#bison behavior

[delicatelysublimeforester]

The Rhythm of Seasons: Understanding Phenology through Weather and Traditional Knowledge

[earthfluuke]

“I was thinking I wanted it done on my thigh. What do you think?” THE HEART KILLERS (2024)

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Are Cowbirds Invasive?

(Originally published on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/are-cowbirds-invasive/)

When discussing invasive species, we often think of species that evolved far away on other continents. Here in the United States, thousands of non-native species have been brought here since the dawn of colonization; while not all became established, a significant number have since become aggressively integrated into local habitats, much to the detriment of native species they displace or otherwise harm. But sometimes a species will simply encroach upon an ecosystem adjacent to its native home, and then spreads from there, having the same negative impact as other relatively new arrivals. Which begs the question: are birds on the move like barred owls (Strix varia) and cowbirds invasive?

I want to especially look at the brown-headed cowbird (Molothrus ater). Like the barred owl, these chunky songbirds have expanded their range in North America in recent decades due to the extensive damage we’ve done to habitats across the continent. Both were particularly affected by the destruction of the Great Plains. Settlers tore up the ancient grasslands with plows, suppressed fires that had kept forests from encroaching, and started a trend of afforestation–planting trees where they aren’t supposed to be–that continues today. In the latter half of the 19th century, the plains bison (Bison bison bison) was slaughtered almost to extinction to make money off the sale of their remains, and to disempower indigenous communities throughout the region who were reliant on this keystone species for their very existence.

The owls hopscotched across the growing number of tree plantations that dotted first settlements, then towns, then sprawling suburbs and cities, and thus were able to reach all the way to the west coast, where they have put serious competitive pressure on the northern spotted owl. The cowbirds, on the other hand, became refugees as all but the last few hundred bison disappeared from the landscape. They instead turned to domestic livestock like cattle for their survival.

(Read the rest under the cut.)

Same Habits, Different Hosts

Brown-headed cowbirds are unusual in that they evolved to migrate with the bison, rather than waiting for new herds to arrive. The birds feed on insects stirred up by the herd’s hooves, along with seeds of grasses and other plants along the way. Cowbirds perching on the backs of these enormous mammals would have been a common sight prior to the bison’s near-extermination, and today they may still be seen watching for prey from on top of cattle, horses and other domestic livestock.

Because cowbirds have spent thousands of years migrating with their bison hosts, they couldn’t afford to settle in one place for months at a time to raise a nest of chicks, particularly as spring and summer would be prime time for finding insects to eat. It might be weeks or even months before a herd would return to a given area, and without the help of the bison the cowbirds would have had a difficult time finding enough insects on their own, let alone for a hungry nest of babies.

So the cowbirds evolved a rather controversial strategy: brood parasitism. Instead of building their own nest, they find someone else’s and leave a few eggs there for the unwitting owners to raise. Some people anthropomorphize the cowbirds as being “bad”, “lazy”, “evil”, and so forth. And, of course, it’s easy to call cowbirds invasive, too, since they literally invade the nests of other animals.

But nature is amoral; there are no inherently good or evil animals. While we may project our distaste for the cowbirds’ practices onto their value as a species, brood parasitism is simply one of a plethora of strategies animals have evolved in order to pass their genes on to the next generation. If it gets the job done, then it is an evolutionary success. Like the mate cannibalism of some mantids and spiders or animal infanticide practiced by male lions, baboons, and dolphins, brood parasitism may be vicious by our standards, but it is a legitimate survival tactic in the sometimes-cutthroat world of nature.

Are Cowbirds Invasive?

We can certainly call cowbirds invasive when they hop into a nest they didn’t build just to drop off an egg. But are they invasive on a more widespread level? Arguably yes. Not all invasive species were physically transported by humans, but the impact is the same: they have a deleterious effect on one or more other species in their habitat. And unlike coyotes, which only spread to new horizons when their competitors were extirpated by human hunters, brown-headed cowbirds are not filling a niche that was previously taken by another species. they are, instead, an often-unwanted addition to local ecology.

