#(maybe I should try and replicate it digitally)

[banditblvd]

Something's happening

[mrs-hatake]

So~ I saw ur lad boys requests were open 👀🍵 and I was wondering if I could request their reaction if you were wearing a mini skirt and it accidentally rides up

a/n: sorry i'm late, anon! i hope you like it ^-^

Sylus:

April showers bring May flowers. As well as cool and sunny days. When one can finally shed off their thick winter coats and slip into something lighter, more colorful and maybe top it off by wearing a cropped jacket.

Y/N is strolling down the streets of Linkon, accompanied by children’s laughter and much needed heat after the long winter season. She doesn’t always spend her day off downtown, choosing to be lazy at home and recharge. But seeing how lovely the weather has gotten, she finds herself out of her pajamas and into a cute white knit top and black mini skirt. 

She doesn’t do much downtown; window shops for about an hour, grabs a late breakfast and stops by a flower shop.  When she enters the park to rest under a large tree with its leaves acting as an umbrella to shield her from the scorching noon sun, she spots an ice-cream truck. 

Happily eating her ice-cream, Y/N doesn’t notice a couple of boys chasing each other on their bikes. They rush past her, kicking dirt in their path and sending a strong gust of wind Y/N’s way. 

“Watch it!” Y/N yells after them, grumbling at how reckless kids are getting with each passing year. 

“Nice view.” Comes a comment, along with a satisfied whistle. 

Y/N turns, anger burning in her eyes and a stern talking to on her when she is met with a familiar handsome face, “Sylus?” She asks, her head tilting to the side. 

“In the flesh.” The man in question is sitting on a bench not too far from where the ice-cream truck is, a book between his large hands.

“What are you doing here-” Y/N cuts herself off when realization dawned on her that Sylus had seen her pale yellow underwear when those stupid boys zoomed by in their bikes, hiking up her mini skirt. 

A pretty blush dusts her cheeks and Y/N quickly averts her gaze from Sylus’ amused reds. 

Zayne:

Linkon’s Public Library is one of the city's most prominent buildings despite libraries being an outdated concept. After all, thanks to modern technology, everything is now digitized and an individual can gain access to billions of doors of information with a simple tap of their smart wrist watch.

Still, despite such conveniences, many still seek the warm embraces of a library. A place that feels familiar, as if reuniting with a relative after years apart. Even someone who has never been in a library before, can share this sentimentality. The aroma of book pages and the feel of the leather on the tip of the fingers, no modern device can replicate such sensations.

It’s why Y/N is spending her lunch break at the library instead of being at the cafeteria, eating and catching up with her colleagues. Although she loves them and would die for them, sometimes she needs a break.

And one of her favorite hobbies is picking up a book from the library and reading about previous generations, decades and centuries and their lifestyle.

She’s currently in the 21st century section, scanning the titles of various books when one at the very top catches her eyes; Surviving Quarantine and Covid-19. 

Y/N reaches up to grab it but the shelf is way too high for her to reach. Even when she stands on her tiptop, Y/N’s fingers still struggle to graze the book. She stretches and stretches to no avail. She tries to jump but that doesn’t help her wrap her fingers around the thick book. 

Just as Y/N tries to stand on the ledge of the book case to give her an extra boost, warmth engulfs her and an arm appears in her line of vision. Y/N is caught in a daze as a smooth looking hand easily grabs the book and pulls it out of the row of books. 

Following the arm, Y/N is pleased to see her doctor, “Zayne!”

Zayne isn’t someone who can show emotion on his handsome and youthful face but he has been trying as a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. 

“You should be more careful,” Zayne says as a form of greeting, “Your skirt was riding up. You never know who might be watching.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Y/N takes away the book, “Will do.” she chuckles awkwardly, unaware of the way Zayne’s gaze darts to her hips and back to her eyes. 

Zayne will take this to his grave but he was spending the past ten minutes watching Y/N trying to grab the book. Every time her skirt hitched, Zayne leaned further, nearly falling off of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N’s underwear. And he would’ve been successful if he didn’t hear people making their way to where they are. After all, only Zayne is allowed to watch such a mouthwatering sight. 

Caleb:

Finally…Finally, after six long months, Y/N wakes up with excitement buzzing through her veins and heart thundering wildly. Today’s the day Caleb is coming home after his training program. 

She spends an hour and a half in her bathroom; washing her hair with jasmine scented shampoo and rubs honeydew scrub on her limbs and abdomen, shaves all the tiny hairs littered across her body and curls her hair just the way Caleb likes it. 

Y/N then spends another hour trying to choose the perfect outfit to greet Caleb home.

After three mountains of clothes pile up in her room, Y/N decides to wear a white off shoulder top with a matching mini skirt.

Just as Y/N is doing her makeup, she hears a car door slamming from outside her window. Eyes widened in alarm, she rushes to her window where she spots Caleb leaning into the window of the electric yellow cab. 

Oh, no! He’s home early!

As if on maximum speed, Y/N spreads peach colored lip gloss across her lips and pats a thin layer of powdered blush on her cheeks in less than twenty seconds. She takes the stairs by two and is out the door just as Caleb is waving off the taxi driver.

“Gege!”

Caleb turns at the sweet call of his meimei, her cute nickname at the ready when it dies on his tongue. 

Everything around him slows. The sounds become muted and his surroundings fade away into a blur. Except for Y/N who shines like the morning sun. 

She is running towards Caleb but at the same time, curls bouncing in tune with her breasts and her skirt swaying with the breeze. 

Every time Y/N comes down from the stone stairs of the entry path of their grandmother’s home, Caleb’s blessed with the sight of Y/N’s cute lace pink underwear.

How Caleb wishes he’s wearing his video recording lenses right now. He doesn’t ever want to forget this heavenly sight.

“Gege!” Y/N calls again before jumping into Caleb’s eager and greedy arms.

“I’ve missed you!” She smiles up at him, “Did you miss me too?” she pouts at him and it takes all of Caleb’s will power not to kiss her. 

“Y-Yeah…” Caleb clears his throat, hides his face in her hair and inhales her scent–jasmine and honeydew– to calm himself down, “I’ve missed you too.”

Pleased with his answer, Y/N beams at him, pretty eyes glowing with delight like the night stars. 

Y/N leans into the hug, unaware of how her warmth sends a thrill down her spine, how his heart is beating so loud he’s scared she might hear it. Heat pools Caleb’s in his stomach, a familiar sensation that he had tried not to chase after so he gently, albeit regretfully, pushes Y/N away.

Before she can pout at him–pretty eyes filled with unshed tears– and send Caleb into a frenzy, he rushes to say, “I got you a present!”

Grateful for the distraction, Caleb guides Y/N to their grandmother’s house. As much as he wants Y/N, wants her for himself, it’s not the time…yet.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm realizing that there's a part of me that never really internalized the. Um. Principle of art? Idk what to call it–Why art doesn't have to be skillful, or maybe, more specifically, why a person should not just give up if their work is not perfect, why a person's work should be worth anything if it's not "good" especially if they aren't willing to break their backs to improve. Whenever I see people who talk about art like that what I've always done is keep it in mind,bit inside I've always just wished I understood how what their saying is true. If it's true.

So when someone says "AI Art has no soul" for a fraction of a second I think "this sounds like baloney, what does that mean?" Before I remember myself and think "oh huh, yeah, I've seen people talk about how AI really just isn't as advanced or capable of the profit that all the company's and investors think it is, and there are doubtlessly things a veteran artist can do that these programs can't pull off, even if I'm not skilled enough to know what those are yet." And therefore when I come across people online talking about, say, the glaring limitations of LLMs that are now a headache because of how many people blindingly trust them to do their writing for them, that always makes more sense to me than people who talk about "AI art having no soul" and such. And I suspect a big part of it is some sort of insecurity of mine

Because I didn't realize that this is how I felt (I thought I was just mostly, in every part of me, Anti AI, like ‘fuck that noise’ y'know?) Until it came to bite me in the ass. A woman who's like my sister though we aren't related, is letting me live in her house as I try to get my bearings and handle on life after deciding to push my last year of college back a year, and she's like, a capable adult with experience in the job market and some industries so I trust her when she says "you know you're going to have to focus on developing your painting and traditional art skills, since with the Advent of AI Art, no one wants to pay for that service anymore." Because that makes sense. Artists in my country, as far as my college goes anyway, are embracing and trying to figure out how to integrate AI into their workflow so as not to be taken over by it. So the market has definitely changed, I've not really met another artist here who has any profoundly negative views of AI art, definitely customers are for the most part the same. For some job security, I better get a handle on the form of art that can't be replicated well by AI.

