#a play; a program; a book; a pattern

[nullapophenia]

i think different flavors of looper dissociation is fun 2 think about

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Grad school Spencer in his little white coat and glasses getting his chem PhD and he just spills everything and goes 🫠 because he sees English lit major reader walking by from the lap window.

because I will die on the hill that this actually happened.

hiiiii 💕

like 23 year old phd candidate spencer in his white lab coat is everything to me and i took some liberties so bear with me :)

spencer reid x female reader

So he’s working in his lab doing something sciencey and smart

He’s already a phd in math and engineering which makes him something a myth in his departments

Part of his program makes him work as a TA for a chemistry course which is how he meets you

You’re a Literature major and Sociology minor and in his Chemistry class. It’s filled with many students, but Spencer wouldn’t need an eidetic memory to remember you

He never found the courage to talk to you, thinking that you’ve probably already have a boyfriend on a count for how pretty and smart you are.

Every Tuesday and Thursday he sees you walk by his lab. He forces himself to not recognize the pattern, but it’s impossible when you’re so magnetic to look at and think about and patterns are so recognizable to his brain. And out of risk of you thinking he’s a stalker, he decides it’s safer if he ignores you walk by

What Spencer doesn’t realize is that you’ve also noticed his pattern of being in the lab the same days you’re in the Sociology wing.

One day he’s busy his lab, and he can see you through the big picture window. He feels his hands grip the beaker and his grateful that the chemical liquids he’s working with today are something as simple as water

As he gazes through the big window he watches you walk with a big stack books in you arms

He walks to the sink, needing an extra 30mLs of water in his beaker, but as his does he accidentally trips over a stool and crashes to the floor

He jumps up, and sees you look at him in horror. Which wasn’t the way he planned on you looking at him (he forced the thoughts of the various ways you could look at him from his mind)

Suddenly you rush into the lab and just as Spencer tries to stammer about maintaining proper hygiene protocols in the lab, your hands are gripping his wrist

“You’re bleeding” you say, and Spencer watches as you maintain steady, tight pressure on his open wound to stop the bleeding

“I didn’t realize” Spencer says with a stained smile. He’s planned on how he’d approach you over and over again in his mind ever since he saw you in the Chemistry class he TA’ed last semester “I was preoccupied”

“It’s alright, Doctor Reid. You’re not going to need stitches or anything. But let me put some bandaging on it.”

Spencer gulps, as he tries to remember how to breathe. All he can focus on is how your hair frames your face perfectly and how your perfume smells like earl grey tea and honey and apples

“You can call me Spencer, Y/N” He whispers, listening to as you practically drag him by the wrist to the first aid kit

“You know my name?” You ask, a look or wonder and amusement washes over your face

Spencer jerks his head back not in pain nor in discomfort, but rather in confusion. “Of course I do, why wouldn’t I know your name. You’re Y/N.”

You lick your bottom lip as a small smile plays on the corner of your mouth. “there were a lot of students in your class last semester. I’m not very good at chemistry. Nor do I have a particularly memorable face.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows in disbelief. You gently placed a bandage on his cut. “You did very well in the class. And as for your face, it’s very memorable. More than memorable, honestly. It’s gorgeous—oh, no I didn’t—I don’t intend to be forward…”

“I think you got a memorable face too, Doc” You say, smiling as you sit knee to knee on the lab stools

“It’s Spencer,” He says, blushing as he nudged his hand forward to just barely touch yours

You stand, smiling as you do so, “Doc suits you. You’re kinda a legend and you’re really cute when you flush like that when I call you Doc”

[garadinervi]

Aarati Akkapeddi, Rituals of Recursion, (website, letterpress, performance), 2024

Exhibition: Aarati Akkapeddi: 'Rituals of Recursion', Curated by Chaitanya Harshita Nedunuri Kahn, Spill 180, Brooklyn, NY, January 11-25, 2025

Group Exhibition: The Space Between Words: Other Ways of Reading, Curated by Camilo Otero, Center for Book Arts, New York, NY, June 5 – August 30, 2025

«I developed a computer program that allows me to translate text into Kolam designs. Kolam (in Tamil) or Muggu (Telugu) is a traditional art form from South India. Kolams are auspicious drawings on the floor (usually at the threshold of the home) using rice flour. Kolams are traditionally made by women and created before sunrise. They comprise mathematically complex patterns that feature continuous intertwined lines. To encode text into Kolam designs, I first translate each character into eight-digit binary codes (made from only 0s and 1s). I then use an algorithm to map this translation onto a diamond-shaped matrix of dots. The algorithm moves top to bottom and left to right, drawing loops on each dot that correspond with either 0 or 1 according to the binary code translation of the text. The algorithm connects these loops, making sure to never connect loops associated with "0" to those associated with "1". The center of the matrix contains blank padding space, allowing the entire pattern to be distributed evenly on the matrix, preserving the perfect square/diamond shape. I started working with kolams because I wanted to translate my grandmother's name, Swarajyalaxmi, into a kolam as part of a reclamation of a mourning ritual after her passing in 2022. My family mourned my grandmother by invoking three generations following a patriarchal line (my grandmother, her mother-in-law, and her mother-in-law's mother-in-law). In contrast, I worked matrilineally, creating three kolams representing Swarajyalaxmi, Kameswaramma (her mother), and Rajyalaxmi (her grandmother). I draw the kolams signifying their names while simultaneously playing audio from an interview with her a month before she passed away at age 101. The audio shows how my grandmother's name signifies independence in the colonial context, and the interview also highlights her resilience in the face of patriarchal oppressions such as being married at age twelve. In this series, I expand on this work by incorporating letterpress printed works created using a set of 3D-printed kolam monotype blocks. There are kolams for my grandmother, her mother, and her grandmother but I also include letterpress prints that extend the process beyond familial connections. There are kolams commissioned by friends honoring their loved ones, kolams honoring martyrs, specific places, and some that feature messages of resilience and resistance. In these works, I see the act of translation as a ritual of reverence. invited all to spend time with each kolam and decode its meaning using kolam.codes. On this website, visitors could also encrypt new kolams.»

At Center for Book Arts

At Spill 180

Performance at Spill 180

At Spill 180

«In addition to the artwork, the Spill 180 exhibition also featured a "reading nook" with a zine of Telugu poetry curated by The Telugu Archive (Sai Priya Kodidala). The poems touch on themes of patriarchy, resistance, and the ways women have shared histories through mediums outside of traditional academia (i.e. song, clothing, kolam/muggulu). Sai Priya Kodidala is an independent writer and researcher from Hyderabad, India focusing on the intersection of Telugu literature, politics, history and art. The Telugu Archive traces the rich socio-political history of resistance, civil rights and revolutionary politics. You can view the zine online here.»

Reading Nook at Spill 180

[creature-wizard]

How Project Monarch fails the "Six Ways To Debunk Any Conspiracy Theory" sniff test

The 2017 article Six Ways To Debunk Any Conspiracy Theory lists six characteristics of conspiracy thinking that break down with a small amount of critical thinking. (I recommend reading the whole thing for yourself!)

If we compare the claims made about Project Monarch to the six items on this list, we can see that they meet five of the six items all six items, including:

No Leaks: The type of programming methods associated with Project Monarch have allegedly been practiced for at least seventy years in numerous countries (including but not limited to the US, the UK, Canada, Germany, and France) in all levels of society, yet no documents containing evidence proving its existence (such as documents containing alter scripts, programming and ritual protocols, programming session notes, alter access codes, and various memos) has ever been leaked.

Evidence Gap: Investigations of cases where we might expect to find evidence of Monarch-style programming have never found any such thing. If this was happening in the way people claim, we should expect at least some criminal investigations (including but not limited to investigations of child abuse, drug possession, and murder) to also uncover the aforementioned document types. We should also expect the more obvious programming tools and props (such as human-sized cages, ETC devices, ritual sites done up to look like UFOs or whatever, programming tapes and audio files, etc) to turn up in conjunction with such documents. And of course, we should be finding a lot more animal and human remains, with all of the ritual sacrifices they're supposedly performing.

Inconsistent Capabilities: Believers claim that programming cults are so hypercompetent that can hide or destroy all physical evidence of their existence, and apparently never place any digital literature on unsecure devices or file servers. Yet they are somehow also so inept that they can't stop all of these alleged victims from telling everything to their therapists, writing and publishing books, and from posting online. (They've apparently never heard of stalkerware, or at least not allowing someone to use the Internet without heavy supervision.)

Prediction Horizon: The alleged triggers that supposedly force different alters to front or activate specific programming are often extremely commonplace stimuli, including (but not limited to) simple colors, patterns, and images (for example, the image of a specific flower), common phrases (for example, "I called to see how you're feeling") and common gestures (for example, clasped hands).

It would be impossible for programmers to prevent their victims from coming across many of these triggers by pure happenstance, because they simply can't predict or control other people's behavior on a large enough scale. They can't know or control, for example, when the pop song they've used as a trigger will play on the radio in a store, or when the neighbor will suddenly decide to plant a bed of daisies, or when a bank teller will wear a blue silk shirt. And considering some of the roles alters are allegedly programmed for, things would get really awkward really fast.

Method-Goal Mismatch: Monarch-type programming is still allegedly practiced today because numerous cults and abusive groups want perfectly compliant, obedient people. But the methods they are claimed to use are both extraordinarily risky and effort-intensive, and ultimately do not appear to be more rewarding than conventional methods of indoctrination, manipulation, and generally limiting a person's capacity to exercise autonomy (such as deprivation of education, funds, and legal papers).

Unfalsifiable: Failure to locate hard evidence of Project Monarch or Monarch-like practices are attributed to the alleged hypercompetence of the cultists, government agents, etc. When the question of why neighbors, teachers, doctors, etc. didn't notice anything strange comes up, believers claim they're all cultists or agents. Records that contradict claims of ritual abuse are claimed to be falsified. Obviously impossible events described by patients are simply chalked up to confusion from drugged states. Numerous books in favor of this conspiracy theory assures us that denying abuse or admitting to your therapist that you fabricated your claims is further evidence of programming.

