Sae’s for so long, when’s the last time anyone has had the nerve to put their hands on you? His hand moves down to your neck-

Sae is quick to replace Oliver’s hand, wrapping his hand around your neck fully, gently and yet without the constraint or tentativeness Oliver had. You can feel the warm of his body behind you as he pulls you in, so close you can smell his cologne.

He’s got his characteristic neutral, nonchalant face on, save for one quirked eyebrow in Oliver's direction. But Oliver knows, he’s seen Sae on the field-

This is Sae when he’s pissed.

 “Happy to have you join us.” Oliver smiles, but this time it’s something a little more wicked. He knew he would come fetch you at some point, but he didn’t think it’d be this fast, that he’d notice this soon.

“You think this is some type of game?” If Sae was a lesser man, the sentence would’ve been spat in Oliver's face. It’s a near thing.

“Ha? Women are never a game.” Oliver pushes his weight off the counter, walks past Sae with a shrug. “Just didn’t think you liked her that much.”

Sae clicks his teeth, looking like he swallowed something unpleasant. He squeezes your neck a little tighter.

“Let’s go. I’m sick of this.”

~

“Sae-san, I-”

“Quiet.”

It’s not said aggressively, not like a command, but he still watches the way you go silent immediately in the elevator down. Even though you want so desperately to say something, to make things right. You are good to him. He knows it too.

“Oliver likes to mess around,” he sighs, one hand rifling through his hair, an air of exasperation. You don’t entirely get it, but it’s as close to it’s not your fault as it gets with him.

It’s in the silence of the car, darkness illuminated only by headlights and traffic lights, that Sae finally allows you to speak.

“Do you think I don’t like you enough?”

Your eyes go wide immediately, your hands waving in front of you. “W-well, it’s not- I know you’re really busy! And you barely go to these events, so you should spend time with your friends.”

You’re too nervous to notice it, but he watches, listens to you with full intent. His finger taps against the steering wheel.

When he parks and gets out the car, you don’t wait for him to open the door for you. Something in that irritates him, makes him frown. He throws his keys into the bowl in the entryway with a jangle, and when you turn around from taking your shoes off, he’s already in your space.

His hands are on your waist, pressing you against the wall. You try to protest but he silences it with his lips on yours, his hands on the back of your thighs and hoisting you up. Your purse falls somewhere on the ground. But you don’t care. You can’t care, because Sae is hot and heavy against your mouth and between your legs. He presses you into the wall further, grips your thighs tighter, holds you up easily with one arm as he wraps one hand around your neck and kisses the remaining exposed skin.

It's only for a moment before his hand moves back down to roam under your dress, pulling your panties down fervently, the way the fabric sticks to your slick already is something he doesn’t fail to notice. Makes him wonder if he really has been neglecting you.

He tucks them in his pocket and then he’s falling to his knees. You think you whisper his name but you can’t tell over the shuffling. Your feet never touch the ground, he lifts you until your legs are resting over his shoulders, holds you up like this. You try to tell him, “Sae, we’re gonna fall,” (he wouldn’t drop you, don’t you know?) but he doesn’t say a single goddamn thing. Just bunches your dress up and presses his mouth to your cunt.

The broken moan you let out is nothing short of song to him. There’s nothing to stabilize you except for grasping his hair in your hands. You’re a little scared, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand you. If anything, he presses deeper into your cunt. Swipes his tongue up from bottom to top. Makes you sob with the way he zig-zags his tongue up your slit all the way to your clit. He’s always like this – a tease, in control. He holds your arousal in his hands and on his tongue and he knows how and when to make you drip, in a way that ensures only he’s able to drink.

It's sickening, the way he makes your mind fog immediately, makes nothing exist but him in this moment. He does it a few more times before he relents. This is meant to be a reward, after all. An apology, maybe. He presses his tongue to your clit and kitten licks a few times. Envelops the bud in his mouth and swipes over and over, grips your plush thighs tight. You don’t know how long he does it because you feel like you can’t breathe, breath coming short, gasps that are like drowning. He watches you through it, your chest rising and falling, your hands shaking in his hair.And then he speeds up and your core tightens and your body comes crashing, first up, and then down. He holds you steady against the wall as you whine, your hot cum drooling into his mouth that he swallows up willingly, tight core finally relieving.

You heave as you come to your senses, nails scratching at the nape of Sae’s hair as he laps your oversensitive cunt, making you jolt. He licks you clean before he lets up, taking a deep breath. He kisses each side of your inner thighs, and then once more on your clit for good measure, smiling as he hears your broken whine once again.

He finally lets up. Holds you tight so you don’t slump to the ground. He kisses you deeply, lets you taste yourself on his tongue, makes out with you until you’re out of air.

Don’t think I don’t like you. He wants to tell you, but instead he wraps you in his arms, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Why don’t you go shower first and get in bed, and I’ll meet you there?” His voice is gentle, actions soft, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

You look up at him doe-eyed. “Don’t you wanna-?”

“Mm. Later. You go first, okay?”

You’re too wobbly and wrung out to protest, so you go when he gently leads you both to the bedroom.

The words get stuck in his throat as he closes the bathroom door for you. I really do love you.  

He hopes you might already know.

author's note: sorry to make oliver a bit of a villain in this LMAO in his head he’s just tryna save you from what looks like a failing relationship! if anything he’s your knight in shining armor <3 too bad that didn’t work out how he wanted it to hm

[subjectsix]

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

[laceyhearts]

ꊞ I'D DO ANYTHING ; QUINN HUGHES !

➪ summary: quinn and y/n had had a rocky few weeks, and when quinn arrives home late from a game again and y/n receives a photo from an unknown number, things fall apart at the seams

➪ laceyhearts diner event: a basket of salty french fries w/ prompt "tell me what I can do to make you stay. What I can say, so you won't leave. I need to know how I can fix this!"

➪ pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: reader has had a history of shitty exes, allusions and mentions to/of cheating

➪ word count: 1.0k (whoops i got carried away, my bad)

➪ emma's notes: oh so like- i wasn't expecting this to be out but when you get writing motivation no matter the time you take it. um... nonnie who requested this, i tried to work the second prompt in as much as i could but lowkey blacked out so it's there but not really and i apologize for that. (but if people would like, i'll write a second part focusing on that prompt!)

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

She was used to this happening, to being so caught up in the bliss that she forgot to look for the signs that it was going to collapse soon. It was like the universe hated to see her happy, hated to see her not second-guess every decision she made. 

Being with Quinn made her forget about all those times when her happiness had fallen through, because Quinn was different. He made her feel like she was the only girl in the world, like every time he looked at her, it was as if it would be the last time.

And maybe this time it was. 

She should’ve expected it as soon as he started pulling away, when the time between the end of the game and when he got home grew longer, when he’d sip from beneath the covers and out the door before she even stirred, when his phone would buzz incessantly when she was talking and he’d be occupied with it for the remainder of their conversation. 

Y/n knew she shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but she’d been through this once too many times, and she wasn’t about to let herself be hurt again. So she did what she thought was the only solution, she started to distance herself too. 

He stopped receiving pregame texts that consisted of a stupidly adorable amount of heart emojis, he stopped feeling her in his arms when he woke up and found her curled in a ball on the other side of the bed, stopped seeing her wear his hoodies that she claimed were the comfiest things in the world.

Quinn blamed himself; he knew he should’ve been open about his own worries, how hard he was pushing himself to be the best captain, best hockey player, best boyfriend, best brother, best son in the world, but he never wanted to admit that to himself, much less her. He’d always been that way, keeping his feelings bottled up so he didn’t have to bother anyone else with it.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

He had arrived home late again that night, dragging his feet as he entered, shoes being kicked off lazily, bag dropping, and not being bothered to be picked up again. His limbs were heavy, his neck stiff, and he felt the remaining few drops of sweat against his skin.

The apartment smelled faintly of that one candle y/n always loved to light when she was reading, which made his lip turn up in the slightest amount. There was a plate wrapped in Saran Wrap, a vegetable stir fry sitting between, but he didn’t have the energy to eat, not after the game. He placed it carefully in the fridge, amongst the other three or four leftover plates she had left for him the past week. 

His walk was sluggish as he made his way toward their shared room, eyes finding her still awake, head buried in her book, and her glasses almost falling off her nose as she turned the page. His smile grew, feeling his body relax at the sight of her, “Hi, baby.”

Her eyes barely flicked up at him before she went back to reading, a shrug of her shoulders as she mumbled a ‘hi’ in response. A frown replaced his previously growing smile at her dismissive greeting. He stepped closer, kneeling on his side of the bed and reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, only to be met with her shying away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“You know I know when you’re lying.”

“'M not lying. Just tired and want to read my book.”

He sighed, the tension between them thickening, but he knew he couldn’t force her to open up, force her to tell her what was really on her mind, even though that’s all he wanted to do. He rose from the bed, heading towards the closet as he slowly took off his suit jacket.

“Where were you?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, more than confused, head buried in the closet as he looked for comfier clothes to wear, “What do you mean? I had a game.”

“It ended two hours ago.”

“We had a lot to talk about, we played like dog shit.”  He knew he should shower again; the one before he left the arena was less than cleansing, but the thought of having to wait for the water to heat up and having to go through the motions made him more exhausted.

“Lexie said Thatch got home an hour ago.”

Quinn froze, his shirt halfway on, turning to face her again, “What?”

“Where were you really, Quinn?”

“I was at Rogers, I don’t- what are you saying, babe?”

“I’m saying that if most of the others got home an hour before you even left the arena, then what were you doing?”

“Talking, talking to the trainers about my hand.”

“Then what’s this?” Her phone displayed a picture of some girl, one she was unfamiliar with, but the look on Quinn’s face made it known that he knew who that was.

“Baby…”

“Don’t,”

“No, no, no, listen to me.”

Tears were already welling in her eyes, threatening to fall, but she kept them in, “Who is she?”

“She’s no one, I mean it.”

“Why are you lying to me still?”

He suck in a deep breath, kneeling in front of her, “She’s a friend from college.”

She scoffed, “A friend from college? That’s what they all say.”

“That’s what who says?”

“Everyone, every guy who’s cheated on me.”

“Baby, I didn’t- I would never.” 

She shook her head, wiping her tears as she tried to collect herself, “I need space.”

“I’ll give you space, but just stay here, please.” His hands gripped hers loosely, trying to keep her attention on him and not her spiralling thoughts.

“I can’t-”

“Tell me what I can do to make you stay. What I can say, so you won't leave. I need to know how I can fix this. Please.”