And yet I feel horrible. Because now I fear it's going to be a thing where any digital.art I may end up doing in this house will be looked upon disapprovingly. Because I'm not as good in traditional painting and I should be focusing on that, there's no need to be putting so much of my energy into digital art like this because it's no longer going to bring me money. All the personal projects I'm doing, my animatics, my oc character sheets are as they have always been, a waste of time or the thing I tend to focus on rather than my school work art. It doesn't matter that I've realized I kind of hate painting, I still prefer it to every other section of art I could have chosen to specialize in (digital art is under graphic design and I hate graphic design and Photoshop/Adobe/coreldraw etc.) And all of that is bumming me out because my main drive for art seems to be in my personal art despite it getting in the way of school work. And I can't stand the thought that it's not worth anything, that I should take a break from it, that AI art is better at it than me therefore there's no point to it. But what else am I supposed to do when I'm not entirely sure how much of all.that is false? And it's become apparent my entire philosophy of art is on shaky ground.

I just want to know and understand the truth so I can stop feeling this way. I'm sorry for the long ask I'm just really conflicted

--

I'm honestly confused about what your philosophy of art even is.

The vibes I'm getting off of this ask are 1. depression/anxiety and 2. extremely black-and-white thinking.

There is no single Truth™ in art, though there are strong tendencies. AI art sucks for some ethical reasons, regardless of whether the art is pleasing to the eye. AI art also sucks because the way it is programmed leads it to default to one style of human face unless explicitly told not to. "AI has no souuuuul" is silly nonsense. Plenty of boring art by humans also feels soulless.

The actual issue is that "Draw a hot girl" elicits lots of different responses from human artists. AI goes straight for AI Face. There has been drama and much hilarity about shitty book covers where what was supposed to be this individual character has ended up with AI Face in a really visible way. AI also suuuuucks at drawing hands or having little details correct. (Like... even more than human artists already suck at hands, which lbr, is a lot.) AI is objectively bad at art in a bunch of formal ways. It may get better over time, and the least discerning type of customer does not notice, but it does, in fact, suck at its job.

AI art is preferred because it is cheap.

This is the same principle as moving factory jobs from country to country looking for the lowest paid labor.

If you want to make money on art, you have to find something that cannot be done elsewhere and for less. For many people, this means building a cult of personality around themselves so that they are the product and are not replaceable.

You do not sound like someone who wants to be a commercial artist.

I get that you feel you have no obvious path to supporting yourself, but that doesn't mean you actually want to be an artist. Hobby art has plenty of value emotionally and for enriching your life. It does not need to make money to have value.

However, if you want to make a living at art, basic digital arts skills already wouldn't have paid the bills before AI took over, at least not in any market I'm familiar with. The people who pay rent this way generally have a strong interest in multiple types of art, and they are far more interested in fulfilling a brief from a client.

--

Honestly, nonnie, if you can't already tell how bad AI is at digital photorealistic paintings or whatever, I think you do need to go focus on painting classes.

It's not that I think you should be a painter, but if your art school is any good, they should have some instruction on formal, traditional art aesthetics. This will include things like anatomy and composition.

It is that da Vinci Michelangelo shit that will set one digital artist apart from another. I see way too many people whose whole education was drawing bishies for DeviantArt. They refine and refine and refine the surface details without ever addressing the underlying issues with proportion and perspective.

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

First of all, very in love with the digital reader fic you put out <3

But since reader expressed not knowing why they were in hell I just couldn't help myself from thinking about this-

Reader: I don't even know why I'm here, the hell did I ever do?

Lucifer: Didn't you crash over half of all the systems on earth when you were alive?

Reader: That was an accident! I was only trying to crash like...ten!

Just a goofy thought that popped into my head- destructive characters that are chaotic on accident my beloved lmao-

Kisses darling <3

-📽

Sweet silly little Lucifer with his ducks. I feel like everyone thinks he's completely aware of everything happening in Hell at all times. Meanwhile, he's just making ducks and missing his daughter and can't remember the last time he ate.

Digital Pet [Vox x Reader, but this is a Lucifer interaction]

What Do You Mean You Don't Know

You'd been surfing through the digital plane like any other day. Vox had his schedule completely full, so you were on your own the pass the time. You hopped between windows that led into various devices all around Hell.

It was hard to tell where you were most of the time, but a part of you was convinced that you could slip into the devices of demons outside the Pride Ring. You'd once seen hellhounds and succubi at a party when you'd peeked into a large screen behind a DJ on stage. The large venue was covered in honeycombs and you saw some sort of lava lamp-looking furry doing shots in the middle of the energized crowd. While the aesthetic was similar enough to what you'd seen in the sinner's little slice of Hell, it felt... different.

It was precious information you decided to hold close to your chest. Maybe you'd tell Vox one day but from everything you'd seen about his power-hungry reputation, you decided it may be best not to play your card too soon. For all you know, it was just an exclusive club with different vibes. It wasn't unheard of for demons from the other rings to come to the clubs in Pride.

You were floating through an endless hall of screens and lights, looking between the different windows into the world you couldn't hope to touch when you saw a face that made you double-take.

"Is that..." You float back and gasp as you get a closer look that confirms your suspicions. "Oh, you motherfucker!"

Lucifer let out a startled yelp, dropping the duck he'd been painting as he fell out of his chair. He'd just been minding his own business, listening to some light jazz while he made duckie replicas of his daughter and all her little friends at the hotel when a loud voice suddenly blasted over the music on his laptop.

He frowned as he looked down and saw his white pants splatted with the fresh red paint of Alastor's duck. He was on his ninth attempt at replicating the cocky jerk and had finally been on the verge of getting his stupid grin right when you startled him.

"Oh great," Lucifer grumbled as he pulled himself off of the ground. "It's already bad enough I have a growing pile of ducks dedicated to this prick, now he's ruining my clothes too."

Lucifer leaned over his desk, trying to see what sort of pop-up advertisement or virus had gotten on his system when he suddenly saw you watching him with crossed arms. Your small form glared at him from where you sat atop of his video player.

"A sinner...?" Lucifer blinked slowly before looking at you in awe. He could see your soul and recognized you as a person immediately. "What on Earth are you doing in there?"

"You tell me!" you point at him angrily. "You're the guy in charge of this shit, aren't you? What did I ever do to you?! I didn't do anything to deserve a worse Hell than everyone else."

"How should I know?" Lucifer squawked as he threw up his arms in defense... "I haven't gone outside in... wait, what day is it?"

"How do you not know?" You ask, the two of you amping each other up in your confusion. "You're Lucifer! This is literally your entire thing!"

"Uh, excuse you," Lucifer tsked as he placed a hand on his chest. "I'll have you know I am a man of ducks and dadness. Not keeping track of every soul that drops into Hell. Do you have any idea just how many of you die a day? A lot. Too many. Just. Please get better at staying alive, I beg you."

You deadpan at him before shaking your head with a sigh. "Well, do you at least know how to get me out of the digital plane? I'd like to actually eat food or let my feet touch the ground o-or sleep in a bed!"

"Uhh," Lucifer laughed nervously. "Yeaaaah, no. Nope. Sorry uh, no. Technology isn't something I really know anything about. I'd love to help but uh, yeah... no."

You groan, obviously disappointed in his answer as you flop over to the side and let your frustration win in the moment. You run a hand down your face and look up at the great devil of Hell with a sigh.

"Do you at least have any idea why I'm in Hell and not Heaven?"