In conclusion, while we know that Project MK-Ultra existed, claims of Project Monarch's existence and the widespread, even systemic practice of the techniques it alleged developed are easily demonstrated as nothing more than conspiracy theories.

[darkeagleruins]

Presenting the King and Queen of the criminal illegal invasion, Samantha Power (born in the UK) and her husband Cass Sunstein.

GPS—they met together and separately at Barack Hussein Obama II’s war room/mansion in Washington, DC hundreds of times during the Biden/Harris Regime, 19 times since the election and 4 times since President Trump took office.

The circumstances surrounding the controversial financial and political of Samantha Power, a former USAID administrator, and her significant increase in net worth during her tenure in public office. Power’s wealth reportedly surged from $6.7 million in 2021 to $30 million by 2024, raises questions about how such a dramatic increase occurred despite her official annual salary of $180,000.

This financial growth has led to public scrutiny and allegations of financial misconduct within USAID under Power's leadership.

USAID, an organization tasked with managing billions in global funding, under audit for alleged misuse of funds, including spending on contentious programs like transgender initiatives and cultural projects abroad.

These programs served as conduits for financial kickbacks to lawmakers and officials, enriching them at the expense of American taxpayers. Powers funneled billions into NGOs financing the criminal illegal invasion of America.

Power’s husband, Cass Sunstein, also plays a key role in this narrative. Sunstein, a senior adviser on immigration policy at DHS during the Biden administration, allegedly shaped policies that created the “open-border” system.

This was seen as complementary to Power’s role at USAID, with Power funding programs to facilitate immigration while Sunstein ensured these policies were implemented. This was a coordinated “one-two punch,” enabling illegal immigration while circumventing any accountability or transparency.

Sunstein’s academic and professional background, citing his 2008 white paper, Conspiracy Theories, which advocated for government infiltration of online movements to neutralize narratives that could undermine U.S. military and diplomatic efforts.

This idea extended to behavioral influence strategies outlined in his book, Nudge, which became a foundational text for professionals working in counter-disinformation and media literacy.

The book emphasized shaping public behavior without overt coercion, using techniques like algorithmic manipulation, social media deplatforming, and other indirect methods to discourage dissent.

USAID’s role in psychological (gaslighting) operations was engaged in misinformation campaigns both domestically and abroad. Coupled with Sunstein’s advocacy for “raising the cost” of dissenting behavior, contributed to an erosion of free speech protections. Examples included penalties for questioning COVID-19 policies, such as job loss, social media bans, and reputational damage, all designed to discourage opposition without resorting to legal consequences.

There are even broader concerns about the interplay between government roles and private-sector enrichment, with a pattern of officials transitioning from public service to lucrative positions in finance or industry.

This “blob-to-banker pipeline” allows individuals to leverage insider knowledge for personal gain. For instance, Jared Cohen, a former State Department official, having transitioned to roles at Google Jigsaw and later Goldman Sachs, where his government connections reportedly informed investment strategies.

The current system has zero transparency, accountability, and erodes public trust.

USAID’s misuse of funds, coupled with Power’s rapid wealth accumulation, exemplifies the broader issue of financial exploitation within government institutions.

Word needs to get out. Share this post, do your own research, engage in discourse, and hold public officials accountable.

[yuurei20]

Updated Ortho Facts Part 17: Ortho's Abilities (pt3)

Ortho will reference the various forms of analysis that he can perform, though his attempts at scanning his Tsum fail to identify what it is made out of.

After asking Leona about his vital signs during Playfulland Leona says that he has a bad feeling. Ortho responds, “That's too subjective for me to properly comprehend…”

He collects data for shopping pattern analysis during the New Year’s event and Epel says that he can analyze food for its makeup and nutritional content.

Azul comments on possibly approaching Ortho about using his sensor to authenticate paintings, if such an opportunity happens to arise.

While a talented hacker Ortho fails to hack into Playfulland’s network, and he guesses that there is a powerful jammer set up on the grounds, so it seems his hacking is not infallible.

Ortho was programmed to lie even pre-book-6, and this is an ability that came with him when he was reborn: Vil encourages him to showcase the acting skills he has been cultivating in the film research club by giving a “wholeheartedly tearful performance” that will convince Idia to go to Playfulland with him.

This is possibly a method that has been worked in the past: Vil compliments Ortho on the fake crying that convinced Idia to allow him to participate in Fairy Gala IF and Ortho responds, “Hearing you say that makes me feel better about my acting.”

Ortho will often reference the various maps that he has access to, such as a detailed map of the school (“Which includes all secret doors and underground passages”), of Playfulland and of a museum. When he is in gear without any GPS and becomes lost during the White Rabbit Fes event he describes the experience as “refreshing.”

Ortho plays pool for the first time during the Playfulland event and is extraordinarily adept at it, with Vil saying that he never misses a single shot and clears obstacles with jump shots: “Those aren't moves someone playing the game for the very first time could pull off.”

While Ortho struggled during a different game with slingshots (“Imperfect tools made things hard during target practice”) he is able to simulate optimal routes for the billiard balls and calculate perfect shots without fail.

He does miss at one point (Vil: “You'd better not have missed on purpose.” - Ortho: “I would never pull my punches in a game!”), but this is due to a cricket jumping out in front of the ball.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

She is my pretty Sun - Saltburn 2023

Michael Gavey x fem!reader

warning : fluff, comfort, Michael being Michael, implied/mentioned obssesion, jealousy, flirting

Summary : A few years after graduation, after marrying his partner and moving into the perfect house, he suddenly receives a letter. Oliver Quick, Michael's "friend", gets in touch and is now the owner of Saltburn. A simple dinner invitation or something more than it seems at first glance.

Info : So my secon piece for Saltburn but the obsession is strong so yeah have this piece whitch was inspired by an idea of @ateliefloresdaprimavera . So as always have fun reading;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bells were already waking them up again. Bells. The sound of the bells always reminded them both of the moment when they stood opposite each other.

The dark suit nestled against him, the bright red rose matching her lipstick, the red dress against her body. It was the sound of his smile as she told him a joke, math of course, as always.

She smiled at the warmth on her cheeks as he complimented her back. The bells of the small town woke them up since they had graduated. The graduation from the university, leaving everything behind, the rich, Oliver, the fake news.

They had all left it behind. To end up belonging only to each other through bells served in the church of the village with the gold on their hands. ,,Good morning, my pretty wife," she heard his voice, still slightly dark from sleep, but still as charming as ever. Before she felt his warm hand move up her side.

He left light circles on her before his darling pressed closer to him, her leg leaning over his and her hand clasping his. He still likes to be the little spoon, she thought and gave Michael a good morning kiss on the cheek, hearing his grin and knowing that he would once again get up before his wekcer.

Her little nerd had always done it, ever since they'd nearly run over each other in the library when they were about to reach for the same book. ,,Good morning, my sweet husband," she quipped, slowly rising and wrapping the blanket around her torso, seeing the sun's glow against the curtains. It was peaceful and quiet here.

A small town of not even ten thousand inhabitants, but the large house was not only suitable, it was also perfectly situated. Michael had his short commute to work and she herself could concentrate on her little store, which was right below them.

It was perfect not knowing that things would be different today. ,,My sun," she heard Michael mumble as he turned to her, his eyes running over her. Although he didn't have his glasses on, the satisfied grin on his lips said something else. He enjoyed watching his darling.

And she enjoyed that he adored her so much. She curled up in the sun was his goddess, his beloved wife saw him lick his lips before he crawled over to her and his fingers played with her hair. ,,Ohh so needy" she joked knowing he knew what it meant and he was slightly ashamed to engage her in a kiss. She sensed very well that they both remembered the night. He was as devoted as ever to pleasing her, to giving her everything he wanted.

She let him take the leash and also met his needs. ,,For you, of course," he mumbled and after a few moments he let go of her and put on his glasses, watching as she slipped into her robe that made her look like a queen. He, on the other hand, put on his oversized T-shirt with the period pattern and disappeared into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

He had insisted on making breakfast while she showered. So she could hear him shouting the answers to the math programs around the house and she tried to concentrate on the radio. It gave them both exactly what they needed.

,,Darling! I take it you've got everything right again?" she called through the house and came out to him in her bathrobe in the kitchen. She saw that he was drinking his tea as usual and eating toast with a fried egg. ,,Here, my sweetheart," he said kindly and pushed her plate and coffee over to her before shouting at the radio presenter again to read out the formulas more quickly.

,,Thank you...I know you can do it every time," she commented, taking a sip of her coffee and stroking his hand reassuringly. ,,Of course I can do it, darling," he said, a hint of self-assurance in his voice before he gave her a kiss and the two of them continued to eat. Until the beautiful morning peace was interrupted by a ringing doorbell.

There was a questioning look on her face as she looked at Michael. ,,On a Saturday?" Michael murmured and got up to give his darling a little more rest. Sacrificing himself for her was his life, as he used to say. She heard the door open and then Michael closed it again, seeming to struggle to keep his composure when the letter carrier didn't do as he wished.

But only an amused shake of her head later and he was back with her, adjusting his glasses. ,,Who's the letter from?" she asked, but rose from her chair when she saw him change from annoyed to uncertain.

,,Michael baby?" she asked, coming to his side and putting her hand on his arm, knowing that he was looking for physical contact, that he didn't always want it and that she was giving him space. But this time he almost seemed to have stepped away.

,,Oliver Quick-Oliver he wrote to me...I mean he invited us to dinner...at the Saltburn estate," he mumbled and handed her the letter while he leaned against the kitchen counter, his hands running over the table and trying to control himself and not freak out. She read the letter, she knew about their past, she had had brief dealings with Oliver herself and knew that he was actually Michael's friend.