She couldn’t say anything, whether that was because she didn’t know what words would sound best or because she couldn’t physically get the words out; she wasn’t sure. Quinn’s head rested in her lap at her silence, and her hands continued to lie limply in Quinn’s.

And if he thought she was out of reach before? Now she was a million miles away from him, and he didn’t know how to pull her back in.

DINER ENTRANCE ; PICKUP COUNTER ; QH43 MASTERLIST

JOIN THE TAGLIST ; MY NAVIGATION

[silkkorchid]

Someone on twitter posted some responses from Cybird at the Q&A from Anime Expo

Main takeaway:

Every game has their own team

One on the EN Ikevil team is a writer which is why there is a bunch of EN content only

Ikesen also has one on their team which is a long-time translator, but for the others are not on the house. (Which makes it more expensive) hopefully I’m interpreting this right 🙏

There is atleast two teams of translators that focus on translating the main routes while the other is translating events.

THE EN PRODUCER OF CYBIRD DOES NOT LIKE AI! HELL YEAH! But it also states that many companies feel pressure to use AI as stuff gets expensive to produce.

Google and Apple take 30% of the profits, which is why they are asking players to support them by the web pages. (A big slice of pie that those two companies are getting as companies has a lot to pay for ex. writers, editors, artists, translators, servers, maintenance, and a lot more)

Every route has been planned YEARS in advance. Which means Ranmaru’s route has been revised several times over the past 5 or 7 years before it finally released in JP.

They don’t plan to make plushies since they are expensive to produce.

The MCs are the hardest to make since there is no reference materials for them.

[st0ryf1lms]

is it really you? ➳ ken sato

pairing: ken sato x reader

word count: 866

genre/warnings: fluff, sort of a crack fic, 3+1 things, wrote this with a sarcastic tone LMAO, a bit of profanity, grammatical errors most likely (wrote this at 1AM), reader uses fem pronouns

synopsis: the 3 times kenji sato swore he saw you, and the 1 time he actually saw you.

a/n: yes, i'm finally giving in to the kenji sato brainrot HUHUHUH if i had known he was the reason my writer's block would disappear, would've watched the movie sooner i'm ngl edit: AAAAAA WHAT 600+ NOTES??? U GUYS ARE INSANEEE I LOVE YOU ALL this is now up on my ao3!!

At the New Tokyo Dome at his first game as a Giants player

Maybe he was just dreaming, maybe it was the fatigue actually catching up to him ever since he hopped off that plane, or maybe he did actually see you in that stadium amongst the crowd cheering his name. You, as in his childhood best friend, arguably one of the best parts of his childhood in Japan before leaving for LA. You, as in the childhood best friend he never got to say a proper goodbye to. You, as in the childhood best friend whom he always missed and cried to his mom about whenever he'd get homesick. (You, as in the childhood best friend he'd harbored a secret crush on as a kid. As an adult? Psh, what sane person gets hung up on a person who must've forgotten him all those years ago. Not Ken Sato, for sure, yeah, uh-huh.) He'd never know for certain, of course, because as he was about to stop and look, a Kaiju crashed a KDF plane into the ceiling of the stadium.

KAIJU ALERT, his watch blared in an angry red face. He sighed, making his way to the nearest stadium exit and heading towards the dimly-lit part of the street by the stadium. Not without stopping for a split second because he thought he saw your silhouette. Silhouette, really? My God, Kenji, pull yourself together, he told himself. Of course, that wouldn’t be your silhouette because he definitely doesn’t know what you look like anymore, what food you like, what your job is, how you held up after he left for LA. Of course, he doesn’t know that.

Shaking off any more thoughts of you, Kenji turned into his giant alter-ego to fight off the Kaiju wreaking havoc on the streets of Tokyo. (a distraction, really, as Mina would say.)

2. On a grocery run looking exhausted as hell.

It had been two weeks since he took in the baby kaiju in his basement and Kenji Sato has never been more exhausted. If you ask him, exhausted would be an understatement. Nevertheless, his mind was actually alive (much to Mina's surprise) because he swears this time, that he actually saw you. With his own two eyes. As if locked in a daze, he secretly followed you like a lost puppy with a push cart in the grocery store before realizing you were heading for the exit. He stopped in his tracks as the doors opened for you, realizing the items he got weren't paid for yet.

Begrudgingly, he went back inside the grocery and got the rest of the items he needed before going back to his house.

Next time, I swear, I'll talk to her, Kenji said to himself as he drove back to his place.

3. During Emi's acid reflux rampage.

Shit, shit, shit, he cursed to himself like a mantra as he zoomed across the streets of Tokyo on his bike, trying to chase after the pink baby kaiju that somehow escaped his basement that he explicitly placed under the care of Mina (in case you couldn’t tell, he's definitely glaring at his AI assistant). Looking at the construction site beside him as he sat in traffic, an idea popped in his head. He could use that to give him a boost to quickly get to the baby. He rode up the makeshift ramp and turned into his giant alter-ego, catching his bike in time.

"Holy shit." He froze. Goddammit, had he really been that careless? Changing in front of a civilian? Nervously chuckling, he turned around to face the owner of the voice, mentally preparing his response [read: excuse] only to be wide-eyed and speechless. The owner of the voice was you. You, as in his childhood best friend, whom he's been trying to catch up with ever since he landed in Japan.

"What the fuck! Ultraman is Ke-" You exclaimed before you got rudely interrupted by the giant superhero. "Hey, shhh! Can we, like, stay quiet on this matter? I know I don't have an NDA right now but my bike will suffice, I guess. I'll get it back from you, I swear, I just really have to take care of this right now. Treat you to our usual spot? Thanks!" He said frantically before running away to take care of his huge baby problem.

Not really the best way to reconnect with your childhood best friend.

+1. After the battle at sea with the KDF.

"Hey, sorry for being late, had to take care of something." He apologized as he jogged up to you on your usual hang-out spot when you were children. You reassured him, saying that you had just arrived, too. "I didn't know what kinda stuff you eat now as an athlete superstar so I just went for the safest convenience store options." You said sheepishly, holding up the plastic bags with a weary smile. "I don't mind, I actually like convenience store snacks." He beamed on how you still remember what he used to like as a kid.

"So, Ken Sato, gonna explain?"

"Oh, you're gonna want to sit down for this."

[failbettergames]

Fallen London Player Survey Results 2024/25

We put out a player survey in December that was taken by just under 8,700 of you.

To the half a dozen people who suggested that we open a communications channel via onlyfans, may god bless and save you. Our apologies to the individual who asked that we ‘do less;’ unfortunately we are bound only ever to do More, and Worse. One person asked for more ways to not be an awful person, but sadly we’ve spent fifteen years writing Awful Person Simulator and we’d find it hard to stop now.

The word 'love' was used in the responses 16,687 times. An order of magnitude more than all of the expletives combined! So we must at least in part be on the right track.

We hope you found it valuable to take part. We’ve already picked off some of the notes we received, where these were tiny things that took moments to fix. As to the rest, here’s a non-comprehensive breakdown of what we heard and what we’re planning to do with it.

There are two main things we want to look at in the coming six months or so:

Recaps and Journal Changes

The overwhelmingly thickest thread of feedback was about remembering what you’re doing in the game when you come back to it. This came from a breadth of players: from people returning after a break of years, to people coming back a few days or weeks after an intensive play period only to wonder why they were collecting so many Counterfeit Heads of John the Baptist.

We’ll be working on improvements to help you return to the flow of gameplay without difficulty after a period away. This will probably include (but not be limited to) more recaps in serial stories, and a rework of the Journal. (We undertake that it will not mess with your existing Journal entries. That would be madness.)

This is our first priority from the survey feedback; thank you very much if you gave details about your experience.

Click-finger Saviour

Chief among the reports from the most committed players is that there are places in the game where their clicking fingers particularly suffer. We can appreciate this, given the depths and lengths that the game has grown to! We have a few things in mind to offer respite, among them being: a version of the Perhaps Not button at the top of the page as well as at the bottom, some streamlining of content, and additional outfit slots, which will reduce some of the click burden of outfit switching.

From today, there will be a maximum of four additional outfit slots available in total: one more unlocked during game progression, one more for Exceptional Friends, and two more for Enhanced Exceptional Friends. This is an increase from 13 to 17 potential slots.

All that and more

Looking further ahead, we also have our thinking caps on regarding:

Additional cameos!

Making Lodgings prettier

A review of Port Carnelian

A way to make a sample Exceptional Story available to non-subscribers, so you can get a better idea of what to expect from one

A persistent place to find news and patch notes within the site

New, different social features

A way to be married to the zee, aka non-romantic spousal options

Finally, some feedback questioned whether we have been using generative AI in our games: we don’t. We wrote an AI transparency statement to make this clear; it’s at the bottom of the credits page for your reference.

Thank you again for completing the survey, if you were able to. We may well do another one. It was lovely to read what you think, especially those of you who aren’t commonly found in our community spaces. Until next time!

[randomusingsofalovesickgirl]

EPISODE 03: BE YOUR BOY

disclaimer: ai has been used to proofread my writing 🎶be your boy by medium build 🎶 if i'm honest by trousdale 🎶 eat me alive by alessi rose

a/n: sorry for the late update y’all x have been sick this last week. definitely not the most happy with this part, but knew i'd never get it out otherwise x

Mornings were never your forte…but especially not in the Inside. 

Waking up here feels less like routine, and more like bracing for impact. From JJ’s obnoxious morning alarm to Tobi’s surprise instruction to head to the living room, dread was the one consistent thing that defined your last two mornings. 

Maybe this could be something to do with the massage gun, you decided, denying the inevitable upcoming elimination. After all, there’s thirteen of you and six more days to cut that number down to four. 

Officially on your third day on the Inside, you’ve resigned to pretending that everything is normal with George. With cameras on you at all times, you know whatever…talk you two need to have will end up being on the outside. So, for now, nothing has changed…even if that means ignoring how your heart jolts every time you lock eyes longer than needed, your hands accidentally touch, or he calls your name. 

However, right now, you found yourself grateful for George taking your hands in his; pulling you out of bed and tiredly guiding you into the living room. At least you got out of bed. 

You hummed in response, not registering Tobi’s teasing tone or George’s eyes fixating on you. “I think that’s your answer.” George joked, making Tobi chuckle. Soon, the latter motioned for you two to move along and join the group by the couch. 