Lucifer hummed, squinting at you as he ran a history check on your soul. It took a lot longer to find a reason than he expected, but then he finally landed on it.

"Ah, there it is," he muttered. "Looks like you ate the last slice of birthday cake in the fridge back in your college days."

Your jaw drops, for a couple of reasons. The top reason should have been that such a little thing damned your soul for eternity. However, your priorities were a bit skewed. Which became transparently obvious as you exclaimed, "Excuse me?! It was MY birthday cake!"

"Yeah, but they called dibs," Lucifer shook his head with a sigh. "Heaven takes dibs very seriously. And as you should know by now, I don't make the rules."

The powerful demon grumbled like a child as you recovered from the absolute bullshit that was your afterlife. It wasn't until you'd sat back up that you looked past Lucifer and finally noticed his room.

"Why the fuck are there so many ducks?"

[pushspacetocontinue]

Tides and Truths (Narrative)

In which Russell finds out what made him so scared of the ocean in the first place.

Trigger warning for brief mentions of verbal and physical abuse.

"So guys, real, real talk a, a minute..." Russell said, as he poured water on the dried ghast he had found.

"Aw no..." David only said, "You're not going to give us some lecture about the best way to get back to the ghastling farm from this cave, are you? More boring than Bradley's lessons on the most effective plant proteins."

"You're lost again, aren't you?" Bradley quipped.

"No," David said, before sighing when Travis started laughing, "Maybe... all right, I should have been marking the directions better."

"How many ghastlings is that now?" Truman's soft voice spoke up from the headset, "Are we going to replicate James and the Giant Peach anytime soon?"

"We got twelve," Simon said, "So if you want to really do that, we're going to need four hundred and ninety."

"Fuck that," David said, "Let's just get forty."

"Are we sure that twenty each is going to lift up our platforms for this air fight?" Truman asked.

"As fun as this is," Martin spoke up then. His voice was firm, but gentle, "Russell was talking."

"Ah yeah, sorry, Custard," David said, "What were you saying?"

"Do, do, do any of, of you, of you know why I'm, I'm afraid of, of the, the ocean?" Russell asked, "Did, did something happen, or, or was I, was I just, was I just always afraid?"

There was some silence from everyone else. The only noises that could be heard were the nearby chickens and sheep from David's digital ranch.

"Well, you weren't always afraid, and while it could be because you were essentially traumatised, it could be because you were quite young at the time," Truman started.

"Wasn't he six?" Bradley asked.

"Five," Simon corrected, "Turning six that October."

"I remember that," Martin said, "I had to have surgery."

"For your liver, right?" Travis asked.

"No, my appendix needed taking out, my liver wasn't that messed up yet," Martin said, "That was a few years later. And Lewis was with Enda after she took that nasty fall and broke her ankle."

"Oh yeah. I remember that part. Was Gracie born then?" Truman asked, "Or at least close to it?"

"Close to it, so Enda being almost in the third trimester and having a broken ankle meant she needed some help," Simon said, as his player character then walked up and placed some iron ore into the nearby furnace, "I really need to get some more gold."

"Have, have some of mine," Russell said, "I'm, I'm watering these, these ghasts at, at the moment."

"Thanks, Custard," Simon replied.

"So some new neighbours took us the beach," Truman said, "Simon didn't go."

"Of course not," Simon said, "I had better things to do."

"So, it was me, David, Bradley, Custard, and you, right, Truman? Us five?" Travis asked.

"Yeah," Truman confirmed, "And to be honest, as the oldest brother there, I should have been keeping a better eye on you guys."

"What, were you too busy showing off and trying to look cute for any guy that walked past?" Bradley joked.

"Like you weren't doing the exact same for any girl who happened to walk past," Truman retorted, "You were flexing between all those volleyball throws like some absolute jerk jock."

"Touche," Bradley said.

"You'd think it would be me doing that," Travis said, "I think I was building a sandcastle, wasn't I?"

"No, David was burying you," Truman said. Simon laughed out loud that image, "Not in that way, I think you both got the idea to try and shape the sand so you'd look like a muscle man, but you just looked like a lump."

"I, I guess I, I was too close to, to the water or, or something," Russell finally found the will to speak again. His heart had started to pound at this event he just couldn't remember.

"We should have known better," Martin said, "You can swim of course. Lewis and I made sure of that, but we didn't think to warn you about riptides and what they look like."

"I, I was, I was pulled into, into a riptide?!" Russell asked. Well, that explained a lot.

"Yeah, Travis was the first one to notice you in the water, suddenly being dragged away," Truman said, "And you know, you were just a kid, and you clearly panicked and tried to resist it, swimming against it as hard as you could. But you quickly wore yourself out."

"So their credit, Travis and David did want to come after you," Bradley explained, "But we didn't want them to put themselves in danger as well and have three little brothers in danger. We were going to grab a life guard but..."

"She was like an angel from the heavens. This lady came up in a boat and managed to fish you out," Truman said, "She was full on leaning out, using her foot to keep herself anchored, and almost entirely in the water herself."

"I can only imagine it from your point of view, Custard," Travis said, as his character got out a piece of bread to eat, "Being so small, and tired, can't breathe, and surrounded by nothing but just this deep blue abyss on all sides."

Russell's breathing had quickened and his heart had started drumming in his chest. A cold sweat had formed on the back of his neck and his palms.

"Oh well done, Travis," Simon said, "You really had to kick his imagination into gear."

"Sorry. My bad," Travis said, sheepishly, "You're okay, Custard. You're all good. You're not there. It can't hurt you."

Russell forced himself to take a few deep breaths and then gently stroked Misty along her fluffy back, making her chirp.

"And you were rescued," Truman said, "But the neighbours very quickly decided the trip was over after you were brought back to the shore."

"I think we told Ma some lie about how Travis tried to drown you or threw you into the water too hard or something," Bradley said.

"Oh wow, blame me," Travis said.

"Well, we knew you'd get off lightly," David said, "She would have been more mad about the fact you didn't seriously injure Custard or kill him than an actual attempt. I think she only gave you a slight slap with just her hand or call you something. Not that her behaviour was okay or anything, but it wasn't bad it could have been."

"Fair point," Travis said, there was a rustling of clothes, indicating that he was getting himself into a better position or shrugging, "But yeah, that was pretty much it."

"I'm, I'm real sor-sorry to, to have made you, made you all talk, talk about it," Russell said, "I uh, I didn't realise it, it was that bleak."

"You have a right to know, and that might give you some idea of how you want to face that fear, should you decide to," Martin said, "It happened to you after all. But seeing as we're having real talk at the moment, I want to discuss something a little more light-hearted."

"Yeah, I, I think me, me being scarred for, for life is, is some-something we, we can move aw-away from," Russell agreed.

There were a few other words or noises of agreement from the rest of the brothers.

"All right, good to know we're pretty much on the same page," Martin sounded satisfied, "I was thinking that we could probably talk about what we could do on Lewis' 50th heavenly birthday in November..."

[mira--image]

Bit of a behind the scenes for you guys today ;D

Before I start drawing, I look for references of the character and location so I can make it more accurate to the show. I especially like looking for little details to add, like giving Robin the same lamp as Cyborg. These were the ones I used for this piece:

I usually have a clear image for the drawing in my head, and so I loosely block out the shapes to try and get it as close to the way it's framed in my mind as possible.

I fiddle with it a bit to try and improve the composition, like how he should hold up the jumpsuit to maximize the impact of the red fabric, and where the lamp should be: in between him and the suit, or nearby?

If my initial sketch is too messy, I start over on a clean piece of paper and try to replicate the composition of my first sketch while adding detail. I map out where I want to put light and shadow so I can do the next step: color blocking!

Instagram comes in handy for this, since I can upload my sketch and make sure my plan for the colors looks good before I commit on paper.

Finally, I do the lineart and add the colors. I only use two grey markers and two lineart pens (A thick one to color in the black areas and a thin one to replicate the show's lineart). I like keeping it simple, and can feel a bit intimidated by color theory. The more barriers I can remove between me and drawing, the better, so black and white it is.