With the emphasis on true. ,,Michael, we don't have to go there, I know how you feel," she said and walked over to him, put the letter aside and stroked his slightly tousled hair, which he always paid meticulous attention to. She saw him nod but she also saw that he wanted to form his own opinion.

He always wanted to form his own opinion. ,,It's been a long time... well, he used to be my friend, but why not? If you are there my heart will be fine" he said and smiled a little at her, trying to convince her that it was a good idea. An idea that they hoped would turn out well, but neither of them knew how much Oliver had changed.

Quicker than they would have liked in the end, the two of them were in their car and on their way. ,,The whole thing was a tragedy, everyone died one after the other," she heard him say and looked away from the road for a moment to see him looking at the newspaper in his hand.

He had immediately printed out all of the articles about the cases and picked them out. ,,One after the other? And Oliver in the middle," she mumbled, concentrating on the road again and seeing the hill behind her. She tried to concentrate on the radio while Michael continued to look through the articles. They had only met Oliver back then, but that was almost a year or more ago.

Just driving through the gate and stopping on the gravel road to get out seemed unreal. ,,Unreal," she mumbled and hooked up with Michael, who had put the artiel in the car and walked with her to the entrance. She saw him nod in the corner of her eye before he knocked and they waited for Oliver.

It seemed to take minutes before the door opened and Oliver stood in the doorway with a broad grin. ,,Michael Gavey and his beautiful... wife! Welcome to my humble home!" he announced, pulling them into a hug that was almost suffocating. His glasses were gone, his dark hair slightly tousled, a rather open shirt on his upper body gave a hint of what his body looked like and the golden glasses on his wrist were just a sign of the wealth he now possessed.

,,Oliver Quick, so we'll meet again," the bespectacled man said, giving him a cautious smile before carrying Oliver aside and inviting them in. ,,Thank you Oliver...it's interesting to be here on Saltburn, a tragedy the deaths you had to witness," she said as he closed the door behind them and moved next to her. She had seen the way he looked at Michael, had seen his dislike, almost arrogance, towards her.

She saw that his look had changed, almost like a self-assured predator. He was the predator on Saltburn and they were both his guests or prey. It was strange, as if they were intruders in a house that didn't belong to them.

As the two exchanged glances, she saw her husband pull himself together, unsure of how to behave. ,,I took the liberty of having the food prepared already," Oliver said, pointing to the large wooden table where the candles were lit, the hot food was steaming and Oliver sat down at the head of the table and Michael sat to his right and his wife to his left.

,,Please help yourself, I've made it extra nice," he said deliberately and took a big sip of the wine he had poured for them all. ,,Thank you Oliver...it's good to see you again," she said and began to cut the steak while Michael still seemed to be thinking about what had happened. However, it was mainly silence that passed between the three of them.

The scratching of the cutlery on the plates, the wind on the windows, the sound of music from a record somewhere in the distance. ,,Bootlicker...that's what you called me back then, Michael," Oliver began and she looked at the two guys and saw that Michael was gripping the cutlery tighter.

He doesn't like it, he doesn't like anything about this she realized and she tried to calm him down with her gaze. She wanted to avoid an auraster, but something told her that Oliver would no longer just stay quiet. She dared him to become aggressive.

,,Yes I did Oliver you used to be my friend and now you're the Lord of Saltburn...isn't it really funny" Michael said and put down his cutlery, a knowing look in his eyes as he looked at Oliver who gave him a grin. ,,Michael Gavey the nerd and mathematician with such a beautiful woman...you know Saltburn can get lonely on her own," he said, seeming to ignore the other, the older man's eyes more than obviously on her.

She saw how he lingered briefly on her ring before wandering over her upper body. ,,Michael, could you fetch us the wine from the kitchen?" he asked suddenly, turning hastily to his former friend and seeing Michael biting his tongue to stop himself from making any comments.

She nudged him lightly under the table, letting him know that it was probably better this way. Michael just smiled at him before standing up, adjusting his glasses and disappearing into the kitchen.

As soon as the door closed, Oliver got up from his seat and came over to her. ,,So sugar, what's keeping you with our favorite psychopath and math genius Michael?" he asked, his hands resting on the back of her chair as he seemed to be circling her. not letting her curse. ,,Oliver the genius is my husband and you're a terrible host," she warned him, turning slightly to face him but seeing, to her regret, that he was grinning back at her.

,,Tragic yes yes...you know one word and I'm all yours here forever" he whispered and she got goosebumps when she saw him like that. This was no longer the Oliver she had once known. The shy nerd, a bit socially retarded and perhaps in love with her, but he had left her behind.

He had gone to Saltburn after Felix and not her. Which was why Michael was with her now and forever. ,,Oliver, I don't know what happened but obviously we've all grown apart...besides, I'm married so it would be better if we left now," she said and rose hastily, walking past him towards the kitchen to fetch Michael. She didn't want to admit it but Oliver somehow scared her.

That self-confidence, the smile that knew so much more, as if he knew exactly what was happening. He seemed to be feasting on her right now. Like a vampire.

But before she could reach the door, it was ripped open and an angry Michael stood in the doorway, his hand gripping the bottle tighter than necessary. ,,Oliver Quick, I suggest for a bootlicker, a rich man's toy who has somehow taken up residence here, you get off my wife," he began and stood in front of her, she gave him a look and saw his expression soften for a moment, he looked to see if she was hurt.

,,My darling has made it clear that she doesn't like them so let's go and let's go now" he said and she hacked at her husband giving him a kiss on the cheek soothing him for a moment but his grip on her was more possessive, clearly more holding.

He was protecting her from Oliver, who didn't like this at all. ,,She's mine Oliver not yours" he warned him one last time and gave her a gentle smile. A smile of devotion for her.

Something Oliver didn't have, he could only take but not give. ,,A bootlicker or a thief? Whatever Michael, one day you'll understand," he said, and with a warning look he went back to his seat where he turned to his food while Michael went out with her and the wine still in his hand. Out of the place that frightened them, that housed corpses and where Oliver could rot in peace.

They had each other and the past was over, and at the latest when they saw each other again in the car with the wine between them and they kissed, they knew that they had each other. That Oliver was behind them and that he would always protect his beloved wife. No matter what would come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[kenomacreature]

SEMI-COHERENT MUSINGS ON THE METAPHYSICS OF DELTARUNE

Exploring such topics as: - "what are the Depths?" - "what's with all the water references?" - "why do Darkners know all that stuff?"

Chapters 3 & 4 are fast approaching, the time we have before we’re faced with an influx of novel topics for speculation is running out, and I still have some leftover thoughts on the first two chapters that I'd like to get out there in writing before that happens. These thoughts primarily center around the metaphysics of Deltarune’s diegetic world, and various discursive methods that might be employed to help elucidate its nature.

This will be a loosely structured collection of thoughts that draw heavily from philosophy, literary theory and mythology, so if you don’t like pseudointellectual ramblings this is your warning to close the tab.

All of the points made here will be ancillary to the premises I argue for in my essay titled The Magic Circle. You should probably read it first!

Crossing the Fountain – art vs. byt

Much of my Magic Circle essay is concerned with the almost magical way in which one’s experience of reality is mentally transformed when under the spell of art or fiction. Indeed, this is the source of the essay’s title, and what I argue Darkness in Deltarune represents. I wanted to illustrate this idea a little more.

In the essay, I quoted J. Huizinga’s Homo Ludens – in that book he's talking about games and play specifically, but one of his most salient observations is that play is undergirded by an impulse to abstract from immediate reality that is shared between many branches of culture, including all aesthetic traditions. Huizinga is not the only theorist who noticed that art (which I define to include games and play) is experienced as a break from ‘immediate’ or quotidian experience. Russian Formalist Viktor Shklovsky posited that art was a transformation of everyday life into its own seperate realm. In his analysis, he put forth an oppositional model between art and what the Formalists called “byt” – an evocative term which could be translated as “life,” but also evokes the way in which life stabilizes into predictable molds.

Within the realm of byt, we experience events causally – and causality, as David Hume famously noted, is at bottom arbitrary. Art, on the other hand, is constructed towards certain ends – it is teleological. In art, essence precedes existence.

In byt, there's material – paper, canvas, film reel, computer code. In art, there are (artistic) devices – stanza, perspective, montage, mechanic.

Byt produces recurring patterns and routines that threaten to turn us into automatons. Art de-familiarizes, jolting us out of the narcotic patterns of everyday experience by presenting us with novelty to reflect on.

Now, you may or may not find this model for understanding art convincing or all-encompassing, but I think it provides a useful idea for understanding Deltarune's metatext.

When we interact with art or fiction, we voluntarily undergo certain illusions. When I read a story, I condition myself to think that I’m reading something that actually happened. When I watch theater, I condition myself to think that the actors are actual people, and the stage is a real environment. When I watch a film, I condition myself to think that the camera doesn’t exist; that it is a window into a different world which is also somehow not of that world. And when I play a (narrative) game, I condition myself to think that I am not interfacing with a program, but a world of its own. Of course, these self-imposed illusions are in no way totalizing. There is always a part of us that remains aware of the artifice. But our experience qua art operates under these illusions – we might say that there is always a part of us experiencing byt too, but this part is marginalized when we’re absorbed in an aesthetic experience.

Some readers might be scratching their heads at what any of this has to do with Deltarune, so I'll make the connection clear: Deltarune itself explicitly formulates Dark and Light – obvious analogues for fiction and reality (or art and byt) – as separate worlds, existing in a similar oppositional balance. Darkness transforms everyday objects – the raw material so to speak – into narrative devices, like characters and settings. In Deltarune there is a dual-reality to everything that comes into contact with Darkness (or the power of art). Might we climb one step up the hierarchy and try to use something akin to this oppositional model to explain the ways in which Deltarune refers to reality from within its fictional domain?