In addition to tearing up the Great Plains and then planting trees there, we also cut down massive numbers of trees in historically forested areas across the continent, leaving patches of fields in which cattle and other livestock graze. This has led to the spread of the cowbird beyond its normal range in the prairies. Other bird species that evolved alongside the cowbirds have developed ways to respond to brood parasitism, from throwing cowbird eggs out of the nest, to building a new nest entirely.

A young cowbird sits in a sparrow’s nest. Note the sparrow egg in the lower left corner that has been pushed out of the nest.

But birds in the cowbird’s expanded territory aren’t always so savvy. That includes species that have seen declining numbers in recent decades due to habitat loss, lead and other toxins, and predation by another invasive species, the domestic cat (Felis catus). Since cowbirds and their chicks will both remove their hosts’ eggs from a parasitized nest, and cowbird chicks may toss their host’s young out or steal all their food, this means fewer numbers of the host species being successfully hatched and fledged. All of which means cowbirds are becoming a serious conservation concern.

That being said, we shouldn’t be too quick to dismiss an entire species by calling all cowbirds invasive. Within their native range in the Great Plains, they are an important part of local ecology. And–unlike certain members of our own species–they are not intentionally cruel animals that want to see other living beings suffer. They are simply doing what their ancestors have done for thousands upon thousands of years, and unlike humans they have no capacity to consider the impact on their hosts.

One last note: if you are tempted to remove cowbird eggs from a nest, please don’t. First, it’s an activity best carried out by professionals who have a better sense of what nests should be attended to and when. Moreover, egg removal can not only cause the host birds to abandon their nest and their own eggs, but cowbirds are more likely to attack hosts who remove the offending eggs, and you could be setting the nesting pair up for retaliation from the cowbirds. And brown-headed cowbirds, like almost all native birds in the United States, are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, which makes it a federal offense to disturb or harm the birds themselves, as well as their eggs or nests. If you are in an area where cowbirds are considered to be invasive, and you are concerned about another species’ nests, contact your state wildlife department or the closest Audubon Society (some of these societies have changed their names in recent years, but fulfills the same roles as before.)

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[nightowlfury]

ok not only has kant's love for his brother (whole driver of the plot) not been given the depiction + emphasis it deserves but now it's being written off as what seems like mere obligation/responsibility. like what person who loves their brother enough to repeatedly endanger their own life turns around and says they're ditching him as soon as he turns 18. makes no sense!! despite his empty threats literally bison has shown more concern for/attention to babe. come on

[serpentface]

A Korya man astride a camelops, both wearing their winter coats. [redo of an old post]

The camelops is part of a widespread genera of large ungulates that are native to the temperate, subarctic, and arctic regions across the northern hemisphere. Camelops used to have a near-ubiquitous geographic range, but the last equatorial and southern species went extinct long prior to the behavioral modernity of any sophonts.

There are several domesticated strains of camelops (stemming from a few different species), and they are the (very distant) second most common riding animal used by humans and elowey. They have advantages over khait in regions that see significant yearly snowfall, being superbly adapted to the cold and having broad feet that effectively distribute their weight in snow, and are especially valuable in dry tundra and grassland due to their resistance to dehydration.

The Korya peoples are located in the central-north of the landmass above the Inner Seaway. Their lands are temperate and encompass prairie, woodland, and forested regions.

This man belongs to the nomadic plains Korya, who subsist primarily on herding camelops and secondarily on seasonal hunts of large wild ungulates (bison, aurochs, and deer most notably). Their camelops are rarely slaughtered for food and leather, as the living animals are key to subsistence. They are invaluable for survival in the short but often harsh and snowy winters in open grassland, carrying their riders over deep snow, supplying wool for clothing and milk and blood for consumption. Most hunting of large ungulates is performed astride the camelops, allowing for close approaches to prey and quick responses to the movement of fleeing herds. Plains Korya are also noted as formidable in combat as mounted archers and spearmen.