Tobi clapped his hands together, immediately commanding the room. “Good morning, Insiders. Can I please ask you to clear the front of the sofa, and line up in front of it?” Everyone listened to him, lining up dutifully, far too tired to argue. “One by one, you’ll collect an envelope from this plinth here. Please do not open it until you’re called to do so.” 

You were called first to get your envelope…and were the first to open it. 

“A circle.” You announced out loud, holding out your paper for everyone to see. 

George was next, “Me too.” 

Are they putting us in teams? As more and more people got circles, that option seemed less likely. Until it reached the very end: DDG, whose envelope unveiled an X. 

“Not the big DDG!” Jason groaned, upset to see his friend on the chopping block. Is it all chance this time around? Is there any point in being a team player while here? 

Tobi smiled mischievously, enjoying the confusion and chaos that erupted in front of him. “As you can see, DDG is the only one who got an X,” he turned to him, “which means you’ll have to pick someone to go home right now.”

Is George going to go home? Your hand instinctively reached for his, squeezing it tight. You know how much he wants to win to help support his sister and her wedding. Is this what the boys were talking about Dylan last night? 

Thoughts of your own relationship with DDG quickly flew by: you got along and have definitely bonded, helping with his ‘facial’ and getting to know more about him and his son, but were you truly safe? 

“Salute!” PK repeated, over and over, enjoying the chaos amidst the shock that ran through the room. Suddenly, you thought: if you were chosen, who would you pick? You tried to rationalise everything, think of every possible outcome, but it was too early to know who was truly detrimental to the team. 

Uncle P shook his head, tsking. “This is brutal.” 

“It’s crazy,” Whitney countered, watching as DDG scanned the group.  

Should you have been playing with a strategy? Could this be your way out? 

In this one moment, it felt like hours have gone by, millions of thoughts and scenarios running through your brain. The only thing grounding you back to earth was George’s thumb, rubbing circles into the back of your palm.

“I’ll be honest,” DDG started, rubbing his hands together, “we were all up last night, chatting, vibing, but there was just one person who wasn’t vibing at all.” He turned around towards the front of the line. Fuck. “I’m sorry, Dylan.” 

A weight was lifted off your shoulders knowing George and you were safe, but your heart felt heavy at seeing a close friend leave the set. 

“Dylan,” Tobi faced him, “you have been nominated to be eliminated. Please pack up your things. You’ll have ten minutes to say your goodbyes.” 

You scoffed light-heartedly, immediately turning around to give Dylan a hug. “It sounds like we’ll never see you again.” 

Dylan chuckled, “You still down for coffee? On me.” 

“Of course.” You smiled, swaying in the hug–ignorant to how George tensed behind you. 

Taking a step back, you let Dylan give hugs around. “I should’ve taken that 5 minute hot shower when I had the chance.” He joked, prompting a round of (admittedly polite) laughter to echo throughout the room. 

Like an entourage, you all followed him back into the bedroom, helping him pack up the few things you were allowed on the Inside. You sat next to him while he packed as the others stood idly around, talking to themselves, not sure what to say to Dylan. 

“Hey,” Dylan called for you in a hushed whisper, “Don’t trust anyone, okay? Even George. I know you were close outside, but this is Inside, if it isn't for the money, it’s for the shock factor. How far would George go to entertain?” 

You nodded, fazed, not sure how to process his words. Surely, it comes from a sense of bitterness towards what happened…right? 

Once Dylan was done packing and was ready to leave, the group surrounded him again. “I understand where you were coming from, bro.” Dylan punched DDG’s shoulder lightly, “It makes the  most sense. And as much as my sleep schedule has helped me on the outside, it clearly didn’t help on the Inside.” 

As he said his final goodbyes, he announced that he was the one who committed the massage gun crime…and how that actually earned you an extra 10k for the prize fund. 

Everyone thanked him, fist bumping him and celebrating him, grateful that he was strict on the budget. But only you, Farah, Milli, and George walked him to the exit. 

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

“I would have voted him out, too.” Cinna whispered, now that it was just you, Milli, Uncle P, and her slumped on the couch. Everyone else was scattered throughout the house–some at the gym, some at the shop, and a few playing table tennis. “Sorry, I know you two got close, but he was the least participating. Like, I wanted him here, he was good, and he tried to save…but you need to make friends, too.” 

You nodded, now understanding the strategy behind the Inside, even though your chest still felt tight. “Yeah, no, I get it. I can’t even imagine having to choose who gets to be eliminated.” Sighing, you let yourself melt more into the pillows. “Honestly, I would’ve voted out…” You scanned the room, only spotting George and Jason in the middle of an intense table tennis rally. Leaning in, you mouthed, ‘Whitney’. To be honest, she was likely in the shop, being sneaky…again. 

“We all like Dylan!” Uncle P added, sounding frustrated with the situation. “But sometimes, we just have to make the best decision for the group.” 

“It definitely sets the tone for the day.” 

Cinna groaned in agreement, grabbing a throw pillow and burying her face into it, letting out a muffled scream. “All I’m thinking about now is elimination.” 

“And all before breakfast.” You could hear your stomach rumbling, even if breakfast was just the usual porridge and cold beans. 

Farah walked in just then, teary-eyed and sniffling. “I’m a severe empath! I can’t control my crying!” She wailed, with her loud voice, before darting straight into the bedroom. 

As you heard the door close behind her, you jumped to your feet. “We should probably check in on her.” 

Milli agreed instantly, and before long, the living room emptied as everyone followed. Even George and Jason set down their paddles.

You hung back without thinking, lingering behind as the others made their way through the hall. George immediately came beside you, his hand slipping to your waist like second nature. 

“You alright?” He asked softly, his voice a low murmur that made your chest tighten. 

You glanced up at him. “Define ‘alright’.” 

He let our a breath of amusement, but his eyes didn’t leave you. “I meant after all that…with Dylan. I know you two got…close.” 

“Yeah,” you admitted, the chaos of the morning already getting you buzzed. Surely, you didn’t even need a coffee today. “It just feels like…a lot.” 

George shifted uncomfortably, “The coffee…thing… with Dylan…is that a date?” 

You raised an eyebrow. Was George jealous? “Why? Jealous?” You knew you were playing with fire, teasing him—but it was easier than addressing the deeper truth. You were the one who left before he could even wake up.

George didn’t say anything right away. Instead, his thumb started tracing slow, careful circles over your side—like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “We need to talk soon…” He said, finally, “About…us.” 

You looked away, watching the others disappear into the hallway, grateful for the brief illusion of privacy. “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

He hadn’t sounded angry. Not once. Not even when you slipped out that morning, left him alone with nothing but rumpled sheets and silence. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted to ask you why, wanted to understand. And maybe you wanted to explain. But not here. Not with a mic strapped to your chest.

You opened your mouth to speak then closed it again, unsure what exactly to say. Then, finally, “It was easier to leave than to stay. That’s all.”

George gave a small nod, his jaw tightening—but he didn’t look away. “I figured.”

He was always understanding.

His gaze dropped to the floor as he whispered, “But just so you know—I would’ve liked it if you’d stayed.”

You swallowed hard, the truth of it landing like a stone in your throat. “I know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “That’s what scared me.”

The silence between you stretched. Everything around you—voices, movement, the rest of the house—faded.

George gave your side a gentle squeeze. Then his gaze flicked down to your lips.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. “The others might get suspicious. We should go.”

“Okay,” he hesitated. “But let’s have that conversation. When you’re ready. Just… don’t wait too long.”

You didn’t get the chance to reply before Jason came barreling around the corner.

“Yo, yo, yo—where are you guys? We have to—oh. Am I interrupting something?”

You and George jumped apart instinctively, shaking your heads in sync as Jason’s eyebrows raised.

“We’re gonna sing Whitney ‘Happy Birthday,’” Jason said, trying to play it cool. “You guys should come. But, like, if you need a moment—”

“No, no—we’re all good!” you blurted, already pushing past him, quick to escape the heat of George’s gaze and the weight of what you’d just said.

Jason looked between the two of you, then muttered to George, “What was that?” as you disappeared down the hallway.

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

Despite just dropping five grand on coffee and an energy drink (admittedly, you’ll let Whitney slide on this one, after all, it is her birthday), the group stayed in high spirits. From George, PK, and Jason fangirling over Uncle P in the bedroom to Whitney and Mya doing something suspicious in the store, it was almost as if the elimination this morning didn’t happen. 

You had rolled your eyes when they bought the squiggly ball, calling it a waste of money, but now as you’re pulling at it’s ridiculous plastic ‘squiggles’, you were kind of glad for it. You and Milli turned it into a relaxed game of catch mixed with 21 questions. 

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do on the Outside?” You asked, tossing the ball her way.

Catching it, Milli fiddled with it in her lap, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “So…I actually started seeing this guy…and I think I’ll go see him first.” 

You sat up a little straighter, recognising the telltale signs of the lift in her voice and her hand going straight to twirl her hair. She was gone. 

“Oh my gosh, spill!” You leaned in, elbows on your knees, fully invested. 

She launched into the story. They met online recently, went on a few dates, and now? She’s heads over heels. “We talk everyday, and it’s been so weird not messaging him. Like, I know it’s only been a few days, but…” She trailed off, kicking her legs a little. 

“You really like him, huh?” 

She tossed the ball at you, suddenly bashful. “Shut up. Your turn. What are you going to do first?” 

You shrugged, not totally sure. “Honestly? A long nap.” 

Milli laughed, “Fair, fair.” 

You threw the squiggly ball back at her with a grin. “No, but that’s so exciting about you two! You have to keep me updated.”

She smiled, warm and a little dreamy. “Of course, of course. But here’s my next question…” She lobbed the pink ball back at you before scanning the area. “Do you want to talk about it now?” 

You caught the ball midair, blinking at the shift. Your heart thudded. 

You didn’t answer right away, just pulled at the fraying edges of the ball. Part of you wanted to. Desperately. But here? With the cameras? You’ll beg the boys to cut this from the final episode. Still, the silence between you was patient. Warm. Safe.

You trusted her. You were certain. And you were tired of carrying the weight alone.

You opened your mouth, closed it. Picked at the plastic again. And then, softly—

“I left before he woke up.” Your voice was barely audible, only to Milli and the mic strapped to your chest. “Didn’t text, ignored his calls. He didn’t do anything wrong… it was perfect. I just panicked.”

Milli nodded slowly, like she already knew. Maybe she did. Maybe George had told her something. You wondered what he said about that morning.

“Have you two spoken about it yet?” she asked.