I usually edit the raw photo in my phone's photo app, but for this particular one, I had to sneak onto Procreate for the first time in years so I could make the image black and white but keep the red! I've tried drawing digitally before, but it keeps giving me migraines (maybe it's from focusing on a screen?), so I'm kind of an obligate traditional artist haha. This is fine by me, because I like having off-screen hobbies! And I like the forced limitations of the medium. It adds a bit of a problem-solving element to drawing that I enjoy.

Fun fact, while I was drawing this, my light grey marker ran out of ink. It was a struggle to finish it but I managed somehow 😂. Fear not, I bought another one today, so I'll be able to get back to drawing ;D

Here's a bonus of the same process for the chapter 3 art!

Also, the posting time is about to change, as I'm returning to Canada after a trip visiting family in Europe ^^

[Masterpost]

[underforeversgrace]

shattered saviors

DannyMay2023 Day 21: Shatter

title: shattered saviors

words: 2475

Complete

Summary: Danny gets a horrifying glimpse into the intense negative reaction of Amity Park, and especially his parents, when Dani is accidentally revealed to be half ghost and is taken into GIW custody. (Courtesy of @danphanwritingprompts post here.)

AU: None/pre season 3

Warnings: Minor Character Death

Beta: @probably-dead

~~~~~~

“In other news today, the Guys in White have released a statement on the hybrid they recently discovered, dubbed Danielle Phantom for her striking similarity to our own Danny Phantom.” The image of the reporter faded, instead showing a picture of a document against a blue screen, various sentences digitally highlighted in yellow as she read them. “Today, the experiment known as Danielle Phantom was successfully Faded. We were able to confirm the hybridism found in ‘Danielle’ was unique and unable to be replicated, there is no fear of other hybrids at this time. We thank the people of Amity Park who have supported us despite the small group of teenage protestors. We hope peace can return to the city, now that the creature has been disposed of. Its connection to Danny Phantom is still unclear, but we will continue to study the remains in hopes of discovering it.”

The image of the reporter reappeared, easily sliding into the next topic - something about the upcoming holidays - but ice began to creep up the screen.

“Danny?” Tucker asked at his side, shivering at the chill coming from his best friend.

The halfa turned to Tucker and he tried to rein in his ice. Tucker was only human, after all. Before Danny could say anything his phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, not even checking the caller ID before answering it. He knew who it was.

“I didn’t get her in time.” Vlad said, regret and guilt in his voice.

“She’s gone? She’s really gone?” Danny asked, too numb to even cry.

“I was able to confirm that via my connections, yes. They got me in to see her too late.”

��Okay.” Danny said, ending the call.

His entire being felt disconnected from reality. Danielle was dead. Caught in a trap meant for him. They’d been holding protests for two weeks, trying to insist she was human enough to be released, to not be tortured. Almost all of the youth of Amity had stood behind her, even Wes, who had stopped trying to expose Danny as soon as he heard what happened to Ellie.

But the adults were louder, more able. And they insisted that Ellie was dangerous and needed to be contained. A ghost who could pretend to be human? What havoc could they cause and then fly completely under the radar? The negative influence on the youth of Amity, who were already too pro-ghost to begin with?

Even Vlad had tried to save her - though Danny still was unsure if it was because he genuinely was afraid for her or just that the GIW had a halfa in their custody.

Danny couldn't remember the rest of the night. He just existed, too numb to hurt or think or do anything.

Days passed in that fog. He went to school. He pretended to learn. He stopped ghost attacks. He tried to sleep. Every night, he just faced the same nightmares. Danielle, experimentally tortured until she died screaming, alone and in pain, wondering where her brother/cousin was, maybe even wondering where her father was.

It should have been him. The trap was meant for him. He should be the one dead.

Vlad somehow got Ellie’s body. She had left behind a human corpse, not a pile of destabilized goo. Vlad had tried to check her, to see if maybe she had somehow survived, maybe this was some sort of protective hibernation state. But Vlad looked and he found her still heart, found her shattered core. He and Danny buried her body in the back of Vlad’s mayoral mansion. They didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t human. She couldn’t get a headstone or a human grave. So instead of being mourned properly, she was placed into a shallow grave, only the other halfas present. No one else had ever met her.

Well, no one else had ever met her who loved her.

No one who had ever met her who hadn’t hurt her, a sin even Vlad and Danny were guilty of.

Still, Danny went to school. Pretended to learn. Fought ghosts. Slept only for nightmares to haunt him.

The other students had looked bad for the first few days. It was hard not to, everyone had seen Danielle’s human side, seen a terrified twelve year old girl who’d fallen two stories after being shot by a power nullification weapon only to be held at gunpoint by government agents while she cried. Eventually, though, even the high schoolers returned to normal.

It should’ve been Danny. Danny should be the one rotting in the ground. Not Danielle.

Not Danielle.

Danny didn’t listen to his parents in the month following Danielle’s death. They wished they had gotten the chance to study her themselves, see how hybridism was even possible. Run their own battery of tests, torture her themselves. The parents didn’t understand why he and Jazz were pulling away from them. 

The numbness didn’t let up until six weeks later. A weekend patrol and he’d stumbled across an animal ghost attacking a human on the edge of town, the person hiding under a personal ghost shield of Fenton creation on their wrist.

Danny didn’t even have to fight the animal, it was low level enough he could just trap it immediately in the Thermos. He was about to fly away when the human stopped him.

“Oh thank God, Phantom!” He said, turning off the shield.

Hmph. They didn’t even feel the need for a shield around him, a full ghost for all they knew, yet had damned Ellie to hell under a scalpel. Danny wasn’t going to even respond, just leave, until he recognized the man’s face.

“I know you.” Danny said, the numb mask he’d hidden behind starting to fracture.

“You’ve saved me a few times!” The man said, a relaxed grin on his face.

“You were an organizer for the pro-GIW protests.” Danny responded, ice beginning to form on the ground far beneath his feet, his words cold and devoid of any happy emotion.

The man paled slightly, taking a step back. “Uh… she was dangerous!” He tried to excuse pitifully.

“And I’m not?” Danny asked, drifting closer to the man, less than six inches from his face as Danny’s mask of numbness shattered under the force of his anger, not even blinking. “I’m not?”

“You’re not…” the man gulped anxiously. “Your obsession is protecting us. You wouldn’t hurt us.”

“Obsessions. Aren’t. Real.” He hissed, grabbing the man’s wrist and squeezing until the man screamed. Danny didn’t even know the man’s name, just that he’d been a very public organizer in the campaign to keep Danielle in the government’s hands.

“Stop! Please!”

“Do you think my sister begged?” Danny growled. “For them to please stop as they tortured her, murdered her?”

“Sister?” The man repeated weakly.

“Sister.” Danny confirmed, danger in his voice. Danny had been numb for over a month and a half at this point and now his anger had cracked through the numbness and he found himself understanding Dan a little bit better.

“You’re a hybrid too?” The man realized, visibly shaking in panic, desperately trying to pull his wrist from Danny’s ironclad grip.

Danny felt the grin creep onto his face. He felt like he should probably care that he was delighting in this terror, in what he was about to do. “I am. But I can’t risk the Guys in White learning that, can I?” He finally answered. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he squeezed harder on the man’s wrist, shattering both his bone and the personal shield he wore.

The man screamed in agony, collapsing to his knees as soon as Danny released him. Danny had never enjoyed hurting anything and had never hurt a human before, but this was downright elating. “I’m sorry!” The man yelled, looking up at Danny’s angry, unblinking, glowing green eyes.

“I’m not.” Danny answered, uncapping the Thermos and releasing the ghostly animal. The man tried to scramble backwards but Danny summoned a shield, trapping the three of them within it. The animal looked to Danny, submitting to the more powerful ghost, before glancing at the trembling human, whose hand was rapidly turning purple, though the animal did sit, deferring to Danny once more.

Danny hadn’t really looked at the creature before trapping it so he took a moment to study it, the man beginning to sob. Maybe a coyote or wolf? It looked too big to be a dog - not that it really mattered, he supposed, considering Cujo. It didn’t help that the animal hadn’t held its form very well, its edges too wispy and curvy for any real animal. Wolf, he decided.

His study of the wolf done, he returned to the man, staring directly into his eyes. The man flinched at the anger, the rage he saw. “Please…” the man tried to beg, crying. “I have a family.”

“So did she.” Danny said, turning to the animal. “Sic ‘em.” He ordered.

The wolf, despite being unable to truly understand Danny’s words, understood his intent and read his aura. It stood, growling as it slowly approached the human.