While a primarily nomadic people, the plains Korya have several permanent settlements across their lands that function as neutral meeting spaces between clans and hubs for trade and artistry. The Korya peoples at large have shared traditions of silverworking, and plains Korya specialize in elaborate silver pieces worn as jewelry and for ornamentation on tack.

TANGENT:

The Korya peoples are part of a cultural-linguistic complex spread throughout the far east of the supercontinent. In the contemporary, this complex can be roughly divided into the Keppeji, Korya, and Finnic sub-groups (each of which can be substantially further divided)

This map attempts to illustrate the spread of these languages (over the course of centuries) and the people that carried them. Note that the lands marked as contemporary settlements do not represent countries/discrete regions/singular peoples, rather just the lands PRIMARILY inhabited by the various descendant peoples of a distant shared common ancestor.

[elliespassagerprincess]

I cant stop thinking about dark desperate ex gf ellie who broke up with you for cat a few years ago but now is knee deep in love and keeps trying to manipulate your relationship with your gf (jesse and dina try to stop her but... Young love what can we do)

Knee deep - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! I really like this idea... I lowkey wanna make a part 2 to this... i hope you enjoy:)

Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, toxic behaviors, mention of infidelity (emotional), angst-heavy, complex feelings, swearing.

Summary: In which ellie wanted you back

Masterlist

Ellie Williams wasn’t supposed to come back. Not after what she did.

You’d built a life—steady, slow, whole—without her. Two years since she left you for Cat. Two years of grief, resentment, quiet rebuilding. Two years of convincing yourself that her absence was your freedom.

Now she stood outside the Tipsy Bison, a cigarette twitching between her fingers, hood up, green eyes tracking you like a mark.

“Hey,” she said when you stepped outside, your name low and husky on her tongue like a secret. “Been a while.”

Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t seen that face in two years—only through half-memories and the hollow ache of dreams you refused to admit you had. She still looked the same. Tired. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that only hurt now.

You didn’t answer.

Ellie took a drag and blew out a slow breath. “You gonna ignore me forever?”

You wanted to. God, you wanted to.

But something about the way she said it—like she already knew you wouldn’t—cracked the surface.

“What do you want, Ellie?”

She shrugged like she didn’t already have a thousand motives stitched beneath her skin. “I just wanted to see you. Thought we could talk.”

You gave her a hard look. “After two years?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “After two years.”

Jesse didn’t believe it. Dina was pissed. Even Maria—who didn’t usually let things shake her—grew cold the moment Ellie’s name passed through your lips.

“She’s back?” Maria asked, arms crossed as she leaned against the kitchen counter, lips tight. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, which wasn’t a lie. Not really.

“She’s dangerous,” Dina added, always the realist. “Not in the ‘gonna hurt you physically’ way. In the ‘gonna pull your brain apart thread by thread’ way.”

You told yourself they were being dramatic. That you were stronger now. That Ellie couldn’t touch you anymore.

But then she started showing up.

Once at the diner where you worked—ordering coffee she never drank. Once near your cabin, claiming she “just happened to be walking by.” And once, late at night, waiting on your porch with a bottle of whiskey and a sad, slanted smile.

You didn’t let her in. Not that night.

The day she finally got to you was rainy. Thunder hung in the distance, and Cat was away on patrol. You’d been in the garden, hands dirty, hair damp, when Ellie showed up at the gate like a ghost resurrected.

“You still wear that necklace I gave you,” she said, voice soft and surprised.

You looked down. A slip of silver tucked beneath your shirt. You’d forgotten it was there. It pissed you off that she noticed. Pissed you off more that you hadn’t taken it off.

You wanted to tell her to leave, but she just kept going.

“I fucked up,” she whispered. “I thought Cat was… I don’t know. Simpler. Safer. But it was never like it was with you.”

You rolled your eyes, wiping mud on your pants. “You’re two years too late.”