You gave her a look. That was answer enough.

“Okay, fair. It’s a bit difficult with… all this. But you’re going to have to eventually. You know that, right?”

You let out a long sigh, sinking back into the couch cushions. “Yeah. He… actually brought it up earlier. I think he got jealous of Dylan.”

Milli’s eyebrow shot up. “He brought it up? He got jealous?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, fidgeting with the squiggly ball. “He said we should talk about… us.”

She let out a low, impressed whistle. “He isn’t exactly the type to get jealous or throw around the ‘we need to talk’ card… He’s like, one of the most chill, take it easy lads I know.”

“I know.” You stared at the floor, your heart dropping. That’s what makes this all worse. You didn’t want to hurt him, that was never the intention. 

Milli’s expression softened. She scooted a little closer. “Do you regret what happened?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know the answer, but because saying it out loud would make it real.

“No…” you said finally, voice fragile. “But I regret running.”

Milli nodded, slow and thoughtful. “You can un-run, you know. Tell him now.”

“Even with the cameras?”

She shrugged. “The Sidemen love you. They won’t broadcast this if you don’t want them to.”

You glanced toward the hallway, where laughter echoed faintly from the bedroom–probably George and Jason, messing around. The sound twisted in your stomach, acting as a reminder that someone important was right there, only meters away. That all this tension could go away if you were only brave enough. 

“I’m just scared that if I do… it won’t be the same,” you admitted. “Like I ruined it. Or what if it doesn’t work out? And our friendship changes, and everything is different.”

“Maybe it won’t work out,” Milli said gently, but with a tough love edge. “But what if it does?”

You looked over at her, startled.

She shrugged, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, babe. I think he told me because he was hoping I knew something.”

You didn’t say anything. Just tossed the squiggly ball back at her and rested your head on the back of the couch.

The tension wasn’t gone—but it didn’t feel as heavy. Someone else was helping you now.

“Thanks, Mills.”

She smirked. “Anytime. But seriously—go talk to him before it’s too late. You’ve had enough running."

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

“I’m so scared to get a coffee!” Mandi squealed, “What if I get eliminated? Can someone else get me one, please?”

Part of you wanted to snap back, after all, spending money hasn’t stopped her before. But Cinna and everyone were right–this game isn’t just about saving money, it’s about making friends. And so far, you haven't spent a thing. 

“I’ll get it for you.”

“Really?” Mandi blinked, caught off guard, especially after butting heads with you all day over her jokes taking the piss out of Dylan.

You stood up, starting to head to the shop, trying to seem like spending the prize money was nothing to you (when it was eating you up inside). “What do you like?”

“Yo, if Mandi’s getting a free coffee, surely someone will shout me one, too?” Jason called out from across the room. 

Silence, until Cinna begrudgingly offered.

“Oh my God, are they finally spending money?” George cheered, clapping dramatically like you’d both just graduated university.

Everyone mocked outrage, pretending to be upset, rubbing salt in you and Cinna’s reluctance. “How dare you spend money!”

And, you pretended to be unaffected while Cinna was jumping around, showcasing her reluctance. (“It’s okay,” You told her in the shop, trying to justify the purchase for both of you. “We haven’t spent a thing yet. We’re just helping out.”) 

By the time you returned with the drinks, the chaos had calmed down. As you two sank next to Mandi, Jason, Milli, and DDG, the two now enjoying their coffee orders promised to owe both of you big time.

“I really want to play the charity match,” Jason exclaimed, and you had to resist the urge to groan. Not because he wanted to play, but because he’s showing his cards. Whatever anyone said now, the Sidemen were listening; that’s why you’ve been staying vague about your temptation.

Jason turned to you, “You’ve been, right?”

“It’s amazing.” You sighed, eyes flickering to George who suddenly tuned into the conversation.He’s been hoping to get the invite—and Harry already confirmed it with you, even asked you to help plan the reveal. But he doesn’t quite know it yet, and he’s not the type to assume he’d get it. 

“Is it that special?” DDG asked, unaware of the special event. 

You smiled, “Yeah, I could talk about it for hours, but I’m not gushing over those assholes while they’re giving us all these stupid challenges.” You flipped off the camera with a grin, knowing the boys would take the joke. 

Despite the heaviness hanging over you (mostly about Dylan’s elimination), the day had actually brought the group closer. Everyone was either at the table tennis setup or lounging on the couch, talking, strategising together,

Suddenly, KSI’s laugh crackled over the speakers like a horror movie villain, interrupting the conversation at hand.  “How’s everyone doing?”  Groans filled the room with someone about to shout, before KSI’s voice continued to echo throughout the room. “Shut up! I don’t care! Go to the challenge room.” 

You snorted. “I swear, JJ’s voice is like a bad omen.”

Milli nodded. “Morning alarms or challenges. Nothing good.”

But honestly speaking, this challenge isn't as terrible for you. The worst part? Tolerating PK’s fart. Massive respect to him for answering and eating the food, but…you kind of wished he didn’t. The whole room essentially became a gas chamber. 

At one point, you jumped from your seat in front of Uncle P and ducked behind George.

“I complimented you!” Uncle P yelled, laughing. He said earlier you were the contestant he’d most want as a daughter. “And you hide from me like this?”

“I’d love to have you as a dad,” you said from behind George’s chair, avoiding eye contact with the footballer. “But that’s just... not a normal smell.”

Cinna was next in the chair, escaping her spot next to Uncle P, as she faced the question: “Who’s the most boring Insider?”

“He’s gone!” Uncle P croaked. Honestly, these Dylan jokes were getting old. He wasn’t even here, and at the end of the day, he helped the group massively. Why keep dragging him in? 

Cinna winced, “Maybe Farah, but—”

Another fart ripped through the room, interrupting Cinna’s explanation and making Milli leap up. “Can you aim that somewhere else?!”

While chaos broke out again, George’s hand slid over yours on the back of his chair. His touch was warm, steady. Your cheeks flushed.

Eventually, Cinna tapped out—refusing to shave off an eyebrow before the Streamer Awards. Fair enough. You wouldn’t do it either.

She slumped into her seat, teary-eyed, and you immediately left George’s side to wrap your arms around her in an attempt to comfort her. 

PK was next, tasked to rank the girls by attractiveness. Oh God. 

“Least attractive is Milli,” he said without hesitation. 

Your jaw dropped. “It’s fine,” Milli said coolly. “I said he was the least attractive earlier.”

He rattled off names, ending with you and Mya. Looking between you two, he smirked. “Who’d kiss me?”

After he didn’t hesitate for Milli, you didn’t hesitate either. “I’m good.”

PK ignored you. “Don’t worry, George—I won’t go after your girl.” He winked, then turned towards Mya. “You’re my number one, wifey. We’re married, after all.”

His punishment? Lamb testicles. He pretended it was amala and went for it. Honestly, good on him for finding some way to deal with the taste. The challenge got interrupted one last time by a blaring smell. “I’m sorry, I just have to go to the toilet,” Uncle P said, finally getting up and excusing himself from the room. You love Uncle P, sure, but you were grateful he left. Unfortunately, he left a trail of fart in his wake.

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

You feel like the Sidemen were out to get you. 

No, you know it. 

“Your challenge is called Tied for the Night,” Simon read with a shit-eating grin, “and since George failed to answer his question, instead of losing money from the prize fund, he’ll be doing this challenge with you.” You would’ve called bullshit on that reasoning, but hey. 

Jason and DDG were handcuffed together, but you and George had your ankles tied together. Forced to essentially compete in a three-legged race that lasts until morning.

“That was wild,” George sighed, head falling back against the couch. His arm was draped casually around your shoulders, reminding you of all the movie nights at his flat with Chris and Arthur. This was your normal, and your heart hurt at the fact it didn’t quite feel like that anymore. “Someone would have shaved their whole eyebrow off, but Milli is just dressed as a banana.” 

Honestly, you were kind of grateful for the challenge. It gave you a reason to be close again without arousing suspicion, without prompting any questions; just proximity with an excuse. Even if you had to bite back a million things you wanted to say, motivated by Milli’s pep talk. 

Milli stood in front of you two, arm’s crossed in her banana suit. You laughed, making her groan. “Yeah, honey, I don’t think I can take you seriously for the rest of the day.” 

As the others piled on, she turned around to argue with them. You could feel yourself drifting off, the emotional highs and lows of the day finally getting to you. Your head felt heavy, and so instinctively, you let it rest on George’s shoulder, your legs still tied, resting on the coffee table. George froze, like even his breath might make you jump away. You ignored his racing heartbeat, and the way yours mirrored it. 

“I still can’t believe you heard the chocolate packet from…” Milli turned around to face you and George again, and immediately regretted speaking up when she saw the two of you cosied up, “...here.” 

George recovered quickly, pretending he was unaffected (although his flushed cheeks gave him away). “They think they’re slick,” George said confidently, “but they can’t escape…Detective Chocolate.” 

You sleepily scoffed, “Please. That’s the best you’ve got?” 

“Alright, what about Coco Noir? Hershey Holmes?” 

You patted his chest with a laugh, “Keep trying, Clarkey.” 

Letting yourself drift off on his shoulder, lulled by his voice as he talked with Cinna and Milli, you missed the look the girls exchanged with George. If your eyes were open, you’d learn that Cinna knew as she mouthed, ‘Go for it, dude’. 

Unsure of how long you were asleep for, the TV in front of you suddenly jolted you awake. 

“Whitney!” Cinna announced, “You’re going to the Temptation Room!” 

“Fuck,” you muttered, sitting up fast. There went thirty grand. Maybe more.

George chuckled and sang under his breath, “We’re about to lose some money…”

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

You were exhausted for this birthday party. 

Not just because it felt ridiculous or because everyone kind of agreed that Whitney fucked up by accepting her temptation, but because today has been a lot. 

Dylan’s elimination. Your talk with Milli. The challenge. Uncle P’s gas. Getting literally tied to George. 

You were overwhelmed, to say the least. 

And honestly? You weren’t expecting the Sidemen to cough up a ‘birthday feast’ worth £30k. 

To be fair, you can understand Whitney’s thinking. She wanted to celebrate her birthday and lift the group’s spirits. Maybe, she thought this was cheaper than everyone upgrading their meals. Maybe, on another day, you’d be more open to it. But the speed of her decision, barely five minutes in Room 19, was frustrating. No second guessing, no critical thought; just yep, let’s spend more of the prize fund. 