Danny had always thought the screams of someone being hurt would rip into his very being, a failure for his self-appointed job of protecting Amity.

But he didn’t feel bad. Human blood had already been spilt here and it hadn’t been by a ghost.

If the humans didn’t even care… why should he? Why should he give a damn about human life?

For the first time in two years, a human had died to a ghost. And Danny didn’t care. They were lucky he bothered to catch the wolf at the end of it, petting its cold head as it licked blood from its muzzle.

The next day was when Danny learned the man’s name. Edward Canton, leaving behind a widow and two young children. Still, Danny didn’t care, even as he heard snippets of conversation at school.

“I can’t believe someone actually died.” An underclassman whispered.

“I didn’t think any of the ghosts would ever actually hurt us.” Another said in hushed tones.

“Are we in danger?” Someone else wondered.

The thing he heard the most, the repeated question.

“Where was Phantom?”

“How could Phantom let this happen?”

“Doesn’t Phantom always protect us?”

The questions were echoed in the news, by the adults, even by his parents, wondering if this death would finally destroy Phantom from his ‘failure’ to save the human, ‘failure’ to sustain his Obsession.

For a city who had let a child be tortured to death for being only part ghost, they were awfully reliant on a suspected full-ghost.

“Are you… the death, are you alright?” Sam asked.

“I can’t always save everyone.” Danny said, feigning sadness.

“How are you holding up?” Tucker asked later.

“I’ll be fine. I can’t be everywhere at once.” He’d answered, still pretending to be sad.

He couldn’t tell Sam or Tucker. They’d never understand his decision to let the man - the man who didn’t even deserve a name, as far as Danny was concerned - be killed. To watch and do nothing. To take pleasure in the screams. They’d worry he was becoming Dan. He wasn’t, though.

Danny tried to put his mask back on after, to be engulfed in the comfort of numbness, but the mask was gone and left only anger behind. He could no longer access the fog that allowed him to drift through life.

More weeks passed, now nearly three months since the announcement of Danielle’s death. Danny had at least found a routine… though it wasn’t his old one. He still went to school and pretended to learn. Still struggled to sleep and battled nightmares of Ellie’s screams. But the ghost fights?

Well… the ones who deserved to be saved, he still saved. Children and teens, people who’d joined the protests, who were too young to protest. But no adult had joined to try to save her. No adult was innocent. Whether through action or inaction, all were guilty of her death.

So he would watch the joy and relief on their faces when they saw Phantom come to save them, only to turn to terror and panic when he trapped them, when he simply stared at them and watched them die. When he grinned at their screams, when he asked them if they thought Ellie begged for her life the way they were begging for theirs.

When they realized their savior was not bound to protecting them and they had pushed him too far.

“Aren’t you going to save them?” Vlad Masters asked, watching people run from the opposite direction, a commotion they couldn’t yet see from the restaurant the two sat at. They’d begun to bond after Danielle’s death, Vlad’s guilt finally soothing out some of his more evil edges and Danny growing more tolerant of what was still there.

“I save innocents.” Danny answered, shrugging, poking at the food in front of him. His appetite still had not returned.

“So the rumors from the Realms are true. You’ve stopped saving people.” Vlad stated, taking a sip of his nearly boiling tea. Heat didn’t hurt him like ice didn’t hurt Danny.

“If they aren’t innocent, yes.”

“Who’s innocent?”

“The ones who tried to save Danielle and anyone who was too young to help.”

“So, what? All the adults of Amity are guilty?” Vlad asked, a smirk sliding onto his face.

“Of either encouraging the GIW outright or of the same thing I am.” Danny confirmed.

“Which is?”

“Watching and doing nothing because it isn’t my problem.”

Vlad chuckled. “You’re becoming more and more like me, little badger.”

Danny paused as he realized Vlad was right. He was making decisions based on who he felt had slighted him or Danielle, decisions with potentially fatal consequences. Again, he sought a feeling of guilt.

Again, he found none. “If they wanted a ghostly hero, they shouldn’t have been so obvious in their ghost hatred.”

“How are your friends and sister taking that?”

“They think I’m ashamed. That I care about and mourn everyone I don’t save. Maybe the town will earn their hero back. Until then?” Danny paused, pointing across the street where an adult woman was cornered, cowering under the glare of two humanoid ghosts Danny couldn’t place a name to. She screamed as their claws dug into her. “Until then, it isn’t my problem.”

“How would they earn you back?”

Danny shrugged. “That’s their problem to figure out. An apology to begin with would be nice. But they’ll never do that, will they?”

And the topic moved to more bland conversations even as the woman’s dying screams echoed around them.

But it was fine. Danny wasn’t actively killing anyone, so he wasn’t becoming Dan, and that was all he’d promised.

[ellevandersneed]

One of my nagging fears is that someone will or already has screengrabbed a bad take of mine and used me as an example to define the type of person they don't like. I can get really paranoid over my little posts. It's simultaneously a matter of actual insecurity on my part - I find it difficult to live unabashedly as myself for a variety of reasons that I am slowly but surely working on - but it is also sort of a legitimate fear based on the experience of hanging around terminally online people for a large chunk of my life. How long until I have become the non-entity whose existence symbolizes miserable idiocy. How long until I get to play the NPC or the secret liberal pig or the miserable killjoy. Have I been psychoanalyzed by an angry 19 or 33 year old yet? Maybe if it ever happens and I stumble across the digital plaque with my dog face and tumblr handle, a short wall of text made in the moment without much serious thought, captioned by a diatribe about how miserable and pathetic and tiresome this person (me) must be - I'll be able to suddenly realize, on a much deeper level than I do now, that this is an overrated, petty fear. Maybe I'll remember some childhood persecution or familial expectation and be able to process it better. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and the world suddenly turns to pudding and the river becomes lemonade and the great many rusted metal things that line the riverbed transmogrify into delicious rock candy of so many colors and shapes. Maybe I'll have to put in the work and actively fight this insecurity or maybe I can ignore it and do some hard work (and be set free) and one day it won't bug me anymore. Maybe I should tell a friend or a therapist. Maybe I'll learn the process of making rock candy, and make those many shapes and colors and put them on sticks and bring them to parties. Maybe I'll pick up a guitar again and practice until my fingers don't feel so clumsy and I can strum the Flintstones theme effortlessly. I'll ride in a riverboat, plucking out a tune and while I rest my hands I can dip an empty tankard in the river and pull up a draught of sweet lemonade. The boat could go out to sea, and I'll swing below deck whenever the sun or the rain get to be too much for me. The ship could carry a great many underwater compartments. It could house an entire apartment complex that shrinks and grows on the outside, depending on the circumstances, but is always the same size on the inside. I could cover the floors with carpets from around the world. I could sit and look at the famous Persian flaw of an Iranian rug covered in beautiful designs and woven with red, orange, cream, burgundy, cerulean threads and think of my insecurities. What is perfection in a world without a perfect being? Is this idea of improvement, infinite improvement, an attempt to help others and myself or am I just trying to replicate the proverbial Jesus of a pseudo-secular mindset. Am I actually challenging my own insecurities - my petty, trifling, in-sig-nificant insecurities - by thinking in terms of... "Well... other people don't act or think like this. You don't want to act like the wrong type of person, do you?"

I could sit, cross legged and sipping riverwater lemonade, the tips of my fingers sore from pressing down on strings and plucking at them, and ponder all of this forever. The rock candy formations of the riverbed would glide by. Tufts of seaweed that had been transformed into strips of gummy candy filled with sealed pockets of sweet syrup would brush up against the hull of my boat. Swedish fish would wriggle past, or they would sit tight as the tide pulled them in the direction they wanted to go. The world would keep happening regardless. I wonder if I would just be taking myself with me if I were to walk away from this little imperfection in the rug. If I stood up and began to look for problems to fix, tightening pipes, sealing leaks, arranging furniture, I could lose myself, or maybe my flaw would manifest in the ways I behaved. I would be very far from that boy they strung up a couple thousand years back, indeed. So I continue to sit on my rug. I think that maybe, if I sat here long enough, I'd be able to solve the problem that is myself - unravel every knot in my heart so perfectly - that I could leave that part of myself here on the rug to be thrown overboard later. I would, of course, obtain the great goal of enlightenment and be a being of pure light and energy. I would do anything I wanted to. I would become morally invincible, I would become a "good person." It would finally all be over. So I spend the rest of my life, sitting on the rug, unraveling knot after knot - not realizing that the strings that make me who I am are perfectly tying themselves right back up when I'm not looking. Meanwhile the rock candy and the gummy seaweed and the Swedish fish and the whole of the lemonade river would still be passing me by until all of it was eventually long gone and I was all alone - enlightened but alone - the knots would all tie themselves back up pretty quickly indeed if this were the happen. The solace worth taking is that, at least, the knots will be different. At best they will be variations of their old configurations. Fun.