“Are you happy?” she asked suddenly referring to the girl you had recently started dating.

Her name was Daisy. She was perfect, she gave you everything Ellie didn't. But you didn't love her like you loved Ellie.

No one could compare to Ellie.

The question landed like a gut punch. You weren’t expecting it. She leaned in then, crowding your space, eyes glassy and searching.

“Does she make you feel the way I did?”

You stared at her. “She doesn’t make me feel like shit. That’s the difference.”

Ellie flinched, and for a moment, you felt victorious.

But then she laughed—low, bitter. “You say that, but you’re not pushing me away.”

You did, then. Shoved her back with dirt-caked fingers and slammed the gate shut.

The problem was—Ellie didn’t stop.

She started leaving things. A drawing of you from memory, folded neatly in your mailbox. A song on a tape labeled "for the nights you still think of me." A note under your door that said, “She doesn’t know you like I do. She never will.”

You told yourself you hated it. You told yourself it was manipulation. You weren’t wrong. But you also didn’t tell Daisy.

The tension grew like a weed.

Daisy sensed it. Of course she did. She wasn’t stupid.

“You’ve been weird lately,” she said one night, her voice clipped. “Distant.”

You looked down at your hands. “Just tired.”

“You’re not still hung up on her, are you?”

Silence.

“Jesus,” Daisy muttered. “You are.”

“It’s not like that,” you insisted, even though it was exactly like that. Ellie was a wound that never fully healed. Just scarred over enough to convince you it had.

Daisy stood up, disgusted. “She left you. She replaced you. And now she comes back and suddenly you’re forgetting everything we’ve built?”

You didn’t answer.

Because Ellie had taken up space in your mind again. And you were letting her.

The night it all boiled over, the power had gone out.

A storm swept through Jackson and left the town flickering in candlelight. You were alone in your cabin when a knock hit your door. Slow. Measured.

You knew it was her.

Ellie didn’t wait to be invited. She stepped in, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her forehead, and eyes wild with something between hope and desperation.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

You backed away, heart hammering. “You left me.”

“I know,” she said, voice breaking. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to love you the right way.”

“And now you do?”

She walked closer. “Now I’d rather fuck it up trying than live without you.”

You hated how your knees weakened. Hated how she knew just what to say.

“This is wrong,” you said.

“But it feels right,” she countered, and then she kissed you.

It was lightning in the bloodstream. Familiar. Addictive. Toxic.

And you kissed her back. Only for a moment.

Then you shoved her away. “I can’t do this.”

Ellie’s expression shattered. “You still love me.”

You hesitated. Then: “That’s not the point.”

The next day, you told Daisy everything.

It ended in shouting. Slamming doors. Tears. She left. Said she needed time.

And you stood in the wreckage, heart hollow, stomach twisted with guilt and something uglier: relief.

Ellie showed up that night. Like she knew.

“I heard,” she said, leaning against your porch railing. “You told her.”

You didn’t reply.

Ellie smiled, and it wasn’t kind. It was something darker. Hungrier.

“Guess it’s just us now.”

[taxideermied]

What is "prey rage"?

Thanks for the question! And sorry that my answer is so long. I like to yap and this has been on my mind for a while. This is coming from anglophone USAmerican observations, for the record, I don’t and can’t speak in absolutes on this issue as it applies to other countries and cultures.

But in therian and non-therian spaces both, there is a general tendency to characterize prey animals as passive (innocent, helpless, harmless) and predators as active (hunters, killers). And this notion is harmful and unhelpful across the board, but especially, in my opinion, when it comes to large ungulate species.

Most of us (USAmericans) are extremely alienated from the beef, dairy and pork industries, and are unlikely to interact closely with cows or pigs. Given the general cost and land requirements of equestrian hobbies, the same goes for horses. Deer are somewhat present in the collective consciousness but usually as pests or a road hazard or a hunting season. The fact that these animals are capable of violent self defense is obscured, almost on purpose, in a land of friendly milk advertisements and Disney cartoons. You don’t want to think about Bambi goring someone, do you? That might make you buy less merch.