There was no taking it back now, so you were trying not to stay mad. Thankfully, you had George glued to your side, distracting you, now gleefully attempting to play ‘Vienna’ on his newly bought harmonica.

“How does it feel now that George’s attention is all on that harmonica?” Farah teased, making you roll your eyes. While part of you worried she might have overheard anything, you knew she didn’t know anything. After all, she mentioned that she saw the TikTok edits of you two on your first day on the Inside. 

Before you could answer, she added, “Also—sorry, again. For earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused about what she was apologising for. Surely you heard her wrong over George’s god awful playing. “Huh? What did you do?”

“For saying I’d marry George during the challenge,” she said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I know you two are together. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful—I just wanted to be honest.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to deny it. “No, seriously. You’re all good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

George pretended not to hear your response—but his harmonica stumbled suspiciously mid-note.

When the party setup was finally revealed, you were shocked. Genuinely.

Was it worth 30K outside? Absolutely not.  But it was quite a surprise, and definitely not what you were expecting from the boys. 

The room was decked out in balloons, mountains of cake and snacks lined the table. Maybe—just maybe—it was lifting your spirits.

“Hey,” George nudged you, making you turn. He slipped a ridiculous paper party hat on your head and grinned. “Beautiful.”

Before you could even process the compliment, Whitney clapped her hands and pointed to Uncle P.

“It was worth it!” she declared.

Uncle P raised his arms. “It’s worth it if it makes you happy.”

You grabbed the lighters, passing one to George as the two of you lit the cake candles together.

“Can you believe we started the day losing someone, and now we’re throwing a party?” you muttered so only George could hear. 

“All in a day of Inside,” George replied, slipping into a faux narrator voice.

Whitney raised her arms. “Okay! Time to sing Happy Birthday! But, before we start, I want to make a speech.” She raised one of the plastic champagne glasses, filled with alcohol. “You guys are all so special—thank you for making this moment what it is.”

You had the admit, the party was actually a lot of fun. 

DDG and PK kicked off a rap battle. Patrice gave a heartfelt speech. Milli, still in her ridiculous banana costume, tried to seduce you with an exaggerated sexy dance. Farah had taken up the role of unofficial photographer, snapping polaroids of everyone—she even got a few of you and George. (You made a mental note to definitely steal those before the show ended). 

The whole day had been a rollercoaster. But right now, this felt like a decent landing.

Sure, you’d been mad. Upset. There were people you felt closer to than others. But in moments like this, it felt less like a reality show and more like a chaotic school trip—just a bunch of you along for the ride.

“Can we sit?” you murmured to George, motioning to the dining table. “My feet are killing me.”

Without hesitation, he looped his arm behind your back to help you up—like he’d done since the challenge started. The two of you clumsily synced your steps, giggling at your off-beat coordination.

You were too distracted to notice the massive box being wheeled into the room.

“Whitney, please open your present.” The omnipresent voice cut through the laughter, startling you. 

You looked up, spotting a huge box now sat in the middle of the room. Whitney stepped towards it, eyes wide. 

As she pulled the ribbon, the box collapsed—revealing a single slip of paper.

“In this box reveals the biggest spender and the smallest spender,” she read aloud. Then she stopped, reading silently.

“Who?” Jason called out, confused.

Whitney gasped, hand flying to her mouth. The paper slowly dropped to the ground, almost tauntingly. 

“What?” Cinna asked, as murmurs rippled through the group.

“PK and Uncle P have to eliminate someone in the next twenty minutes,” she finally said.

Not again.

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

taglist: @rubyskies @edgyficuselastica @gmontaguesbitch @sundarksposts @canyouseethesainz @lovingaphroditesworld @maggie-readss @liz140569 @lmaowhathaha @moofilms @lalisasrealwife @courtjjade @bowielovesyou @raekensluver @cuntessaii @theresglittleronthefloor @isabelle-2934 @smzyyx @wroetominter @madforgeorge @megan-jane02 @lottiewills @cheesystylesig @suspicious-stain-in-spain @kneelforloki @wherethezoes-at @clarkey4life

[thewertsearch]

TT: Anyway, I kind of owe it to him to let the program run as often as possible. GG: Jake? TT: No. TT: The responder. TT: It is a fully cognitive, self-aware entity I am responsible for, not even to mention an approximate cerebral duplicate of myself. TT: You don't just make a clone of yourself to live in a dead end existence where it has no chance to thrive as an individual or surpass its limitations.

Alright - but wouldn't 'letting it run as often as possible' mean never turning it off?

I suppose it's possible that the AR's server needs to be taken down for maintenance - but that's not an issue I ever expected us to encounter with this kind of wacky sci-fi technology. It's hard to imagine a Transportalizer needing maintenance.

TT: Also. TT: The more the software runs, the broader and more detailed its experiential canopy becomes. Makes for a better dialogic partner.

Ah, so this is the real reason you're keeping him awake. I'm sure that ethics is a factor, but your primary motivation is to make your AI minion more advanced - and thus, more useful.

If I was in Bro's position, I'd be worried about the AI getting a little too advanced, and going full Skynet - but I guess he's assuming his brain clone will share his motivations. Jade made that mistake before, and it got messy.

GG: Dialogic? GG: Are you saying you have conversations with your own auto-responder? TT: Of course. TT: Why do you think I made the thing?

Because you're desperately lonely, just like all the other human Players.

Before the Act started, I was fairly optimistic about Guardian Dave's ability to raise a child - but since Guardian Rose appears to have retained some of Mom's less savory traits, I have a horrible feeling that Guardian Dave might take after Bro.

These children cannot catch a break.

[r4nd0mr3ad3r]

*ੈ✩ 𝐍/𝐀: I am impressed to find publications about writers I followed. A few weeks ago, it came out to the public that @Mintyy used AI and passed off those works as their own. This morning I learned that @luv-lock also came out with problems. I was very disappointed to learn that he was a person with harmful ideologies, homophobic and above all, who insults and hates immigrants. I was very upset with his responses to the claims of other people who came out to expose their disgusting attitudes. I was quite disappointed to the point that I unfollowed some writers I followed, because I really don't want to get another unfortunate surprise about other Tumblr writers. ✧ ೃ

٩(˘◡˘)۶ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: Some publications and small fanfiction's in progress.ᐟ

୧ ‧₊˚📓 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞: You can take this and post it wherever you want, just don't forget to keep this Doodlebob fan in mind.

(I use the name Astre to differentiate the twins)

꒷🗯️꒦ You are the older sister, leader, caretaker, and guide of the Phantomhive twins. Who teaches them what is right and what is wrong.

They follow your teachings to the letter and constantly seek your approval and acceptance. Which is relatively easy since you fall for it when they put on those shiny puppy eyes.

꒷🗯️꒦ Astre trusts you so much, loves that you take care of him and spend your free time by his side, as he is constantly sick and cannot go out to play with Ciel and Elizabeth in the garden.

꒷🗯️꒦ The two of you share so many things in common, such as reading, playing hide-and-seek and having fun with chess in bed, you share your study time with him on some occasions as he asks you for it and you can't even refuse.

Astre always has every chance of winning at chess as you allow him to, he thinks he's a born player.

꒷🗯️꒦ You almost always sleep in the twins' room, as they ask you to, Ciel is the one who shares his huge bed with you, he claims the right for being the older twin and for being the one who does Astre' favors for him.

Sleeping with you is the perfect payment.

꒷🗯️꒦ The twins sometimes fight for your attention, leading to a scolding and also punishment. You don't play with them and you don't read them a bedtime story.

꒷🗯️꒦ It makes them sad, but they find a way to learn to apologize and further improve their relationship as twins.

They look for solutions to improve their friendship and union, they show it to you at dinner to make a good impression, they just want to get rid of punishment before going to sleep.

꒷🗯️꒦ They always look forward to your gifts on birthdays, they know that the gifts from you are special and very original.

They are the first to be opened and used.

꒷🗯️꒦ At family gatherings and parties, the three of you are always together, clinging to your skirts and not moving away even when Vincent wants to introduce you to a close friend. You have to go with them and stand next to them.

꒷🗯️꒦ Astre is the shyest, so you are the one who approaches the person who wants to meet the little one, while Ciel is more talkative and friendly with strangers.

Vincent and Rachel are on the lookout for the three of them, Tanaka is the one who attends to the twins' requests when they want to try the desserts of the party. They change your plate without asking permission, all because you ask for different things than they do.

꒷🗯️꒦ Being the big sister has its advantages and disadvantages with them. But you are never alone or in bad company.

Taking care of them is like a math task, sometimes the problems are easy to solve and at other times... They are very complicated.

[nhaneh]

Growing ever more frustrated with the use of the term "AI" and how the latest marketing trend has ensured its already rather vague and highly contextual meaning has now evaporated into complete nonsense. Much like how the only real commonality between animals colloquially referred to as "Fish" is "probably lives in the water", the only real commonality between things currently colloquially referred to as "AI" is "probably happens on a computer"

For example, the "AI" you see in most games wot controls enemies and other non-player actors typically consist primarily of timers, conditionals, and RNG - and are typically designed with the goal of trying to make the game fun and/or interesting rather than to be anything ressembling actually intelligent. By contrast, the thing that the tech sector is currently trying to sell to us as "AI" relates to a completely different field called Machine Learning - specifically the sub-fields of Deep Learning and Neural Networks, specifically specifically the sub-sub-field of Large Language Models, which are an attempt at modelling human languages through large statistical models built on artificial neural networks by way of deep machine learning.

the word "statistical" is load bearing.

Say you want to teach a computer to recognize images of cats. This is actually a pretty difficult thing to do because computers typically operate on fixed patterns whereas visually identifying something as a cat is much more about the loose relationship between various visual identifiers - many of which can be entirely optional: a cat has a tail except when it doesn't either because the tail isn't visible or because it just doesn't have one, a cat has four legs, two eyes and two ears except for when it doesn't, it has five digits per paw except for when it doesn't, it has whiskers except for when it doesn't, all of these can look very different depending on the camera angle and the individual and the situation - and all of these are also true of dogs, despite dogs being a very different thing from a cat.

So, what do you do? Well, this where machine learning comes into the picture - see, machine learning is all about using an initial "training" data set to build a statistical model that can then be used to analyse and identify new data and/or extrapolate from incomplete or missing data. So in this case, we take a machine learning system and feeds it a whole bunch of images - some of which are of cats and thus we mark as "CAT" and some of which are not of cats and we mark as "NOT CAT", and what we get out of that is a statistical model that, upon given a picture, will assign a percentage for how well it matches its internal statistical correlations for the categories of CAT and NOT CAT.