The only other choice seems to be to get up, live life, play songs and fix leaks and drink lemonade and sail with other boats and dance on other decks and help other sailors and eat new candy sealife and live and live and live while stopping every so often to check on that little insecurity in me to see how she's doing. I can augment how I listen and how I communicate and how I set boundaries and how I respect boundaries and try to be a little kinder and forgive myself and do all of the many little things that are in vogue right now while still living. Not unaware and paranoid or sitting still on the floor staring at the tiniest of threads but actually living life as a maker of mistakes and a sad, sweet, happy, angry, patient animal and an artist and a writer and a friend and a neighbor and a stranger. I just won't do it with eyes closed. Or I won't force myself to keep them open if I the strain becomes to much. Or if sleeps call is too sweet. I am tired now. I am so sleepy.

[abigailmoment]

I really want to write a fic about Astarion and the man he couldn't bring himself to bring to Cazador, but I don't think I'm currently able to do so. I enjoy creative writing, but I lack the skill and experience required to make an actually good story (plus I need to do research on 15th century sailing and nobility which is a little bit intimidating). Do you have any advice on what I should do?

Ah. That's a tragic subject for a story. Very compelling.

I understand being intimidated by a beautiful idea, worried you won't be able to do justice to it. I get that sometimes when I'm trying to play characters I'm used to writing in live action or tabletop roleplaying games. It's like: "I need a thesaurus and a minute of composition for every sentence you produce. How am I supposed to generate your voice in real time?" I sometimes end up feeling guilty that I'm not doing right by them.

It's painful to know you're not doing something as well as you want to be, but I also think it's really good for us. There should be less perfectionism in the world. It should be okay to do things you're passionate about even if they're not up to the (frankly absurd) standards we hold ourselves to in a society where we can infinitely replicate masterpieces digitally.

I'd suggest just writing it. You know what you find beautiful about the idea--maybe write down all the parts you're most interested in, and then string them together. That's how I like to do things sometimes. I would also only do that research if the act of doing it will bring you joy.

[burnwater13]

IG-11 sketch, pencil on off white paper. Image modified digitally to enhance lines, making background color blue/green. Image based on the character IG-11 from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 1, The Mandalorian. Sketch by me.

Home! They were back at home and on their way to Nevarro City and Grogu couldn’t wait to implement the first step of his plan. He would find out where IG-11-M was stationed that day and go visit with him. He had an excuse all made up for why he needed to see the Marshal and he felt sure the Mandalorian would be fine with it. After all, how many people survived a meeting with an HK droid? Grogu was sure IG-11-M would know all about that droid. How could they not?

He helped his dad unpack the N-1, for the little bit of this and that you could store in that ship, making sure to eat all the food, snacks, and tidbits he normally left in the ship so they could age appropriately. He didn’t want to get distracted by hunger when they were at the High Magistrate’s offices. Then he’d lose momentum and that would delay his plan too much. Grogu wanted it to be like a boulder rolling down a hill, not a pebble being kicked along a path. 

While his dad made a kind of snarky comment about him being so helpful, instead of pouting or grumbling back at the typically taciturn Mandalorian, he just shrugged and smiled. He instantly recognized that he needed to keep that reaction in his pocket. Din Djarin had kind of melted a little at Grogu’s ability to accept the implied criticism. Clearly the Mandalorian saw himself in that behavior and he liked that his son was replicating it. Score one point for focus.

Grogu followed his dad’s instructions to the letter and before Din Djarin could say, ‘Wait, I’m not sure I like these odds’, they were on their way to Nevarro City and Greef Karga’s offices. Grogu was sitting behind his dad on the speeder bike, instead of in the Mandalorian’s saddle bags. Other stuff was in there and his dad hadn’t actually shared what any of it was. Grogu had been so focused on his step one that he hadn’t considered that his dad was kind of busy with his own step one.

Hmmm. That meant that the Mandalorian had his own plan. Now that was pretty obvious because he’s the one who said they had to go to Nevarro to help out the High Magistrate, but Grogu hadn’t really considered what it actually meant. Something was up and his dad had developed a plan to address it while Grogu was busy doing his own planning. Two things immediately popped into his mind. The first one was that he didn’t want his dad’s plan to ruin his plan. The second thought was maybe he could use his dad’s plan to further his own plan. 

Grogu knew he would have to be careful in testing out that second thought. He wanted things to go fast because he wanted to figure out if his dream was just a dream or if he really should have been on a different path. He liked the idea of healing planets that had been damaged by natural disasters or those harmed by the people who fought over who should be first in line. Healing people felt different from defending himself from harm. Very different. He hoped that healing planets was the same. That it would feel good. Warm. Hopeful. 

But… if that wasn’t the right path for him, he didn’t want to get distracted and he didn’t really want to leave his dad. He knew it was kind of frustrating to Din Djarin that the worlds they visited and the ships they used to get there weren’t made for Grogu. He couldn’t just do things the exact same way his dad did things because hauling an Amban Sniper Rifle around just wasn’t the way. Not the Mandalorian Way or the Jedi Way or the trying to handle something three times your height way. 

Grogu worried that as his dad realized that some aspects of being a bounty hunter weren’t going to be things that Grogu could handle without using the Force, he’d feel bad and wouldn’t want to put his son at risk. After everything they had done together to get the Imps off of Mandalore, Grogu had hoped that his dad would have realized that there were many ways to skin a gundark, including not skinning them at all because that was gross and unnecessary. 

That thought made him laugh and that’s how they arrived at the High Magistrate’s offices. Grogu was chuckling to himself as Din Djarin looked like a Mandalorian on the sort of business one would have a Mandalorian do. Which was long form for serious. Grogu couldn’t see his dad’s face, but he could tell from how tense he was and his movements in general, that whatever Din Djarin was there for was serious. Uff. Not more Imps. Couldn’t they handle something other than Imps? Of course, pirates weren’t much better. And anything less than Imps and pirates would be handled by IG-11-M. That was really the whole point of having a Marshal like IG-11-M to begin with. It could handle anything and often did. 

Grogu followed his dad up the broad steps that lead to the High Magistrates offices within the Nevarro City Civic Building. Grogu normally liked the steps because they were much shorter than typical steps, but his dad was taking them two and three at a time because he was in such a hurry and Grogu had to use the Force to help him keep up. Wow. He was glad he’d eaten all those froglets. He was using up all the energy they supplied already. 

The Mandalorian brushed past the protocol droid and went right into Greef Karga’s office without knocking. Grogu was a bit shocked by that, but kept it to himself. It meant that he had the protocol droid to himself and that fell right in line with his plan, step one. Yippee!

Grogu chirped at the tall bronze droid while it flailed it’s arm’s in the air, trying and failing to get the Mandalorian’s attention. 

“Din Grogu, I cannot be interrupted. The High Magistrate is in a meeting and requires privacy.”

Grogu coo’d at the droid and then chirped a string of commands at it. He just wanted to slow it down a little. The High Magistrate would decided who was going to be allowed to visit him and who was not. Grogu didn’t think that the Mandalorian was going to be turned away. Not after Karga asked him to come back from Mandalore specifically to meet with him. 

“That is the problem the High Magistrate is addressing. No one has seen Marshal IG-11 since the morning the High Magistrate contacted Din Djarin. He appears to have been kidnapped.”

What?! Dank Farrik! How was Grogu ever going to get to step two in his plan if he couldn’t complete step one?

To be continued… 

[sweet7simple]

Dratchrod with Drift and Rodimus lovingly buffing and waxing Ratchet, because gosh dang it, he's WORTH IT even if he doesn't think so.