And to be fair, I do think it goes deeper than that. Humans anthropomorphize reflexively. Predator species are often more charismatic and their relative rarity and ecological importance makes the study and documentation of individuals much easier. Predators are usually independent, and when they’re not, they often exist in family groups, lifestyles that are not only approachable but downright appealing to the USAmerican mindset. These animals are framed as intelligent (as it relates to a human way of thinking) and active ecological forces that keep prey animals (necessarily passive in comparison) in check.

So the prey species become largely secondary. Since humans are at the top of the food chain, it’s difficult to properly conceptualize life for animals that are predated upon. They eat (mindlessly), they reproduce (mindlessly), and they are killed (mindlessly). If humans have deigned them worthy of conservation, they become not just mindless, but sin-less creatures uniquely devastated by climate change or habitat loss (a characterization that also hurts predatory species). Their passivity is a virtue in need of protection and, if it’s not obvious, the idea that these animals are as equally capable of killing as they are of dying sort of throws a wrench in the whole well-meaning paradigm.

Elk and bison injure people annually at Yellowstone, and still humans wander up to them as if that outcome is a complete impossibility. And yes, the public is largely uneducated on animal behaviors, but I hear a lot less about tourists toddling off towards bears and wolves, don’t you? It’s like that gif of that biker guy holding his arm out to a horse clearly displaying every “fuck off” warning sign in the book, and the guy gets bit. It’s not just that he doesn’t know horse body language, it’s as if he can’t conceptualize the idea that a horse might feel threatened and lash out and hurt him. Because horses don’t do that. They’re literally nice.

Obviously, prey species will defend themselves, violently, explosively and “no holds barred” if necessary, because the other option is usually death. And this defense, by design, will fuck up humans or any other predatory species.

Granted, prey “rage” is an unhelpful anthropomorphization of this behavior as well, but in my defense I was talking about myself.

I’ve talked before on this blog about how I value kindness and compassion, and partly why I value it so highly because it is often against my nature entirely and is something I have to actively work at. If I feel I have been wronged or hurt my first instinct is the kind of kick-your-lights-out, kill-or-be-killed reaction an elk has when a wolf is latched onto its hock. I have to get them back, and it has to hurt.

Now I can recognize that that is a self destructive and unhelpful impulse (there is no wolf latched onto my hock), but I do believe it is informed by my “prey brain” (among other aspects of my nonhumanity). It is unhelpful to characterize me as innocent or incapable of harm on account of my deer-ness, and I will always reject that sentiment. Further, is damaging to discuss deer and other prey species as wholly sweet and innocent even and especially in therian spaces, and that was largely what I was getting at with my original post. Hope that has answered your question lol :>

[bearofohu]

something i dont see talked a lot about in layton fandom is that hershels a hoarder. there are multiple mentions made in in blurbs, dialogue and even cutscenes that bring up how how much of a cluttered labyrinth of papers, books & items laytons office is

we dont see his flat much but i remember a dialogue blurb from luke somewhere in the og trilogy that mentions its even worse than his office (which is a little telling bc his flat looked fine in the cutscene from when claire was still alive). it’s also said that luke is the reason his office and flat look even slightly presentable. technically a combined effort from luke & rosa—but come the og trilogy it’s basically just luke

there could be a multitude reasons why he has this problem. personally i doubt level-5 intended it to be anything more than a character quirk of a genius, as messy spaces is a trope of that archetype. but the thing is, it’s not just messy, it’s very notably cluttered. its described as difficult to navigate through when its not cleaned up. it’s described as a labyrinth at one point. its easy to just chalk it up to a harmless quirk, but its also reasonable imo to take a more introspective route and interpret it as a byproduct of grief