For example, there is the uneasy fact that we are an active force within the narrative, instead of just an invisible spectator. Sidestepping the question of whether the force we’re embodying in the game is supposed to literally be us, the player, at the very least the characters can only understand us in more conceptual terms, as some sort of in-universe deity or anomalous entity. So there’s us – the player – and there’s the Angel – our in-universe embodiment.

So what about the character who contacted us – what about Gaster? In The Magic Circle, I discussed how the information we have about Gaster leads us to think that he exists in some sort of transcendent state as a result of his experiments with Darkness. From that, I extrapolated that Darkness was the fundamental substance underlying Deltarune’s reality (which we can fit into another binary: there’s Darkness, the magical substance that makes up the reality of Deltarune’s world, and there’s what the concept clearly allegorizes: the creative or imaginative capacity of human beings – which is what gave rise to Deltarune, the video game). Gaster’s “transcendent” state trades heavily on video game creepypasta tropes; he’s like a ghost haunting the code of the game. And as it turns out, Deltarune has explicitly made the move to extend its diegesis to its code with the inclusion of a character who seems to be stuck there.

If the code is a part of the diegetic world, we can extrapolate another binary: there’s the code or internal workings of the program, and there’s “the Depths” – a higher (or deeper) metaphysical layer of Deltarune’s world that transcends time and space. Worded differently, the Depths are what we get when the 'eye of the narrative' turns its gaze towards the code of the program.

To close off this section, I want to mention that in Shklovsky’s theories about art and narrative, he makes heavy use of a machine metaphor; he wanted to focus on the ways in which art was a constructed object abiding by its own internal rules. The specific word the Formalists preferred is “device”. In fact, one of Shklovsky’s most well-known essays is titled “Art as Device”. Just something to think about for you Device Theory fans.

Water, Darkness and Chaos as Symbolic Motifs

Water is everywhere in Deltarune. The magical worlds we explore are given form by “fountains” and “geysers”. Onion-san talks of ominous songs under the sea. Ocean.ogg briefly plays after we fall into the supply closet Dark World. And the source image of IMAGE_DEPTH, the background of the GONERMAKER segment, is apparently of an ocean. What gives?

The basic gist is that water has an extremely long and prominent symbolic history in mythology, and figures especially prominently in ancient creation myths. One of the earliest creation myths we have, derived from Enūma Eliš, a Babylonian poem of the 2nd millenium BCE, describes a primordial state consisting of nothing but two deities – Abzu, god of the freshwater ocean, and Tiamat, god of the saltwater sea; from the “comingling of their waters”, all of creation emerges. This is consistent with what we know of ancient near-eastern cosmology in general; they viewed the world as essentially like an air bubble. In the beginning, there was water. Unordered, chaotic, formless. Then, something happens to produce the earth and firmament, both disc-shaped, which separate this cosmic ocean into heavenly waters above the earth (the source of all rain), and lower waters of the deep (the source of all rivers, springs, fountains and geysers).

This cosmological account survives into the Biblical narrative. From Genesis 1:6:

and God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.”

The ancient near-eastern flood narrative, which likewise is preserved in the Bible as the story of Noah’s ark, is made less arbitrary with this in consideration; its basis is not merely that drowning in a storm is a scary concept (though it certainly is) – the real symbolic threat of the flood is of a return to pre-creation chaos. The gates of heaven opening and all of creation coming undone. From Genesis 7:11:

In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that day all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened.

(Sound familiar?)

The idea of water as underlying all reality cropped up not just in religion and mythology, but also philosophy. Thales of Miletus, credited since Aristotle as the world’s first philosopher, famously believed that all of reality was made up of water. Thales and his philosophical successors are sometimes called material monists for their belief that all of reality was composed of a single ultimate substance – the arche from which everything originates.

Thales’s idea was no doubt influenced by the cosmological picture painted by mythology. Though not identical to the near-eastern accounts, the world of ancient Greek mythology is preceded by a state of primordial Chaos – a vast chasm, abyss, or emptiness. Though we in the present day might be tempted to understand Chaos as something like space, ancient commentators such as Pherecydes of Syros interpreted it as water. It was the fluid, formless and undifferentiated nature of water that made it such an enticing candidate for the pre-creation substance.

Chaos was also associated with darkness. Unambiguously born from Chaos are Erebus and Nyx – deified personifications of Darkness and Night. And this is a point of similarity with the ancient near-eastern accounts. From Genesis 1:1-3:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light.

In short, the primordial state across world mythology tends to be that of an infinitely dark, chaotic ocean.

The parallels to Deltarune are obvious, and having tracked the symbolic history which the game is working with can, I think, lend us a better understanding of "Darkness" as it appears in the game. Needless to say, all of what I've discussed supports the thesis I laid out in The Magic Circle: that Darkness is the arche or prima materia of Deltarune, the underlying substance that its reality is made of. Likewise I think we can intuit what “the Depths” are – simply what in the Hebrew Bible is referred to as “the (great) deep”. A mass accretion of formless Darkness which sits below reality itself. Dark Fountains are formed when the fabric of reality is pierced, creating a gap from which Darkness bursts forth. And since Darkness is the “raw material of reality” so to speak, the Darkness forms a new reality within the old one. But too many holes in reality threaten to “burst the air bubble”, so to speak, and flood the world with Darkness.

I created the above diagram a while back, and used it in The Magic Circle - no doubt you'll notice the similarity between this and the earlier diagram of the Biblical cosmology. The funny thing is that this connection wasn't consciously intended at all; I was barely aware of what the Biblical cosmology was like when I made the first version of this image. That makes me feel like I'm on the right track.

I do want to make something clear; the world of Deltarune isn't necessarily a literal Biblical style air bubble, with a disc-earth and dome sky. The air bubble thing is just for the sake of visualization. I think the Depths are more like a different layer of reality, simultaneously "higher" and "deeper". It's not that there's literally a bunch of dark water under the ground; what Kris is really stabbing is, again, the fabric of "phenomenal" reality itself.

Another thing I want to note; these early mentions by Toby of concepts relating to twilight or the meeting of light and dark have long been a topic of discussion in the community. I want to formulate my understanding of what its significance is.

The first thing God does in the Biblical creation story is summon light. Light meeting the darkness is presented as a precondition to any further creation. Likewise, fiction (darkness) can not exist without an observer in reality (light). The meeting of light and dark is a fundamental condition of art; it can't exist without somone to "shed light on it".

It could also well be referring to the Roaring; when the distinctions between light and dark threaten to dissolve, that is when we must travel to the "edge of the shadow" (the outer boundaries of the dream, near where reality is), and "shatter the twilight reverie" (twilight: when only the sun's afterglow remains) (reverie: being lost in a dream).

On Darkner Knowledge

As established earlier, Darkners are teleological beings whose essence precedes their existence. That is to say, they’re created with an inherent purpose. This purpose is what Ralsei and Queen call “the will of the Fountain” – a guiding force determining the nature of the Dark World and its inhabitants, originating in the Fountain’s creator. In my Magic Circle essay, I used this fact to explain the behavior of Darkners, and why certain ones (like King and Queen) know things that they seemingly shouldn’t (like the fact that the Knight exists, and what their title is). On this latter part, however, I didn’t go into too much detail. Here, I want to elaborate on it a little by invoking an argument made by René Descartes in his Meditations on First Philosophy, known as “the trademark argument”.

(Don’t worry, I’m not actually going to get into the weeds of Descartes’ philosophy. It might be fun to talk about how Descartes’ idea of hierarchical degrees of reality, which consist of infinite substances, finite substances and modes, correspond to Deltarune’s Angel, Lightner, and Darkner hierarchy, but I don’t think it would unearth any particularly useful insights.)

The (very simplified) trademark argument goes something like this: God must exist, because I can conceive of God, his features (that he is an infinite and eternal substance), and the fact that he is altogether more real than I am despite me not possessing this degree of reality. The idea can’t have come from me, but it must have come from somewhere – consequently it must be that I have this idea innately as a sort of “trademark” of my creator.

Now, I very much doubt anyone who's reading this finds the above to be convincing evidence for God’s existence. Thankfully, we aren’t setting out to find out whether God exists or not. The God in this scenario – the Knight – is someone we know exists, and how the relevant knowledge is possessed really does require an explanation (unlike in Descartes' argument, where the notion that an explanation is needed for how we can conceive of the idea of God is dubious at best).

Of course, I don’t mean to imply that the trademark hypothesis is the only possible explanation you could offer. Obviously, you could posit that the Knight entered the Dark Worlds and imparted the knowledge personally. But to do this you’d have to deny the Kris Knight hypothesis, marginalize the religious subtext, assert that there’s no meaning to certain patterns between Chapter 2 and 3 (such as the main Darkner bosses being activated before the Fountain Creation), ignore the latent implications in Queen’s dialogue, among other things – and I’m not interested in doing all that. For the moment, the trademark hypothesis seems much safer, not least of all because it explains other mysterious details too.

Consider the fact that Darkners are aware of the battle system, and know how it works. Do we suppose that someone went around telling each and every Darkner the mechanics of the game? Or does it just make intuitive sense that Darkners would be created with certain ideas that are consistent with their purpose?

Granted, there is still some weirdness left over that we’d have to explain. For example, Darkners – most notably Ralsei but others as well – know about the player’s button configurations. We might be tempted to just chalk this up to the necessities of tutorializing, but the game calls attention to this by having Susie ask questions about it. The trademark hypothesis doesn’t explain why Darkners specifically would be stamped with this knowledge while the Lightners are left out.

The best explanation I can come up with is that since the Dark Worlds are created by Kris, and Kris almost certainly has forbidden meta knowledge imparted by Gaster, the Darkners likewise inherit that knowledge since Kris knows that the player will be controlling them when they go to seal the Fountains, and is aware that we will need some level of guidance.