Tragically, I know nothing about buffing and waxing. I have tried to learn for other stories and I will probably try to learn again for later stories, but the details always slip away.

But, yes, you are absolutely right. They take their time with the whole process because who wouldn't want to grope and caress that beautiful, sleek frame and tug maybe a little harder than necessary on that spoiler?

Rodimus wants to turn it around on them, talking about how it's their turn and he should be doing this for them. He's wearing an easy smile, leaning into their teasing digits and fleeting kisses, but he really does want to get his servos on them so that he can show them how much they mean to him. He's also feeling a little vulnerable with the open adoration and affection on Drift's face, and the tender soft look in Ratchet's optics. They're looking like they're in love with him and he hasn't figured out how to be comfortable with that yet, even though he really wants to be and loves them back.

But they're not giving him his turn with the equipment and they bat his servos away and tell him to stay still and be good and how can he argue with that?

I do have this personal belief, though, that Rodimus requires special ingredients in his cleaning solutions and wax due to his fire outlier ability. He's immune to it, but I think anything not native to his frame has to be either fire resistant/proof, or has to be easily absorbed by his nanite populations (nanites which either have to be self-replicating and native to him and therefore adapted to his ability, or also have to be made fire resistant/proof) which then excrete a protective, rust-repelling layer over his armor.

It would suck if Rodimus combusted and then couldn't control his own flames because his wax caught on fire, right?

He can use usual care and repair products, but they might be damaged/burned off the next time he uses his outlier ability. It's better to get prescription products, which he knows how to make for himself when he has the resources to do so, but both Drift and Ratchet also know how to mix up for him and they prefer to do so.

Ratchet especially prefers to be the one mixing Rodimus's care and repair products because he's a medic and he doesn't want Rodimus blowing open a seam because activating his outlier ability causes a chemical explosion on his frame due to some soap residue.

(Keep in mind, I don't know how flammable stuff like wax is once it's had time to set and dry, so there might be no reason for Rodimus to need prescription care products - but I like the idea of it, so I'm going with it. There was also those times he lost his arms (more than once), and I personally imagine his fire outlier ability played some part in how he was repaired.)

So the pampering is twofold. Not only are they buffing and waxing him down, they're doing so with products they mixed and set themselves, specifically and only for him.

Rodimus has to stand there and be loved and it's wonderful and awful and he never wants it to end, but he needs to get his servos on them and show them what it's like to be taken care of by someone who loves them so much, just like they're doing to him.

[1989tv]

Hey, Katie here, we've interacted a few times. Idk if you remember but we briefly talked about ai stuff and ethical uses.

Idk if you've seen any of my posts on the topic, but I have a real (educated comp sci) concern about the things that are happening ongoing right now re: ownership of digital rights, and I know you mentioned working in or around the industry?

I am trying to help avoid a situation where rich techbros or old white guys end up with the power to keep replicating and replacing real artists. I'm also trying to protect swifties and other Fandom from prolific fraud.

I have been ghosted by nothing but bots and voice-mail, and this tech is changing very fast, writers and programmers and traditional artists are already being replaced. They've been doing it with actors too without their consent. I have a real solution, but cannot get through to anyone.

What should I do? Feel free to answer privately, I'm asking as a professional, not a "fan"

hey katie thanks for this question! it’s all really important and there’s lots here and related to this topic that need to be considered and evaluated (even beyond related to artists). this turned out longer than i expected so i’ve put this under the cut so people can ignore if they do choose

so i don’t know how much of an answer i’ll have for you but i can give some background to it. so as of now there really aren’t any laws when it comes to AI or software in general for that matter. there’s never been a precedent for it because of that no reason for laws to go into place. i will say certain regions have laws that protect privacy and data more strictly but again not really any laws to prevent things that could go wrong or the unethical usage of software. usually when someone gets in trouble or taken to court due to software it usually (in the past) has been because it’s had an overlap for some other crime.

so a lot of these companies that are working with AI rn do practice ethically but this is to an extent. it’s to ensure their own fine tuned versions of the models don’t produce anything unethical (so you can’t ask bings chat gpt or google bard to sing and produce a new taylor swift song. it might write a song but the audio won’t occur) a lot of content does filter out. additionally while they might be practicing ethical ai it’s mainly to ensure their users and customers have a guarantee that their prompts and data will be secure and used ethically when further fine tuning the model. they aren’t out here fighting unethical uses of these services. a lot of times especially when it involves malicious intent these wrong uses of AI will be coming from private groups or hackers (not always the case however). so a lot of these companies probably aren’t responding bc of that. the big hurdle is getting big companies to really push for and start a precedent of this which will be….hard to say the least.

im sorry to hear these companies you’ve reached out to are doing this. id really encourage you to keep trying and instead of passing along your idea maybe start with asking them steps they are taking to ensure they are using ethically. more than likely they’ll be happy to share. try reaching out to hr or security departments directly if this is available. aside from that i think one of the best ways to really get your idea and concerns out is to reach out to companies that are actively trying to fight this and we’re specifically created with this in mind (or start your own! a lot of work and money i know 😵‍💫 and not optimal in any way) a lot of these will be new or start up companies. this wave of AI is new and we’re heading into some uncharted territories with it. so while there are people using this wrongly there are also people with the same idea as you in mind and looking to protect their well being. i think when done correctly this can be really exciting and life changing for lots of people (like i said when used correctly) but i agree 100% with you on the dangers of unethical usages of AI. this goes beyond just celebrities or actors. and while it’s not something that’s new (think deepfakes) it’s certainly now more heightened and the risk of everyone could be involved

[pure-ablution]

Hello! First of all, I'd like to say how much I love you're blog. It's inspired me to take better care of myself both physically and emotionally, and I've never been happier!

Now, two days ago, I got admitted to my dream university (!!!) and I've started planning for what classes I'll take, what my schedule will be like, etc. But I'm not sure what to pack, especially since I've never lived away from home before.

You live far from home, but still manage to have everything you need with you. How did you chose what to bring? Could you share a list of things you believe are necessary, and maybe a few luxuries you like having with you?

Very belated congratulations on your engagement!

First of all, CONGRATULATIONS on being accepted into your dream university!!! That’s an incredible achievement and one that should be immensely celebrated.

Secondly: I took very little from home with me to university, partly because, as an international student, I couldn’t bring all that much over so far a distance, and partly because, at the end of the day, I have almost everything I need in England. I have a computer, a library with millions upon millions of books, multiple extensive beauty shops, and little groceries for dozens of different cultures. I found that it was much, much easier to arrive with less, figure out what I could buy in my new university city, and then make a list of what I was still missing, rather than arrive with too much in the first place. I also found that it was easier than I thought to receive packages from Iran and Ukraine, and my family were very helpful in sending me little extras that I needed here and there.

In general, I’d recommend that you pack:

Clothes and accessories: this is the one thing that you can’t really find elsewhere. Pack wisely, keeping in mind the weather and fashions in your new city, and remember that you’ll probably end up buying new pieces when you get there, too.

Sentimental items: like photographs, diaries, and teddy bears. These cannot be replicated, and they’re a lifeline during those first few homesick weeks.

Medicines: if you’re coming from abroad! Even though you can find most medicines in different countries, it’s a real hassle when you’re already feeling like death to try to navigate different names and boxes from those you’re used to, so pack some basic medicines for that initial bout of freshers’ flu.

Big electronics: like your phone, laptop, etc.—unless you’re like me and you’ll receive these as part of your scholarship when you arrive!

Don’t bother packing:

Decor for your dorm: you can buy/make this when you arrive, and you’ll probably decorate much less than you think, especially if your dorm rules are similar to mine in 1st year and you have to vacate your room for holidays.

Snacks from your homeland: controversial take, I know, but you’ll probably be able to buy these from a little grocery in your area. Even if you can’t, I think that waiting makes the heart grow fonder, and you’ll feel so much more excited for that first care package from home.

Books: you’re almost definitely doing a subject where your books will be available online as PDFs, and even if you’re doing that rare subject with almost 0 digital access (Classics), then you have access to your university library, and older students who will happily sell you their books for cheap.

Beauty products: these can almost universally be found or made in your new city, I guarantee you. Anything you can’t access can be bought the next time you go back home, and believe me, you don’t truly need that sheep’s fat lip balm (speaking from experience here). You can survive with Chapstick for a couple of months. The exception here is extremely expensive makeup that you wouldn’t want to purchase twice over.

[slightlyreanimatedchaos]

Idk man. I can’t be the only one feeling this way, right?? Like can we please move on from the whole “that’s cheating!!” Thing with art!?!? If you’re trying to market your ability to draw freestyle/replicate media, then maybe it’s cheating bc you’re not changing anything from the og photo and then claiming you have a skill you don’t really have. But the way it’s been taken to the extreme… idk, maybe the end product is actually what matters here.

You want a dope art piece on your wall and it’s easier to project and trace?? Do it!! The result will be more accurate and it saves time! You want to do wood burning and it’s easier to transfer your design?? Do it!! You are practicing wood burning; not advanced sketching! You want to practice color theory in digital art with a photo reference?? Import the image and trace that shit!! It saves you time so you can focus on the part you are really practicing. Even if you just want a stylized version, drawing your sketch over it will help you get the proportions and details you want so you don’t have to go back and redo it so many times. And if you’re practicing sketching but not color theory, use a color selection tool!!

Honestly, I think we all do a lot of these things anyways; we just don’t show it publicly. It doesn’t make sense to spend so much time on parts you don’t like/parts that make you wanna abandon the project/parts that take away from the part that actually matters! Especially when most people can relate to life getting in the way or time disappearing.

In so many other trades and jobs, we let them delegate tasks and work in teams to function more efficiently and play off of their strengths that they are working to build or actively marketing. We recognize that their time is better spent doing the parts that actually apply to their job’s role. And artists should be able to do the same!

[studentsguidetofilmmaking]

Can you take a train to the afterlife?

Sometimes life should have background music to accentuate all those moments that seem cinematic.

For example, walking apprehensively down a deserted train platform late at night, thinking someone is behind you, lurking out of sight but close-by. (Insert foreboding music here.) Maybe as a train approaches the station, the unseen person suddenly appears and throws you to the tracks. (Insert overly-dramatic music here.)

Life has these moments, and if you’re cinematically-inclined, then you see things through a camera eye, framing each scene and composing the elements within. Likewise, you also innately consider the non-diegetic sound emanating from all around. You assimilate the environment.

So, when I was rail-fanning one night at the New Jersey Transit train station in Ridgewood, N.J., I had one of those cinematic moments.

No, I wasn’t thrown to the tracks, nor was I stalked by an unseen adversary, but I found myself thinking about the time I have left on this earth and what the afterlife might be like. Then I wondered if you could get there on a train.

What? A train? Who in their right mind would care how they get to the afterlife? It’s ludicrous to think, right? Wouldn’t one just want to simply wake up in what comes next? What does come next? Does anything?

However, in that thinking, a movie idea was born! I set out to write and film a story about Evan Smith, a fictional character who dies suddenly in a car accident, and in his afterlife, stumbles upon a mysterious railroad.

The film took roughly three months to shoot and two months to edit. Not only were many scenes shot on-location, the pivotal ticket widow scene required a set be constructed since all NJ Transit ticket windows are either boarded up or used by NJ Transit as storage rooms and completely off-limits to the public. See the pictures below.

(Actual NJ Transit station in River Edge, NJ.)

(Set constructed to match NJ Transit train station.)

Unlike my previous films which were all shot on 16mm b&w movie film, this was my first effort using a digital camera system…the Sony PMW-EX1R. Lauded for its CineAlta technology which replicates many features of 35mm Hollywood cameras, the PMW was able to capture the “film look” that we as filmmakers so often strive try to emulate in digital acquisition. Moreover, this was the first film I made using various jibs and stabilization equipment in an attempt to give the film a more professional look.

Aside from technical achievements, this was a great example of how a time and place can inspire an idea, whether it be for film or a written work. Just like the railroad slogan, “Stop, Look and Listen,” taking the time to absorb your surroundings - sights, sounds and smells - enables you to create an environment in your filmmaking or writing.

Perhaps even more important, however, this shows what the mind can do if you let it breathe. Too often we are consumed by information: cell phones, laptops, tablets and the incessant ring of tweets, texts and emails. Let’s admit it. Technology is the way of the future. It keeps us informed and connected, but it also consumes, suffocates and exhausts.

Like any muscle in the human body, the brain needs time to rest by dreaming or simply not thinking about anything at all. This is where ideas are born. Who says the idle mind is the Devil’s playground?

[shellysmediamusings]

Algorithms of oppression reflection

Algorithms of oppression explores the impact that the algorithms of search engines shape our understanding of the world and how biases present in algorithms may be a negative consequence of this. 

Noble touches on a good point that I think many people forget. All tech companies, Google, Facebook, Yahoo, etc. all exist to make money and earn capital. I did catch myself in the line of thinking that these platforms are neutral and existed to provide a service. It’s easy to think Google engineers really just want you to find that word on the tip of your tongue, or Facebook’s coders just want to make sure you can save your child’s baby pictures. In reality, these companies want to be profitable, and many times this results in a marginalized group being further marginalized on these sites. 

I found an article that discusses biases of AI and thought it was pretty interesting: 

Noble’s discussion of Dylan Roof was very interesting to me. While I agreed with her summation of Google radicalizing Roof to kill worshipers in Charleston, I also think the topic of Trayvon Martin specifically made me think a lot about the internet and activism. In particular, I thought about the first time I ever saw a video of a Black man or woman killed by police. I think I was probably very young, maybe under 15. I agree that more people should film their interactions with the police in an attempt to capture the truth, but I do wonder if seeing this content at such a young age is beneficial to anyone. At age 19, when George Floyd was murdered by police, I was completely used to seeing these videos. Her discussion of Dylan Roof made me think more about how the algorithm optimizes these videos. I know they’re important for people to see, they are an accurate depiction of reality, but I do think it’s weird content like that gets pushed. 

I recognize these videos have to be seen, but algorithms pushing them creates a bit of cognitive dissonance for me. Really not sure how to feel! 

The other readings this week surrounding different forms of digital inequality were also very interesting. I agree with the Robinson et al. piece that digital inequalities will soon be as prominent as other divides in our society. A phone in your pocket that can connect you with others, deliver an answer in seconds and create engaging content is becoming a sign of privilege. Of course, the Stevens et al. piece describes how these devices can be negative as the tensions and problems faced in real life are then replicated online. 

This article I found discusses the algorithmic feedback loop and how this may make inequalities worse rather than minimizing them: 

Overall these readings made me think a lot about how white privilege thrives online and also how my own white privilege made me unaware of a lot of these issues. I feel like I fail to notice these small trends that do point to very large inequalities. . 

I wanted to explore the problem Noble first examined a little bit on my own. 

I decided to see the difference in googling just “why are men” and “why are women” to see if any algorithmic bias would be present. I googled the following items to try to note any changes. Maybe Google knew this was a problem from Noble’s work and altered the auto-fill, but this is what I got! 

I really wanted to do a different medium for my reflection this week but cannot remember my Adobe login for Premier pro! Hopefully next week!!!!