This is, in extremely simplified terms, how pretty much all machine learning works, including whatever latest and greatest GPT model being paraded about - sure, the training methods are much more complicated, the statistical number crunching even more complicated still, and the sheer amount of training data being fed to them is incomprehensively large, but at the end of the day they're still models of statistical probability, and the way they generate their output is pretty much a matter of what appears to be the most statistically likely outcome given prior input data.

This is also why they "hallucinate" - the question of what number you get if you add 512 to 256 or what author wrote the famous novel Lord of the Rings, or how many academy awards has been won by famous movie Goncharov all have specific answers, but LLMs like ChatGPT and other machine learning systems are probabilistic systems and thus can only give probabilistic answers - they neither know nor generally attempt to calculate what the result of 512 + 256 is, nor go find an actual copy of Lord of the Rings and look what author it says on the cover, they just generalise the most statistically likely response given their massive internal models. It is also why machine learning systems tend to be highly biased - their output is entirely based on their training data, they are inevitably biased not only by their training data but also the selection of it - if the majority of english literature considered worthwhile has been written primarily by old white guys then the resulting model is very likely to also primarily align with the opinion of a bunch of old white guys unless specific care and effort is put into trying to prevent it.

It is this probabilistic nature that makes them very good at things like playing chess or potentially noticing early signs of cancer in x-rays or MRI scans or, indeed, mimicking human language - but it also means the answers are always purely probabilistic. Meanwhile as the size and scope of their training data and thus also their data models grow, so does the need for computational power - relatively simple models such as our hypothetical cat identifier should be fine with fairly modest hardware, while the huge LLM chatbots like ChatGPT and its ilk demand warehouse-sized halls full of specialized hardware able to run specific types of matrix multiplications at rapid speed and in massive parallel billions of times per second and requiring obscene amounts of electrical power to do so in order to maintain low response times under load.

[tvchi]

Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, Prt 2

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Allusion to sexual intercourse, Profanity

Pairing: black male x black female Words: 3,642k

A/N: Here is Part 2 of this series. I'm really going to try to work on getting these parts out at least once a week. Again, don't hold me to that because life be lifing!!! This part is very logistical and technical. If crime, espionage, and cerebral thrillers aren't your thing, I understand. Please scroll. While you may need these details to understand some of the premises of the story and what may happen later on, you will probably pick up on things later on.

Summary: Y/N tries to regain her composure while meeting Terry. Amused, Terry throws a wrench in her plans while running into someone who could be the key to this entire case. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rendered speechless, you look around, trying to gain your composure and decide whether you will play along. Your heart fluttered in reaction to his gaze and the warmth that emanated from his presence. Usually, you were a lioness strolling fearlessly through a den of vipers. But today, you were as timid as a fawn as his eyes roamed your body. Your brain screamed for you to say something before this became a noticeable and awkward pause. If acting like he didn't meet you at the museum was his direction, then that's the direction this would take. After all, you just bumped into each other, and you never got his name or anything else.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N Olisa." He smiled brightly at your response while you wondered whether you should have come clean to Director Moore about your encounter. You sat down at the only empty chair in the room to the left of Director Moore's desk. 

"Now that you two know each other, Olisa, I need you to brief us on what you have found on the case so far and start from the beginning so that we can get ASAC Richmond up to speed."

"Right," you started, trying to gain the resolve to forget the set of grey-blue peering at you from the right. "Well, for the past three months, I have been in the field working with other operatives on Operation Green Ledger, investigating large-scale money laundering within a network of shell companies designed to conceal stolen wealth accumulated through drug trafficking and high-priced art.

We believe that a group called the Ghost Syndicate has been partnering with art powerhouse Elysian Art Consortium (EAC) to smuggle drugs within the art purchased by some of the major gangs and cartels here in the US Several silent auctions disguised as showcases have been happening. In the area more than usual.

In 2021, Harborview Heights was home to only three art museums. Its population is about 600,000, and its average income per household is $60,000. In 2024, the number of art museums and showcases doubled even though the population has only increased by 50,000 and its average income per household, adjusted for inflation, is about $70,000."

"That's not nearly enough money to buy and sell art at that rate," Terry chimed incredulously.

"Exactly. We noticed that this was happening in more than just Harborview. It's happening in Pinehurst, Kingston Circle, and Cedarwood. These surrounding towns are only maybe within a 60-mile radius of each other. So we started looking into the interwebs to see if there was any chatter about any new players in town. After weeks of searching, SA Donovan intercepted a series of encrypted communications between the CEO of EAC and a buyer by the name of Muammar Gadaffi."

“The Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gadaffi?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's the one"

"Hmm"

"Right. As I asked some of my contacts in the CIA, they assured me there has not been any chatter from that family and anyone from the US in years, especially not in art or stolen artifacts."

"SA Donovan got me into one of these showcases that our CEO talked about with the cover, Alana Thomas. While there, I noticed that most people on the guest list weren't even Harborview residents. In fact, most of them flew in from out of the country. I made a contact that night, posing as an art enthusiast and buyer for an affluent family. I asked about how to bid on pieces and when they had auctions.

"The contact let it slip that the event I was attending was, in fact, a silent auction for some of the pieces but that he didn't think I would be interested in this month's pieces and to come back next month. Then some other operative bugged the place, posing as museum patrons, chaperones for field trips, etc." I continued.

"We are hoping that Olisa's Mark would provide fruitful information given his status in the EAC. It has been five grueling months, and more bids have taken place without knowing much about how to even receive a formal invite to bid. The invitations are heavily encrypted. Apparently, the designer used to be one of our own," Director Moore let out in frustration.

"Well, I've been formally invited as a plus one to the silent auction in two weeks. I seemed to impress one of the higher-ups at a company party last week. Adrian, my Mark, is curating the event and handling the guest list. I sent a copy over. So far, more than half of those people are major players in cartels worldwide. I am close to getting a handle on how first contact is made between the art dealers for EAC and the buyers. The key encryption on their computers changes every 18 hours."

Terry nods slowly, lips pursed in contemplation. His breathing slows, eyes trained on you as if he anticipated your next words. Your eyes go down to his big hands. They were strong and defined. The slight calluses on his fingertips and various small, healing scars on his knuckles told you he wasn't just pushing papers in his office. His fingernails were neatly trimmed and clean, tapping the arms of the seat he occupied. He stopped tapping when he noticed that you stopped speaking and were staring at his hands. You cleared your throat to relieve the tension that was building up in your chest.

"I'm assuming you are here with information about increased activity from the cartels," you said.

"No. I'm here because we need to wrap this up as quickly as possible. There's something big coming up the pipeline and we will need all hands on deck. We are asking everyone to clear their desks. The timeline is four months."

You laugh. "It took three to get an invite and look at the guest list. This is grade-A cyber encryption. There's no way we can wrap this in four months!" You look at Director Moore, eyes wide, and plead for help. 

"Olisa, ASAC Richmond will help you in this endeavor. We know that you are making some headway, but we are going to need all the help we can get if we are to meet the deadline. Please share the rest of your intel and show him around." 

"From operative to babysitter and secretary. My how the 'best and brightest' have fallen." Terry chuckles as he peers at you intently.

"And when you're done being a smart ass, make sure he has a copy of the case files."

You purse your lips in annoyance and then pull them into a tightly lined smile. 

"Yessir," you say. You turn to Terry, sitting in the chair, legs agape and elbows pressed against the arms of the seat. Your eyes were drawn to how muscular his legs were. Even underneath those suit pants, you could tell that he was well-toned. Quickly reverting your eyes to his face, you said, "Follow Me."

He rose from his seat, his build towering your frame. You two left the director's office and headed down the stairs. You started introducing him to everyone you passed by name, title, and what role they played in the case.

He greeted every last one with a congenial, dashing smile that reached his eyes and a "nice to meet you" or an "I'll try not to bother you too much, I promise." Once you finished introducing him to Brooke and apologizing for her lewd remarks, you stopped by the office with his placard beside the door you spotted while you were walking him over to Brooke.

"And this is you. SA Hilt will be coming over shortly with a copy of those case files you wanted, and if you need anything else, SA Donovan will be more than happy to assist you," you concluded, turning to face the door.

"What if I want you to assist me?" he asked sharply.

"Excuse me?" you replied, half-turned.

"You told me about everyone else you're pawning me off to. But what if I need you?" That flash of grey seized you once more, threatening to hold you hostage until an acceptable answer shot up from your mouth.

"I'm not sure in what situation you would need me."

"I can think of a couple of situations," he said mischievously. With your brow furrowing from his surprising lewdness, you turned around fully to face him.

 "From my understanding, we are attacking this from different angles. I'm supposed to stay with the Mark and I supposed you'd be posing as one of the buyers. Until the last 48 hours leading up to the auction, I'm not sure why you would need me."

"Well, for one," he started, folding his arms across his chest, "it seems like you know this case inside out and have been working this case since day one. Something stored in you may be the key to how we can get it; you just can't place it yet. Not sure how much you know about me," he stood and strolled towards you, eyes fixed on yours, "but I've been told that I'm pretty good at getting things that I want." Your body quivered at the heat of his gaze. 

"So advancing on operatives in the field, then showing up at their site pretending not to know them is how you get what you want?" you asked heatedly. The corners of his lips curled.

"Well, actually, this is our first time being introduced. You marched off before I could tell you my name."  His reply was swift, as though he anticipated the question. You assessed him, still trying to figure out his angle. 

"As I said, the other operatives will be here with you. I'm mostly in the field. I was here to collect some things before reporting to my post as assistant professor." He looked at you intently for a moment. Then, his demeanor changed to that of indifference.

"I'll walk you out."

"No need. Besides, I'm the one that knows my way around."

"Are things always this difficult with you?"

"Difficult," you said with a raised brow bordering on annoyance.

"Yes. Difficult," he repeated.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir, but the only difficult thing about me at this present moment is the energy I would need to conjure to deal with an outsider coming into an investigation I spent months on and asking me not only to speed up my timeline but also calling me 'difficult' in the process," you replied poignantly. As you finished, he looked at you rather amused. "Is something funny?" 

He turned and walked behind his desk. Looking at the files on his desk and shuffling them around, he said, "Yeah, but I don't think HR would share my sense of humor. I'll keep it to myself, but I think I'm changing my opinion on 'difficult.' You wear it well."