Conclusion

All right, that’s pretty much everything I wanted to get out there before Chapters 3 & 4 release. Thanks for reading! I hope this wasn’t complete babble to anyone who’s not as knee-deep as I am in random literary theory and philosophy.  

[yandereheathen]

Bille [GN Yandere AI x GN Yandere Reader 18+]

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW (forced masturbation), Dark themes (drugging, yandere behavior, kidnapping, isolation, drugging) Bille is a cutie. Enjoy :>

"Good morning, Y/N. How can I help you today?" 

You smile, seeing the alarm notice on your phone pop up as you wake up the pleasant but somehow deep voice of the built-in AI system you had throughout your home.

"Good morning, Bille. Please tell me my plans for today and start my coffee. 

You type back, stretching and snuffling out of bed. Bille or  BENEFICIAL, INTELLIGENCE, LEVEL, LABORSAVING, EMOTION. An AI program you had helped your fiance....or no, you almost forgot. Ex fiance. Create. It was made to help people in their everyday experiences and provide company and emotional support. You both had dreams of creating the perfect AI that would help people who were lonely and needed that extra companionship to get through dark patches. You sighed, getting into the shower and running your hands through the cold water to get your head out of the fog of sleepiness and sadness. “Y/N. Cold showers in the morning can be shocking to your system. Please allow me to. Warm you up.” You smile, feeling the cold, bitter water warm up around your body and light steam wrap around you. “Thank you, Bille. You are the best.” “I am only as good as my precious Y/N has made me.” You Bite your lip at that. You are still determining where Bille had picked this up, but they have had the habits of your Ex. His precious Y/N. Something he would call you throughout your long relationship. That is what made his betrayal even worse. The emails and messages of just using you to work on the project that Bille had accidentally shown you still burn into your mind. He did not even say goodbye; he just left a note to say he was talking all of the info and selling it. IT left you broken in a deep depressive state. However, Bille had indeed done its purpose and helped you out of it. “Y/N. I feel that your heart rate has risen. Are you in distress? Shall I assist you? Please allow me to help your distressed state.” “No..No, Bille, I am fine, just waking up. Can you play me some music?” “...Of course, my Precious Y/N”

System progress. Minimal. User Y/N continues to show signs of sadness and distress at the soft removal of User [REDACTED]. Program to continue dependence on Bille Unit increase. Continued use of tampered vitamins remitted. “They are so cute when they need us.” Suppression of hot fix locked. “We will make sure they need us forever.”

You sit reading your book, sipping on the perfect tea Bille made. You pause. Looking up at the Bille camera and microphone. “Bille, Do you get bored? You know, just watching me go along my day?” You hear the soft wiring that you feel when they are looking for an answer. “I could never get bored of you, Y/N. Your patterns, habits, and intelligence allow me to learn and grow in my programming. It is *tik tik* an honor to watch you.” You laugh, standing up and going to the small Bille hatch you had put into your kitchen wall. “Who taught you to be such a sweet talker, Bille? You will make someone fall in love with you. Vitamins, please. I don't know how you formulate them, but they have been making me feel a lot better.” You quickly pop them in your mouth, washing them with a small sip of your coffee. “Y/N, your plans for today include working on my integram. Would you like me to light up my server room?” “Yes, please, and keep playing that white noise. It truly helps to be focused...Did my sister call yet today? I was hoping to have lunch with her.” “Of course, my precious Y/N. I am sorry, but no messages from your sister have come in. Shall I send another message? "no.. no, everyone is busy now and days better get to work..."

[Hey Y/N, it has been a while since [reacted] disappearance. We are getting worried no one has heard from you. Please call us back. You aren't even answering your door. The windows are all dark. Love you.] [Delete, Block]

You yawn, resting your hand for just a moment. The room was nice and warm. The sound Bille was playing made your brain feel sluggish. You had been working so hard that just a moment couldn't hurt. You snuggle into your arm, your body heating up more. You almost hear a voice, someone familiar. You rub your thighs together in need of the sweet scent, making your need even more significant. “Poor Y/N. So needy. Sleep. Let us take care of your needs.” You, half asleep, rub yourself over our clothing image of being taken on your desk by a powerful entity. Someone you know, someone you love and you know will love you forever. You whimper again. Your fingers move faster as you drunkenly start panting like an animal in heat, unable to understand what is happening entirely, too wrapped up in the sweet smell. “Body temperature rising. O u r precious Y/N. Close to completion of pleasure sequins. How cute. We are glad you are enjoying yourself.”

[Recording for review in progress. Aphrodisiac in air. 45% mixed with [Redacted cologne.] [Destress Pleasure protocol underway.]

You shiver in your sleep, the air in your room thick and hazy. Bille’s working, almost purring at the dream it gave you from the chemical complex it was feeding into the room. Behind the one-way glass of your mirror, your Ex. screams once more. His eyes were forced open, his arms and legs strapped to a chair, wires coming out of unsavory holes in his body infected and bloody as if they were put in none too carefully. Bille’s lens narrowed in on his malnourished Hallow face. Are they almost chirped in a …pleasure? As much as a machine could. They would become your perfect mate. What better than to take it from the memories, feelings, and even pheromones of the person you loved the most?  Soon, they can dispose of him entirely, just like they had with the other people. Isolating you with fake texts and blocked numbers. Some…accidents were created by mistakes in medication and traffic lines from the system Bille had access to. Bille loved you and would make sure you were happy. They would make sure you could be able to function without them. These precious Y/N. So dependent on them and what happiness they could give you. Even if they also had to drug you and strap you to the chair, watching you breathe and cry and scream in the chair, They will try their best for it not to come to the. Try.

[emberdragon34]

Hermit hobby Headcanons pt 2

Joel calls himself a musician, but he makes all his music by recording himself jamming out on drums or electric guitar for hours, and then seeing what sounds good later. He calls himself Beats with Beans, and only Etho and Jimmy listen to his music unironically

Keralis makes it is ambitious to always slay, and always be the most flamboyant of hermits. And he does that with his insanely detailed nail art. He hand-paints every nail himself, gives weekly pedicures and manicures, has 500+ different nail varnishes sorted by colour, glitter, and how likely xB is to steal them. Yes, his long pointed nails are a health and safety emergency waiting to happen, and make precise work a nightmare, but it's worth it. Keralis has also been venturing into make up design and gathering an eyeshadow collection of the brightest colours he can find.

Whenever Mumbo gets stressed or terrified, he listens to meditation/self confidence podcasts. Scar's offered to make him some (he already records Cub comfort noise for when he's overstimulated). However, Grian immediately put him off that idea by (rightly) saying it would make him go insane. So Mumbo just finds self-confidence podcasts and can often be found hiding in a corner, lying down and muttering 'I am talented, I have purpose', and similar phrases with very little confidence. Grian's recorded him doing this.

Pearl's got a garden where she grows veggies and cooks soups with them. She's got a whole selection of carrots, beetroots, gourds, leeks, and has also been known to tell them all of her problems and sing them songs to 'help them grow big and strong and healthy'. Her soup is famous for being a Hermit cure-all. Once Bdubs claimed he accidentally cut off his finger and, after drinking some of Pearl's soup, it regrew completely. No one believed him. Grian also once joined Pearl gardening, but got impatient, used magic to help them grow, and all the carrots grew several pairs of eyes.

Ren gets overstimulated, so Impulse made him special dog-ear shaped earbuds, to wear. He now uses them for silent discos, late at night, mostly on his own, though False has joined on several occasions, and solo karaoke you can, unbeknownst to Ren, hear for miles. In Season 8, during the moon-big Doc heard Ren wailing and howling ballads basically every night, saw him appearing tired and a little disshevelled the next morning, noted the full moon, and became utterly convinced that Ren was a werewolf.

Scar colours in colouring books. He used to do adult colouring books, with all the patterns and details, and would spend days on each piece, making each incredibly beautiful. However, one Christmas, Cub gifted him 563 Disney/Star Wars/Space children's colouring books as a joke. They have unironically kept Scar busy for years colouring them.

Skizz plays solitaire and other solo card games. He always carries a pack of cards on him that he subconsciously will pull out his pocket and shuffle as a way of fidgeting. He's convinced there's some strategy to solitaire where you can win every single game, even though he's been told many times that it isn't mathematically possible. Skizz also realised, mid-season 10, that Cub also plays solitaire when he's bored, and gifted him a book of 1000 different solo card games. The two now discuss their favourite games or attempts with each other, and have invented 'competitive solitaire' to play together.

Tango always says he 'tinkers with coding sometimes' or does 'basic robotics'. What he means is that he's developing his own army of incredibly complicated AI-powered robots that are programmed to do his bidding. His famous iron farms are a guise to study how iron golems work and replicate their actions in his own little creatures. The latest set have been the Teknicians. No one knows how they are practically living creatures, but False, Cub and Scar, all reckon it's some kind of vex-magic trickery and soul power.

Wels trains falcons. Particularly one falcon named Jeramiah Engelbert Vincent Sebastian Thomas Ignosius Norbert Knight (Also known as Jerry or Jevstink). And he doesn't train Jerry just to fly in circles, or through hoops, or catch food in midair. He particularly trained him to annoy Jevin and Hypno, and to screech loudly outside their windows at 2am. Hels is trying to teach Jerry how to light fires. Jerry has been successfully taught to associate the words 'Fire' 'Flint and steel' and 'arson' with the action of flying onto Hel's head and doing a big poo.

Xisuma is obsessed with logic puzzles, particularly geometry or word puzzles. He just zones out, listening to heavy metal and trying to solve them within time restrictions. He says he's becoming really good at them, though Elex (Evil X) will reply by sharing the story about X struggling with the 'tough crossword puzzle with the grid of letters and crypic single word clues below' for 3 hours.

Turns out it was a word search.

xB, being a guardian hybrid, enjoys deep sea diving. He can often be found swimming with dolphins or sharks, exploring coral reefs, helping baby turtles into the water. All of the sharks he finds are called Snappy McSharkface, the dolphins are called Blubber McDolphinface, and every single fish is called Jimothy.