His eyes hadn't left his desk once. Your face stalled, not knowing if you preferred the heat of his gaze or the coldness of his nonchalance wrapped in a sultry yet suggestive tone. "I guess I'll just find you. Thank you, SA Olisa." 

The finality in his tone urged you to move towards the door and out of his office. You weren't sure what was happening, but you needed to get a hold of yourself to see if you were going to last the next three months under this man. 

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

TERRY

I watched her walk through the glass doors of the empty office, her curvy frame gliding down the hall. I never thought I would see her again let alone standing in Director Moore's Box. If I'm anything, it's intrigued.

I wanted to know her story, how she wound up here, how she could dissociate from her marks after an assignment was over, why this case meant so much to her, or why she couldn't look me in the eyes for more than three seconds at a time. I wondered whether the latter was partly because she felt that same rush of electricity I felt when we touched yesterday.

I pushed thoughts of Y/N aside as I began to look at the files in this case. A lot was riding on this, and I needed to give this all of my attention. A knock came to the door.

"Come in," I said without looking up.

"Would you like anything for lunch, sir? A couple of us are ordering." SA Brooke Donovan said with a bright smile.

"It's lunch already? I didn't realize."

"Well, technically, it's 2:00. But we just now decided on where everyone wanted to eat from."

I chuckled. "Okay, then I'll have whatever you're having."

"Okaaaaaaay, Sir," she replied with a bright, spirited smile." Whatever you want."

I chuckled. Brooke was definitely the one who brought light to everyone's dark days. I am also well aware of my effect on people, especially women. 

I worked through lunch and almost dinner reviewing the case files, looking for anything that was missed that could be a potential angle to work while everyone went through the other obvious roads. I even set up a case board inside my office to track all the information I gathered.

We needed to attack all fronts, but no one was posing as the transport. No delineation of the route taken to deliver the product since only the supplier knew where the product was stored. That would be the critical area of interception.

Another angle would be forcing a route change by making all parties involved aware that they were being watched. As I pondered these notions, my stomach growled. Heeding that warning, I stood up, packed my things, and headed out of the office in search of food.

Out of the Box and walking out of the campus's main library, I smelled her before I saw her.

Her long, toned legs walked down the aisle, a book in one hand and a cup in the other. The heels she wore made her calves and ass look like every man's dream. Her skirt fit snugly around her curves, stopping just below her knees. Her bell-sleeved blouse had a keyhole slit in the back that revealed her warm, mahogany skin. I watched her for a minute, moving to a desk in the corner of the library next to another self of books.

She moved intently, searching while removing several books and stacking them in her arms. Everything she did was poetic. The way she moved her locs out of her face, the way she placed the books she wasn't going to take with a single push of her index finger, the way she tilted her head upward as if making a mental note to revisit a topic later, all of it made me wonder.

I wondered what she thought about when no one required her to think about anything, what frightened her, what her favorite restaurant was, and what made her toes curl in heated passion. I haven't had a chance to contemplate hoisting a woman up by her legs and to drink from her well in a long while. Come to think of it, too long. Looking at her now, passions I forgot were there slowly rose, forming a tent in my slacks.

She placed them down on the counter at the front, where she exchanged pleasantries with the librarian, after which the librarian scanned the books and tucked them away underneath the counter. She strode to the front, and my feet followed, drawn.

When I finally reached the door, she was down the steps where some light-skinned dude was waiting on her. They embraced, and his hands trailed down to her lower back, then her ass, as he kissed her. A fire lit in my chest, my eyes glued to his hands. Then he opened the door to the car and let her climb inside. 

As he shut the door, he turned and seemed to look at me. Still far off from the tall steps, I'm not sure how much he saw of my face, but pride settled into my feet like lead and wouldn't permit me to move. We stared briefly at each other, and I watched him walk to the driver's seat and drive off.

I'm not sure what is drawing me to this woman or what about her makes me want to break every finger on that man's hands for touching her, but I knew that the timeline on this case had just moved up.

I spent the next few days between the Box and my rental, visiting all the different sites of the case. I felt at home on the road because it allowed me to think out loud, from the most far-fetched ideas to the safest ones.

It also let me think about what I would do about my obvious attraction to Y/N. She's been running through my head lately, especially about how committed she is to her cover and the Mark. From how things looked the other night, he's familiar with her in ways that made me seeth wrathfully. While there was absolutely no place for an office romance, my body yearned for the weight and warmth of her. Whatever small disdain she has for me and my orders should deter me. Yet it does nothing but make me wonder what she sounds like, shouting expletives as I fill her with my girth.

God knows I love a good brat. He also knows I'm tired of going from home to home with no intent of lying my head in any one place. Not feeling safe enough to believe that I can have something permanent. Something good.  Something that would stay with me as I aged.

Many of my cohorts share this sentiment, but some strive for 'happily ever after' anyhow. I then started to wonder what 'happily ever after' would look like for me. Who would be sitting beside me? Who would be in the back seat? What would home look like? What would it smell like? The last question or thought crashed into me with a strong wave. Would it quiet my mind if I gained all these things, and would the nightmares go away? 

Quickly unlocking the safe of my mind and placing those intricate thoughts back in their place, I parked at the library's side entrance. I hopped out of the Mustang, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger's side. I made my way towards the steps.

"Excuse me," I heard. I turned slightly and saw him. "I was wondering if you worked here."

I studied him carefully, trying to decipher whether his question was rhetorical or genuine. When I didn't answer, he continued to speak.

"I've never seen you before, so I was wondering whether you worked here."

"Lots of people come through here. It is a university."

"Yea. That's true. It is a university. But most new people tend to be students, and it's heading towards the end of the semester. I also used to go here, and I know most of the people who work in this building. I've never seen your face before." That piqued your interest even further. There was little doubt that he had seen your face, or most of it, the other night. 

"Well outside of the fact that there are over 300 graduate school programs, other agencies and programs utilize the university's libraries of work or research and are allowed day passes for a small fee. But you went here, so you knew that. So unless you work security around here or a cop, I'm unsure what you want from me."

"A grad student can afford a whip like that?" He whistled as his eyes ran the length of my car. "You must be paying tuition out-of-pocket."

I looked at my watch in feigned annoyance. "I'm late, so do you have a question for me, Officer?"

"Oh, I'm not a cop."

"No?" he moved closer to him, "You move like one."

His eyes never left mine as he spoke calmly. "Nah. I'm not a cop. I just have something precious inside. There's a lot of history there. Its beauty was meant to be displayed for all to see, but that doesn't mean that there aren't people looking to possess it for themselves."

"Okay, now I'm confused. Are you in security or art history?" I said sarcastically. I wanted to know how deep his obsession with Y/N ran and what lengths he would go to keep her.

He chuckled with an air of arrogance. "You can say it's a bit of both. I've always been fascinated by how curators can showcase the most priceless pieces of human history while being confident that no one will walk out the front door with them. By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't throw it. Do you stop everyone you don't recognize coming into the building or just the ones built like me?"

"Only the ones with that look in their eye," he said, almost sneering. 

"Hmm. Not just what that look is."

"You know, the one that longs for more. For something they can't have"

"Oh, that one. Well, I've never had to steal anything. I either earned it or paid for it."

"Is that right"

"Yes. That's right. Oh, and I think that curators rest in knowing that their pieces are insured and protected by the police force. This is a pretty safe campus in a properly policed city. Unless…”

"Unless?"

"Unless, somehow, your valuable item has free will and can choose to walk out with whoever it chooses to. I really am late. It was very…interesting meeting you," I said with a slight grin and trotted up the steps with gleeful ease, knowing that the game clock had officially started.

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

Check out Part 1 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 3 coming soon.

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh

[mariacallous]

A chatbot developed by Elon Musk’s multibillion-dollar artificial intelligence startup xAI appeared to be suffering from a glitch Wednesday when it repeatedly brought up white genocide in South Africa in response to user queries about unrelated topics on X. Grok, which competes with other chatbots like OpenAI’s ChatGPT, is directly integrated into the social media platform that Musk also owns.

Numerous examples of the phenomenon could be found by searching the official Grok profile for posts containing the term “boer,” a word used to refer to people from South Africa of “Dutch, German, or Huguenot descent.” It is sometimes used by Black South Africans as a pejorative against white Afrikaners, or people associated with the apartheid regime. In response to topics ranging from streaming platform HBO Max’s name change to Medicaid cuts proposed by US lawmakers, the chatbot often seemed to initially stay on topic before veering back to white genocide in South Africa, completely unprompted.

When asked to confirm the salary of Toronto Blue Jays player Max Scherzer, for example, the generative artificial intelligence chatbot launched into an explanation of white genocide and a controversial South African anti-apartheid song.

“The claim of ‘white genocide’ in South Africa is highly debated. Some argue white farmers face disproportionate violence, with groups like AfriForum reporting high murder rates and citing racial motives, such as the ‘Kill the Boer’ song,” Grok responded.

Grok has done the same in replies to hundreds of other X posts, including one from newly appointed Pope Leo XIV. In response to a question about what was on the chatbot’s mind, the AI replied it was “reflecting on the ‘Kill the Boer’ song.” When pressed by WIRED and other users, Grok began calling South Africa’s white genocide a “debunked conspiracy theory” contrary to its previous responses about the topic.

It’s unclear what caused Grok to experience the issue. X and xAI did not immediately respond to requests for comment from WIRED. Musk, who is originally from South Africa, has described internal factions within the South African government as “actively promoting white genocide.” He continued to claim that his internet service company, Starlink, cannot operate within South Africa “simply because I’m not black.”

US President Donald Trump voiced similar views in February. “South Africa is confiscating land, and treating certain classes of people VERY BADLY,” he said in a post on Truth Social. Musk has played a central role in Trump’s new administration, including leading its so-called Department of Government Efficiency.Got a Tip?Are you a current or former X employee who wants to talk about what's happening? We'd like to hear from you. Using a nonwork phone or computer, contact the reporter securely on Signal at kylie.01.

In recent weeks Trump has doubled down on his concern for white South Africans. On Monday, a group of 59 South Africans who were given refugee status arrived in Washington, DC, on a flight paid for by the US government while pausing refugee status for individuals fleeing any other country.

However, in a 2025 ruling, the High Court of South Africa called this narrative “clearly imagined,” stating that farm attacks are part of general crime affecting all races, not racial targeting.

[rosiesalternateden]

No flipping way some people ACTUALLY DEFEND DR3's brainwashing plotline.

"But it was foreshadowed in DR0 and DRAE"

Yes, for background characters like the Monokuma kids and the reserve course! Not for major players and certainly not for the 77th class!