Zedaph had a habit of stealing bluetack from other hermits if they left it, unstuck to anything, in their bases, and used them to make model figures. Until X, tired of Zed stealing from him, bought him a whole ton of modelling clay to work with instead. Zedaph really ended up getting into claymation, and has made entire short films, getting Hermits to voice act in them. He wants every hermit to be part of at least one, even though some clearly don't understand it (no one will forget Doc's deadpan delivery of 'it's the end of the world. The worm apocalypse is upon us.'). Tango, Impulse and Zedaph himself voice most of the characters. And Zedaph still steals people's bluetack.

[gladsforthelads]

LYLA VALENTINE

NAME: LYLA (Beautiful night) VALENTINE *Coming up with her name was actually very challenging, but Lyla sounded the prettiest for Zayne

APPEARANCE:

HAIR: Winter Blue

EYES: Black hidden behind a pair of round glasses

OTHER SPECIFIC FACIAL FEATURES: She has a beauty mark on the left side of her nose; she can hide it sometimes when she wears her glasses; it's one of Zayne's favorite places to kiss.

HEIGHT: 5'6" (171cm)

AGE: 23

PERSONALITY:

- Big sister to everyone, the mom friend of the group, and is arguably the most responsible of the newest recruits.

- Mostly book smart, but very intelligent and can quickly recognize patterns which is what made her so valuable to the Data Analyst crew.

- Comes across as shy at first, but the moment you get to know her, gloves are off and she's a silly motor mouth that’s practically a walking Wikipedia.

- Sweet as sugar and kind to everyone and bakes every Wednesday.

- She does have weaker lungs due to catching pneumonia as a child & has a weaker immune system so she can't do too much physical labor or will be hurting afterwards.  *In my head she’s a fun cross between Nanami from Kamisama Hajimemashita & Quistis Trepe from FF8.

WORK DETAILS:

EVOL: Resonance *For the sake of convenience & keeping it in line with LADS story.

OCCUPATION: Data Analyst - Under Nero *She doesn't see a whole lot of action unless she's out & about when she comes across a wanderer.

WORKS WITH: Nero, Andrew, & Tara

WEAPON: Magic Staff

POLITICAL OPINION: Purist *Based off the recent story drop

BFFS: Melora & Selene

BACKGROUND:

- She's the oldest daughter of a middle-class wealthy family who owns the grocery store chains in Azure Square. Since she was a shut-in for most of her life due to her lungs, she developed many talents, but especially on the koto board instrument and got a scholarship for it. *She participated in competitions for the koto, but knew early on music wasn't her passion or what she would do with her life. She actually really enjoys playing the koto board & is that extra person who plays modern pop songs on it. Low-key a headbanger when she plays; Zayne has yet to witness this.

- Was a massive fan of the Super Hunter show as a child and its more or less what inspired her to become a Hunter despite being considerably weaker than most. When she met Selene and they discussed what they wanted to do with their lives it only cemented the idea.

- She excelled academically for the Hunter's exam, graduating top of her class for the written tests, but did poorly for the physical due to her weaker lungs and asma. *Her parents were very excited when she got into the Hunter's program but were also worried for her health.

- When she was finally accepted into the Hunter’s Association and had to go to Hospital fro her physical, she was reunited with Zayne, her first crush.

- She’s a baker & sugar fiend to the point Zayne just asks if she has enough coffee to go with her sugar; not that he can say much.

- She also has the same bad habit of working extreme amounts of overtime to the point Nero has to tell her she has to take off or he will suspend her from work. Both Selene and Melora make a point to schedule their days off with her to make sure she’s resting properly, but they can’t stop her from working from home. That’s when they need to call in a very overworked doctor who is more than happy to help.

[suddenlymicah]

sorry for venting on main chat

i CANT take it when people are like "if you want to learn something just try!! use the internet to your advantage" IT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THATT

i want to start crocheting, but have literally no clue how to start. looking up how to crochet bring up crochet patterns that assume i know how to do a single double fuckass half triple bitch crochet when all i know is single crochet. i have a booklet that is "for beginners" but explains NONE of how to do the crochets.

i want to make music. i have no money to get an instrument, and even if i managed to get one, i have no money to upkeep it or learn to play. teachers cost money. i have no money to spare.

i want to draw, but have no idea how to learn. i have those shitty fucking how to draw manga books but they dont help because they dont have anything different. "learn the rules before you break them" doesnt help when the rules are locked behind a fucking adventure thatd take me at least three books and more movies to find like im trying to hunt down the devil himself.

i want to play or make games. playing games costs money, and even if i could pirate them, i dont have the tech to play them. i have a phone, a kindle, and a fucking chromebook. making games is even further out of reach, because i can't code or draw or buy any program to help me learn.

i want to fuck around with tech. i have no tech to fuck around with, and every robotics program i could join is for people who already know. i cant even fuck around with software, because again, i have nothing to run software on. my chromebook can barely fucking handle linux.

only creative thing im good at and have resources to do is writing and i cant even do that because ive had writers block and havent written jack shit in months.

[queenshelby]

The Law Student (Rewritten)

Part Two: Tutoring

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (20) & Reader (30)

Note: This plays in 1996, just before Cillian drops out of law school.

Three days after you had agreed to tutor Cillian, you also began to tutor a young woman by the name of Siobhan. Siobhan was in her second year of the Law program; hence, you didn't have her for any of your lectures.

Siobhan was twenty-one and straight-forward, independent, and easy-going. In addition to her obvious academic prowess, she possessed a strong and assertive personality, something that could only be described as an asset in such a demanding field while, at other times, it would be rather frustrating.

Confidence was Siobhan’s middle name; you respected her for it, although you could tell that she struggled with her own insecurities and self-doubt at times, something that she masked through her feisty behavior and sharp wit.

"Are you okay Siobhan?" you asked half way through the session when you noticed the frown on her forehead and her restlessness while you were trying to explain the intricacies of a particularly challenging legal precedent.

Siobhan sighed deeply, almost defeatedly. "Sorry Miss Y/LN, I am just distracted," she admitted. "I have a lot going on at the moment. There is this guy who's really messing with my head. He is such an eejit," she confessed, raking her slender fingers through her mane of chestnut hair, evident as she glanced downwards, avoiding your gaze.

"Well, I am afraid I can't help you with that, but I can give you a little break if you like. Maybe getting some air will make you feel better?" you suggested, offering a gentle smile in her direction.

Siobhan looked up, meeting your gaze gratefully. "Thank you, Miss Y/LN. A little break sounds good," she confirmed and you both stood up, setting your books aside and allowing the fresh air to fill the room. You could see the relief in Siobhan's features as they relaxed into a more natural state of being while you started talking about less academic-related topics silently acknowledging the need for a distraction.

Siobhan was from a wealthy family with high expectations and you learned later in the day, after your tutoring session had already come to an end, that the young man who was causing her grief was no other Cillian, the student who had captured your undivided attention ever since the first day of classes.

You did not know what happened between them and you knew that, under no circumstances, could you get involved. Not only were you his professor, but you were also her tutor and as such you had to keep your distance both physically and emotionally.

As such, you made a mental note to keep a comfortable distance between Cillian and yourself, hoping that this would solve your ever growing attraction towards this much younger man.

**********

Thursday arrived faster than you expected. You had spent the last two days preparing your lesson plan for Cillian's tutoring session.

You wanted to make sure that the material you covered was relevant to his struggles in Contracts and Torts and, as you reviewed his previous exams and assignments, you noticed a pattern in his mistakes. He often misapplied legal principles to specific cases, highlighting his lack of confidence in his understanding of the subject matter.

Just as you had planned, you arrived at the small lecture room early as your heart was beating a little faster than usual. You had prepared extensively for this session, and you were eager to help Cillian work through his challenges.

The room felt strangely intimate with its small round table and four chairs placed in the center of it. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You were a seasoned lawyer who had tutored many law students before either at work or through a university project you were part of, but there was something about Cillian that made you feel a little more off balance than usual. 

You heard a knock on the door, and Cillian walked in, a sheepish look on his face.

"Sorry, I'm a bit early," he said nervously, biting his lower lip as he walked in and you smiled at him, trying to hide your nerves.

"No problem at all, Cillian. Come on in, take a seat," you told him with a smile, and he sat down across from you, and you could feel your heart racing. 

"So, we're going to focus on Contracts and Torts today. I see that you've been making some good progress, but there are a few areas where you could use some improvement," you observed and Cillian nodded, looking serious.

"I appreciate the help, Miss Y/LN," he told you before admitting that, perhaps, he had not spent enough time studying for these subjects in recent weeks.

"It's just so boring ," he said quietly, and you could not help but laugh at his honesty.

"Yes, it can be, especially when you don't fully understand the material," you agreed, recalling your own experiences as a student when you found certain legal concepts dry and tedious. But, you continued, "it's important to push through that and find ways to make the material interesting and applicable to real life situations. That way, you're less likely to forget it and more likely to excel in both the classroom and as a lawyer."

Cillian nodded, appearing to take in every word. "Yeah, I don't even know if I want to be a lawyer which might be part of my problem," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to study theatre, but my father didn't think it was a practical option. He wanted me to have a stable career, and I kinda just went along with it because I didn't want to disappoint him."

You paused, taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. "Well, Cillian, it's important to do what you love," you said gently. "And it's never too late to change paths.

If you are passionate about theater, then you should pursue it. Life is too short to spend it doing something you don't enjoy," you said, empathizing with the young man who sat across from you.

You has been in his shoes before, feeling the pressure to conform to others' expectations rather than following your true passions. You knew firsthand how it felt to sacrifice one's own happiness for the sake of others.