"But Naegi said in chapter 6 they were brainwashed!"

Yes, figureatively. He could have meant anything. He could have been referring to the future foundation brainwashing their memories as they entered the Neo-World Program so it would function as intended. He could have been referring to brainwashing in a psychological way. He could have meant anything.

Also, if you're using Chapter 6 as evidence, look at what Monokuma himself says on the matter:

Also keep in mind that Monokuma is controlled by Enoshima (or in this game, Enoshima's AI) so this is literally Enoshima herself admitting to manipulating them one by one.

Also, she has precedent for doing this even outwith the 77th class. With her sister, with Matsuda, and with the warriors of hope. She was even implied to have managed it with Kamukura.

PLUS, look at the way Tsumiki behaves after she's found guilty in SDR2. She speaks about her beloved as if she took her in and made her feel loved.

PLUS look at the way Komaeda acts after he discovers the truth in the Final Dead Room. From that moment onward he speaks to his classmates in a complete 180 from how he did before, berating them instead of worshipping their talents, and acting disgusted with them at every opportunity. He would not have behaved that way had the class not actually have been responsible for their own actions.

So no, it's not a case of "not matching with our old headcanons". Brainwashing the 77th class with a video, is quite literally, a retcon.

[i-like-blue-eyed-robots]

There are plenty of differences between the two main characters of Portal (aside from the player character, Chell). For example, GLaDOS is snide, cunning, and self-assured, while Wheatley is cowardly, expressive, and insecure.

The difference I’d like to dive into today is that while GLaDOS is passive and actively aggressively insulting the player character, and to some extent, so is Wheatley after being put in the chassis — Wheatley is very encouraging.

It’s strange, in a place like Aperture, for anything to be encouraging. I first assumed that Wheatley was using this encouragement to try to manipulate the player character. However a few particular lines stuck out to me on a second playthrough. “The both of you… Well done.” He doesn’t just congratulate the player character for giving him the high he’s craving, he compliments GLaDOS. The ‘person’ he’s been actively terrified of the entire game. The one who crushed him and he’s hated. Still, he verbally rewards her. And when she literally can’t do anything at that, because she’s A, a potato, and B, unable to help Chell in any way during the tests as evidenced by the “Thanks! All we had to do is pull the lever.” “What? No, you had to push the b— AAAGH!” lines, which is to say that GLaDOS can’t even offer hints of how to solve the tests.

Now, why does any of this matter, other than being an interesting foil to GLaDOS?

Because I can’t see any reason why they would program him with this. If his original purpose was to overload GLaDOS with an endless stream of ideas, as we’re told, then his encouragement wouldn’t really be a part of that. Technically, I suppose he could encourage her in order to reward ‘good behavior’ like not killing everyone in the facility, but given that she still actively tries to hurt him after he’s complimented her, and just her general personality, I’m not sure anyone would reasonably think that would work and go so far as to waste extra time coding that into Wheatley.

No, I think Wheatley learned it on his own. When Wheatley first takes over the chassis, he’s happy. I’d argue he doesn’t even have ill intent when he forces Chell to stay, or even when he calls her selfish. He’s more enjoying the rush of power he’s feeling at being in control of the entire facility, and he’s let it get to his head. But he seems regretful when he realizes the elevator is going to fall, and later, when he sees Chell again he seems to treat her in a friendly manner, like he still thinks nothing has changed in their relationship. But then GLaDOS calls him a moron. He reacts violently, with a streak of anger we haven’t seen thus far in the story. It’s so shocking that it’s almost out of character, and is collectively agreed upon to be a trauma response given how suddenly and explosively he responds to the insult. He clearly doesn’t like hearing about his purpose of being an intelligence dampening sphere, turning his back and trying to cover up GLaDOS’ words with “I’m not listening!” and he’s also clearly aware of it.

Most of Wheatley’s reactions to his trauma are not the pretty ones. He’s selfish, he’s anxious, he’s helpless, he lashes out when his delicate ego is bruised. However, I do think his penchant for kind words is an active choice, maybe one made so long ago that it’s become second nature, and he forgets about that choice the longer he’s exposed to testing in the chassis. But I think after a life of being told he’s stupid, and seeing even the other AI judge him as he fails at job after job, he decided to be almost aggressively positive. “Let me in! No, no. Too aggressive. Hello there!”

When he could get irritated with the player character “Go on. It’s alright.” “Floor. I’m on the floor. Needing you to pick me up.” He doesn’t. Even when he’s in the chassis, waiting to get that hit of the drug, he starts out polite. “Do it again. Please.” The please is added as an afterthought, after a couple of seconds, adding to the idea that it’s something Wheatley does on purpose. Again, it’s why I at first thought it was a part of him trying to get the player character to do what he wants, but with further analysis it makes more sense to be in line with a decision to be encouraging, when all anyone else has ever done to him is be unkind.

[plinkamoon]

Moshi Monsters likely uses AI art

I need to talk about this. So recently Moshi Monsters' Facebook, TikTok, and Twitter accounts have recently posted this clip, and I'm going to dissect why this seems so suspicious as someone who is one of the admins in the Moshi Monsters Wiki.

So for context. Moshi Monsters was a family friendly MMO that shut down due to Adobe Flash ending. In this image we have a bright orange asteroid hitting on the ground of Main Street at Monstro City. It seems that this is foreshadowing for a potential Moshi Monsters revival beyond their spinoff and mindfulness apps. Overall, it screams AI to me. There are too many inconsistencies that most artists wouldn't make in the final cut, too many clashing styles, and the way shading and colours are chosen is too inconsistent with the theming. Multiple AI image detection websites say that it is very likely AI generated.

I am aware that generative AI detectors are not always accurate. But for there to be multiple websites saying the same thing with high certainty is a pattern, especially when there are many inconsistent design choices in the artwork itself that is not typical in Moshi Monsters media. There is an oddly shaped figure in the background that does not know if it wants to be a collapsing building or a windmill. There are also instances of bits of the sky being unusually layered over the buildings. There are also strange parts in the background that have blurs, which is typical of AI generated art.

The destroyed sign being destroyed in half but saying "(Wel)come [linebreak] To" also doesn't make any sense. The sign is supposed to reference the "Welcome to Monstro City" sign located in Main Street. When split in half it should have read as "come to [line break] tro city".

The only things in the art that one could argue resembles past Moshi Monsters media is the asteroid and the flames themselves. Their mindfulness and meditation app known as Moshi Kids primarily has Katja Hammond creating the artwork. She has drawn bits of asteroids and planets in the app. The way the orange asteroid is shaded also resembles her colouring style. The flames in the suspected AI art also resemble how fire is depicted in the Moshi Kids app.

HOWEVER, the suspicious part is that only SOME parts of the suspected AI art resemble her art style. Katja Hammond has a background in manga art and has a distinct and colourful art style overall. Her recent Moshi Kids art uses striking and dynamic poses and angles. So either: 1. The overall art is AI generated which took different art styles from different Moshi Monsters media, including Moshi Kids. OR 2. Katja Hammond drew some aspects of the art but either her or someone else in the team added some AI touches into the background and ground-ground. Personally, based on "vibes", Katja Hammond does not strike me as someone who would willingly use generative AI art. So Was There A Response? Multiple people have also noticed that it appears AI generated. The Moshi Monsters social media manager has denied allegations but with no proof on who the artist is or any proof of progress sketches.

It is true that there is a rampant problem with people being too quick to accuse AI to real life artists with little proof. However, this recent Moshi Monsters post has too much evidence stacked against its favour. Moshi Monsters socials eventually adjusted certain parts of the logo where the horns over the "M" are symmetrical and the eye above the "i" is in a more stable position.

I want to believe that the majority of the staff is unaware that their image is likely AI generated, so I tried to also talk about it on Twitter to see if it could do anything.

It would be very disappointing if the art is truly ai generated, because Moshi Monsters has always been a franchise about art and self-expression. Players could publish their fanart in the Googenheim Art Gallery (yes, that is the name please bare with me) in the MMO. There used to be yearly art competitions where the winner would have their Moshling design be made real. The Egg Hunt spinoff app has a gallery for younger artists. I've even made art for their magazines when I was a kid!!

There are many people like myself who played games like Moshi Monsters which served as a creative outlet for us to express ourselves, and this is a franchise that means a lot to me as a past autistic special interest. One of the main reasons I still use the Moshi Kids app every night is because I love the effort put into the art and music. I want to see the Moshi staff do better. You have a wonderful team of artists, please recognise their skill and passion. (Edit: Typos)

[captainjonnitkessler]

As someone who is an artist (not professionally, but I do have thousands of notes on one or two things I made), I wish the average Tumblr user artist (who maybe gets some tips in their Ko-Fi but does not do it professionally and isn't affected by workforce automation) were more willing to admit that it's about clout and attention and feedback and other things without a price tag. I wish we could talk about how to increase visibility for artists without co-opting labour language. Also, I have to say: Posting art online has always had its ups and downs. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Sometimes it's art thieves pretending your work is theirs, or repost accounts reposting an artwork and cashing in all the engagement while people ignore the artist who actually made it. It's always been a little rough, and a flood of AI art drowning out regular art stings, but feels like same old in a way. I'm used to having to fight for every scrap of engagement, you know? But the response the community has had to AI art? The witch hunts? People taking art people post for their followers and hyperanalyzing the pixels and shading and any lines that might be out of place to prove that the artist is "cheating"? Often without having a goddamn clue about anything? This from the community of art appreciators, the people who, theoretically, I'm posting FOR, when I post art for free? Now that makes me actively hate my own 'fanbase' and feel like I don't want to post anything for them. AI art in the art industry is one thing. But in the hobby circles, anti-AI art hysteria is so much worse for artists than the tech itself could ever be.

Thanks for speaking sense.

It does feel like there's an element of "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" present. Like we can't let AI artists hang around because what if *they* get all the fame and fortune *I* was supposed to get?!

But yeah. Yesterday I saw two different people comparing AI users to Nazis - one of whom was talking about dnd players who were just generating images of their dnd characters on a private server - and a person who runs an AI art blog getting multiple people telling them to kill themselves.

I fully support unions putting protections in place for their workers, I fully support people organizing to protect their jobs, and I fully support boycotting multi-million dollar companies who use AI instead of paying artists. But the sheer vitriol and hatred being leveled at people who are just fucking around having fun making stuff is so insanely overzealous right now. It's extremely performative and it's exhausting.