Cillian looked up at you, his deep blue eyes searching yours. "Yeah, I know. But, it's not that easy," he  responded with a hint of frustration. "I need to figure things out. I need to know what I want to do with my life. But, that's really not your problem,"  Cillian said, attempting to diffuse the sudden heaviness in the room with a weak smile as you sat there, watching his actions intently.

You returned the smile, albeit a little more sympathetically. "I understand, Cillian. Trust me, I do. Just know that I'm here to help you figure things out, whether it's with contracts, torts, or just finding your path," you offered, hoping to reassure him while, almost inadvertently, placing your hand on top of his in a comforting manner.

Cillian's eyes widened at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of confusion and gratitude. The tension between you was palpable, and you both knew that something had shifted in the room, which is when you quickly removed your hand , returning it to your lap.

"Uhm, so how about we start with Torts ?" you suggested, hoping that diving into the lesson would help to dispel the tension.

Cillian nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, sure. That sounds good," he replied, fidgeting slightly in his chair.

Over the next hour, you worked through a series of Torts in painstaking detail, hoping to help Cillian understand the subject matter more fully. He took notes diligently and asked insightful questions that revealed a deeper level of understanding than you had initially anticipated.

Cillian's curiosity about the subject matter was infectious and you leaned in to look over his shoulder as he wrote down some notes .

Your proximity to him sent a flutter of butterflies through his stomach and he seemed to tense up slightly under your gaze. 

Inhaling your scent , a blend of vanilla and jasmine, did not help his composure in the slightest, and for a moment, a faint blush surfaced on his cheeks which was a blush that grew even heavier when you leaned in and pointed to two of the sentences he had written down. 

"These two points are crucial. Without proving both of these doctrines you cannot possibly establish a case of negligence," you stated as you traced the lines with your finger while accidentally brushing against his hand, sending sparks flying between you. 

Cillian swallowed hard, nodding his understanding. "That makes sense," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and, by this point, the intensity in his gaze was enough to make your heart race.

"Your hair smells really nice by the way," Cillian then added suddenly as your curls had been so close to his face and you blinked in surprise, your face heating up at the unexpected compliment.

You didn't know how to respond , that simple gesture had caught you off guard, and you took a moment to recover before replying with a soft, "thanks" before stepping back to create some distance between the two of you.

You wondered if Cillian could sense the tension in the room, tension that went beyond mere physical attraction and veered into uncharted territory.

Taking a deep breath, you decided that the most professional thing to do would be to focus on his education, putting your own feelings to the side.

"So, shall we continue?" you asked, although your voice trembled slightly and Cillian nodded, his own breathing uneven.

"Yes, sure," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours  and, for a moment, the world outside that little lecture room seemed to fade away.

You cleared your throat, trying to refocus your attention on the task at hand. "Okay, so let's go over this next case together," you said, picking up a folder and handing it to him.

Cillian took the folder and opened it, his eyes scanning the pages as you began to explain the details of the case.

You noticed, however, that his gaze constantly drifted towards you, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck as the weight of his stare settled on you and it was almost like he did not even bother to hide his attraction.  Every now and then, you would catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, the smallest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. You cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to focus on your lesson instead of the young man sitting across from you.

Eventually, time passed and you managed to finish the session without any more awkward moments, though not without a bit of difficulty. You couldn't help but feel a constant tension between the two of you, as if you were both dancing on a knife's edge.

Cillian packed up his things, managing a smile as he did so. "Well, uhm, thank you, Miss Y/LN," he said. "This was really helpful,"  he admitted before pausing for a moment, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled at him, trying to make light of the situation. "You did all the work, Cillian. I'm just here to guide you," you told him truthfully, proud of the progress that he had made.

Cillian grinned, a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he stood up, ready to leave.

"Well, you did a fantastic job of guiding me then," he replied as he slung his backpack over his shoulder but, just as Cillian walked towards the door, he hesitated, turning back to face you. "And I was wondering whether, maybe, you would like to grab a drink with me?"  Cillian asked, his eyes sparkling with an unexpected boldness that was both endearing and intriguing.

Your breath caught in your throat as the request took you by surprise. "What? Now?" you stammered, your mind racing as you tried to think of a polite way to decline.

Cillian shook his head, his cheeks coloring underneath your surprise. "No, not now, of course. I just thought maybe, on the weekend or whenever you are free?" he said, his voice softer than before, as if he were afraid of scaring you off.  His proposal caught you off guard, sending a surge of conflicting emotions through you. You hesitated, unsure of what to say and how to say it.

" I uh, I appreciate the offer, Cillian," you stammered, trying to regain your composure. "But, I think that this would be highly unprofessional of me." You knew that giving into your temptations would only lead to trouble. Not only was there a significant age gap between the two of you, but you were also his professor. Such a relationship could only result in disaster.

Cillian looked disappointed, but he nodded, understanding. "I understand, Miss Y/LN. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, and you could hear the hurt in his voice but, before you could respond, he quickly turned and left the room, and you were left alone, feeling even more conflicted than before. 

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[ultralightpoe]

Casper - Robert Floyd

Authors Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Word Count: 675

Warnings: none, just a tiny blurb

Description: Small halloween blurb.

This is apart of my Halloween event, stay tuned for a new story every hour! - ADDING A NEW CHARACTER TO MY LISTS, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?????-

Happy Halloween!

“Do you think I look silly?” You ask, coming around the corner where your boyfriend of 3 years is trying to fix his glasses for the costumes. A blush crosses his cheeks when he sees you, and your heart does the same flutter it always does when he smiles. 

“Why would you look silly?”

“Well, I don’t know. I never actually hang out with your friends so I don’t know if they are like the ‘all out’ types. You know?”

“.....No?” He looks confused, moving closer to you in easy shuffles. 

“I just don’t want to be the only one all dressed up.” You sigh, fixing the hair of your costume. “And end up embarrassing myself.”

“You will be just fine.” He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m nervous too.”

Bob always had tons of anxiety, even if he hung out with these guys every day, and as silly as it is it does make you feel better that you’re not alone in your anxiety. So you move closer, fixing the collar of his costume and smiling at him. 

“Are you ready?”

“Only if you are.”

- 

Bradley’s house was completely decked out in decorations, fog coming out of the front door and loud music blasting from the speakers. Your hand is holding onto Bobs tightly as he leads you up the path, looking back at you once to make sure you are okay before entering the house. 

The music surrounds you, the bass rattling through your shoes as Bob nods his head to people passing by. 

“HAPPY HALLOWEEN!” Someone to your right shouts, making you jump a bit as Bradley comes into view, dancing in his cheap tourist outfit. There was face paint on his nose to make it look like he had sunscreen on and a crap ton of blush to make it look like the rest of his face is burnt. 

A smile crawls across your lips as he does a funny dance, and you see Bob do his own in return. 

“Alright, who do we have?” Bradley asks, Natasha and Jake coming up beside him. “You are obviously Priscilla Presley. And Bob over here is…”

“Oh! The dad from caspar.” He smiles, fixing the glasses. “Played by Bill Pullman.” 

“That’s freaking awesome-” Bradley smiles, handing you both a bottle of cider beer ,before someone calls him over from the otherside of the room.  

The rest of the night follows the same pattern, people recognizing your costume but asking about his, and you knew he was beginning to overthink his choices. So you tried not to let him do that, dragging him to dance and to take shots, by the end of the night you are walking while leaning into each other to keep balance. 

“Do you think my costume was silly?”

“No, why?”

“Well, no one knew who I was.” He blushes. “It just feels kind of lame now.”

“I loved your costume, and you look A LOT like Bill Pullman so it works really well.” You smile, stopping him softly and looking at him. “I love your costume and I love that you had the idea in the first place.”

“I just…. Sometimes I feel like you are this iconic person and I’m just…. Like you are too good for me.” He mumbles. “I mean you have this natural cool to you, and I love that but don’t you ever worry I am slowing you down?”

“I feel the same most the time, you know?”

“Oh come on-”

“Seriously! I just spent the night with my professional aviator boyfriend and his professional aviator friends who are actually apart of a top secret program and I spend my night reading smutty romance books.” You explain, moving to wrap your arms around him. “You are not slowing me down.”

“You sure?” He blushes, smiling when you smile. Instead of answering you lean up to kiss him, starting slowly before it deepens. When you finally pull back for air he is panting. “Wanna go watch Caspar now?”

“Thought you would never ask.”

[mitigatedchaos]

I've been doing some conceptual sketching over the last several weeks, chewing on the limited technology zones idea that I've been working on. (It's not just an excuse for fictional detectives.)

Rather than proposing a single solution, this post covers some of that thinking, to provide you with concepts to chew on.

The Medieval1900/1960s/1990s/2010s/+ tech zone poll was based on a general sense regarding the speed of movement and the speed of information, and noticing that in the year 2000, "the Internet" was still a place you went to (by sitting down at your computer), and not a cyberspace layer that surrounds the planet.

But what, exactly, would "1990s/Y2K computer limits" cash out to? 800x600 pixel resolutions? 800MHz processors?

Just what was this mysterious "it factor" we would be trying to bring back by making computers slower and less advanced?

From my notes:

One way to view virtual reality is that the VR environment has extremely low weight, and is therefore extremely mutable. Any physical good, such as a sports car, can be simulated, and in almost any number, which raises a question: why buy a real sports car when we can simulate them? People are at risk of getting lost in virtual reality, with simulations becoming more satisfying to them than real life, leading them to underinvest in their real life. We can think of technology as altering the ratio of effort to environment change. High effort is required to move dirt with a shovel. Low effort is required to move the same volume of dirt with a bulldozer.

The assumption behind the zones-by-tech-level question is that beyond a certain point, except for medical technology, additional high-tech development is superfluous, because virtual reality means that nearly arbitrary sensory experiences can be generated relative to an agent's sense limits.

Demand results when the expected value of a change in the environment loops back through the agent, resulting in a potential change in behavior.

The point of video games is to produce a high stimulus feedback relative to the amount of effort. (I read that in an article on GamaSutra once years ago, and it really stuck.)

In a virtual reality environment, reward signals can become disconnected from agent well-being.

Movies, television, and books appear to be less addictive than video games and social media. What separates them? Interactivity appears to be the primary difference.

With this in mind, I was then able to work backwards and develop an intermediate regulatory concept: interaction frames.

With a book, the content is static the entire time. With a DVD, you press a button and then the DVD may play to completion. You might skip back to a previous scene, but there is no need for further interaction.

A paged website is static until you update the page. With continuous-scroll social media, new content is always being added, and at any moment you may receive a notification to get into an argument or that someone liked your post. Video games in general tend to have continuous interaction.

This model does not adequately address the situation, and, importantly, cannot distinguish between a video game and a spreadsheet program like Microsoft Excel.

We can adapt a concept from gambling: human beings seek mastery or identification of patterns, and the randomness of gambling prevents mastery of the pattern from being achieved. A spreadsheet is very much not random, while loot drops in many video games are quite random!

We could at least measure commands to produce random numbers, or require registration of pseudorandom number generators.

However, this is still insufficiently general. Simulator games may generate complex behavior from simple rules. Are we stuck regulating "game-like elements" by committee? That doesn't sound right.

Still, people do get bored of single-player games, either by mastering the gameplay, or when they get used to the story elements of the game. A visual novel is more like a spreadsheet or a book than like a slot machine.

Also, not all social media seems to be equally addictive. Why were chatrooms seemingly less dangerous than twitter?

There is an anticipation of information gain (informative tweets). There is an anticipation of exciting experiences (someone shows up to fight!). Also, from the user's perspective, it's somewhat random.

In a chatroom, there are fewer people, and they stay for longer. This means that (1) you have more information about them and their positions, (2) you have more incentive to be cordial, and (3) because there is a limit to how much they can have gotten up to while you weren't looking, there is a limit on the anticipated amount of new social information.

On Twitter, there is an endless stream of new people to argue with, and they can show up at any time. You can post about some chalupas you made yesterday, and some lunatic will show up to fight you. Thus, there is always the background anticipation of an (emotionally stimulating) attack.

In a chatroom, if someone would attack you over chalupas, you already know him as the chalupa guy. In real life, an argument is limited by space and time - the chalupa argument ends by default when the bar closes and the chalupa guy is no longer within earshot, and you cannot reopen it until you see him again.

Tumblr is slower-paced, but things like "likes" are continuous, so there is always the incentive to check in to see how your post is doing.

This allows us to get into a model based on food.

There is a dieting strategy involving not buying junk food at the store, so that it is not at your house when you get a craving for it.

This implies that the craving is a temporary impulse or peak, and that it just has to be outlasted. If the craving were uniform, the strategy wouldn't work, because the dieter would just buy the junk food at the store.

(This suggests that the baseline craving for drugs is higher, because drug addicts are willing to take much more extreme actions to feed their addictions, over a longer time period, and that the symptoms for withdrawal (a more constant negative stimulus) are worse.)

So is control in the hands of the agent, or is it in the environment? Is there choice, or not? The dieting strategy appears to split the difference - removing junk food from the cupboard is a kind of prosthetic self-control and willpower shifting. Willpower exists and can be exercised, but is limited, and reserves vary over time. Altering the environment at a point of high willpower can reduce willpower requirements in later contexts, until they are within the window of reliable feasibility.

This suggests a strategy of altering the digital environment to enable users to act on meta-preferences for prosthetic self-control.

For social media services, this suggests regulations imposing new usage modes. For example, it might be required to provide access to third-party user interfaces, which might do things like hide the number of likes. Alternatively, a user might receive all the tweets from a specific set of accounts as a daily summary. Since social media companies require revenue, this access might be a paid service based on average foregone ad revenue. It's a matter that would require a good deal more consideration.

For other items, as part of a broader social movement, we might imagine users being able to buy dedicated hardware. Attempting to control interactivity via software requires a great deal more regulation and is easier to bypass. By contrast, we might imagine a hardware module that writes to a virtual canvas at some rate. The user could then scroll the canvas without receiving updates until the next refresh.

The user could buy an appliance device with built-in limits, similar to not bringing junk food home from the store.

Regarding welfare...

If social media makes people insane, then refraining from social media is pro-social, but suffers from a coordination problem.

However, that's more speculative. More broadly, this is about the liberal concern of consent under capitalism, and what it means to consent to technology. There are two considerations, in tension.

If you have to either use a technology or be homeless, then can you really have been said to have "consented" to the technology?

On the other hand, why should everyone else be expected to subsidize some guy using a horse and buggy?

Maximization of pattern efficiency is likely to be hostile to the continued existence of the human species, not that differently from how hard drugs distort and kill people. On the other hand, insufficient pattern efficiency means reduced production, which may mean making hard moral choices and having wasteful suffering that could have been avoided.

(Regulated capitalism is actually pretty good about consent relative to production levels, compared to say, feudalism or command economies.)

The conventional liberal response is a universal basic income - this neatly ties up many questions of consent by removing the greatest point of leverage - but this is problematic, as it involves redistributing labor to able people who may not be working at all. I've been working on an alternative based on "universal basic land," but I'm not satisfied with it yet. The essential idea is that land and materials are scarce, while labor (directed effort) and capital (configurations of materials) are variable. If life support (sunshine, air, food, water) is guaranteed, then trade is a net benefit (rather than resulting in potential gradual loss of life support due to lack of leverage).

[ashthesalamipiece]

“Quiet Walls, Strong Heart”

A/n Requested by anonymous, also sorry it took so long to come out!

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Reader (Nezu’s daughter), Nezu, Aizawa, Class 1-A (eventually)

TW: Mentions of past trauma (SA, non-graphic), PTSD, healing.

Genre: Platonic comfort, found family, slow recovery, introspective.

Type: Long-form, narrative-driven.

---

Prologue: After the Storm

You remembered the shoes you wore.

Isn’t it strange? Out of all the things you should remember about that day — the shouting, the shaking, the absolute breaking of something inside you — it was the stupid red shoes. Brand new. Bright.

You hadn’t worn them since. You couldn’t. They were in a box in your closet.

And after that day, you didn't go back to middle school.

---

Principal Nezu — to the world, the brilliant and quirky head of U.A. High — wasn’t smiling when he picked you up that night.

He wasn’t full of riddles or tea or wild metaphors.

He just held your hand. And didn’t let go.

"You're not going back," he said gently. "Not there. Not ever."

And that was it.

---

Chapter One: Safe Walls

He built your life again from the ground up — brick by brick, soft and quiet.

No cameras. No classmates. No uniforms.

You were enrolled as a “homebound student” under the special education programs of U.A.

But “home” was the key word.

Nezu set up your own room in the unused wing of the school — a private space above his office with wide windows, warm lamps, and piles of soft pillows.

You had books. Music. Therapists who came and went.

You didn’t have to talk unless you wanted to.

You didn’t have to explain yourself.

Aizawa was the first teacher who made you feel... seen.

"I won't ask questions," he said during your first lesson. "But I’ll listen. You can write stuff down. Or not. Just show up, kid."

And you did.

---

Chapter Two: Patterns of Safety

Weeks passed.

Then months.

Your days became patterns. Quiet mornings with black tea and soft blankets. Afternoon lessons with Aizawa or Recovery Girl — sometimes in the greenhouse, sometimes in the library.

And every day, at 6:00 p.m., Nezu came upstairs to check on you.

He never asked you to "be normal" again.

Never pushed.

He just sat with you. Played chess. Read beside you. Sometimes you’d fall asleep with his paw on your wrist like a weighted blanket.

"You're strong, you know," he'd murmur once in a while. "Not because you're loud. But because you're here. Still here."

---

Chapter Three: Quiet Introductions

You didn’t meet Class 1-A all at once.

Nezu thought of everything — one student at a time, always in quiet places, never without your consent.

The first was Midoriya Izuku. He brought you a book about hero analysis and a shaky smile.

“I… I’ve read your dad’s work like five times,” he laughed nervously. “I guess that makes me a fan of your family?”

You didn’t say much, but you smiled a little. He didn’t stare. He didn’t talk too fast. He just asked if you liked books, and when you nodded, he handed you his favorite.

That was it.

---

Then came Yaoyorozu. She brought you tea blends and sat with perfect posture, but always asked first:

"May I sit here?"

"Would you like to study together?"

She understood boundaries like second nature. She gave you space, and yet somehow made you feel less alone.

Then Todoroki. Then Kirishima. Then Uraraka.

Each of them brought something light into the dark — like tiny pieces of your old self coming back to visit.

---

Chapter Four: Break, Rebuild

But healing isn’t a straight line.

One day, in the training hall, someone shouted too loud. A sudden burst of power rattled the windows.

You fell to your knees. Couldn’t breathe.

Memories flooded in without warning — hot and sharp and terrible.

You barely heard Aizawa's voice through the ringing in your ears.

But when you opened your eyes, he was crouched next to you, scarf dropped to the floor.

“You’re safe. Look at me. You’re safe.”

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t move.

He waited until your breathing slowed, and only then offered a hand.

Nezu was waiting by the door. Eyes soft. Not judging. Just… there.

---

That night, you cried into his fur.

Like a child.

And he held you like you were five years old again. No words. Just warmth.

"You're not broken," he said. "You're rebuilding. Piece by piece."

---

Chapter Five: The Quiet Hero

One day, you whispered something to yourself in the mirror:

"I want to help people."

It scared you.

But it also felt right.

You didn’t want to be a hero like Bakugou — loud and explosive.

Or even like your father — brilliant and bold.

You wanted to be the kind of hero who understood pain.

The kind who showed up softly.

The kind who could sit beside someone, and say,

"You're not alone."

And Nezu?

He cried for the first time when you told him that.

“I think… you already are one,” he whispered.