in real life theres often more than one thing contributing to hoarding behaviors developing in adults but the loss of a loved one is often a big trigger of what causes the problem to become notable. grief is one word for a vast spectrum of emotions but becoming more adverse by the thought of discarding or losing things is a common psychological way to cope against the anxiety grief can cause, which can very easily add up. and it should be noted that laytons immense emotional attachment to the tophat would put him in a position where hoarding urges unfortunately thrive—emotional attachments to objects

on the bright side however—hoarding is very much something a person can work on. it’s not easy, nothing like this ever is, but it can be worked on. and personally i think what did it for hershel was realizing that after luke had moved, letting his spaces look the way they were previously would basically be saying that it didnt matter to him how much fussing luke did so his space could be nicer—and it very much did matter to him. so over time and with emotional support from rosa & flora he works and works on it

come new world of steam and hes not perfect—but hes a lot better, better enough that he can recognize when things are getting bad on his own and correct it. and now when luke drops by his rental place in steam bison and has nothing to clean hes caught between pride and pacing around restlessly bc hershel just auto completed his main quest objective

[firstkanaphans]

I don't know much about thai language other thn from dramas obviously but do you think there's a reason why kantbison kept calling each other khun even after 5 years of relationships? Is it the norm ? Isn't it too formal after a 5-year relationship? Sorry if I offend the culture but its something I keep thinking

No, not at all! When couples call each other "khun" it always screams married behavior to me—probably because that's what the parents in most of these BLs call their spouses. It is formal, but in the same way that using rude pronouns with friends indicates closeness, so does using formal pronouns with someone you're dating. My favorite example of this is Pisaeng from Be My Favorite who uses rude pronouns with Kawi in the past, but switches to formal/polite pronouns in the future once they're in a long-term relationship. You know that line in Pride and Prejudice where Elizabeth tells Mr. Darcy that he can only call her Mrs. Darcy when he's incandescently happy? That's what couples using "Khun" reminds me of.

Every couple's dynamic is different and one of the things I find so fascinating about the Thai language is how pronoun use can tell you so much about a relationship. In the case of Kant and Bison who have dom/sub undertones incorporated in their dynamic, I think the use of "Khun" serves to elevate Bison to equal status as Kant despite their age gap. Calling Kant "Phi," would give Kant more linguistic power than him and I don't think Bison would like that.

[livingdeadmlm]

You Bring Me Closer to God pt4

Pronouns: The reader is referred to as a man. 

Physical Sex: AMAB. 

How far are things going?: Just some flirting from each of the men! The next post will explore the dreams they have about the reader. I’ll also try to fit in a sweet moment if I can. If anyone has ideas about what each man might be into, let me know—your suggestions really help my writing! 

Warnings: I feel this is a bit rushed, so I'm sorry about that!!

Outline: As the readers begin to understand who these men are, he struggles with the fear he feels he should have, but instead, he feels the urge to shelter and care for these outlaws. Arthur comes in tonight to share what's on his mind, and his behavior shifts slightly. 

What inspired me to write this is: the awful priest romance book I picked up. 

Other: Yes, this is a harem fic! Each man desires you and lays it on pretty thick! The dreams they have about reader will be it's own post!!

Previous Part or Next Part

There was no alone time with you and the man who greeted you after your nap. A small sigh of relief went unnoticed by everyone as you scanned the room. The church hadn't been this full since you started working here in Valentine. You felt somewhat nervous at the number of people; for many years, it had been just you and the occasional visitors who stumbled by while you cooked, along with Mickey when he'd show up again.

Mary-Beth led Karen and Tilly to the back room, where Sister Agnes had set up books and other activities for when she stopped by. They were giggling all the way and waved to you.

Hosea sat at a table with Javier and Kieran, exchanging small talk. The smell of cigarettes was slight in the air. Suddenly, a gentle hand rested on your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly. Your heart racing, you placed a hand against your chest and turned to find Charles standing there.

“Oh! Hello, Mister Smith! You startled me,” you laughed off your brief fright, the sound a little breathless. 

“I brought you this; I thought you could use it tonight.” His other hand held out a carefully wrapped package, thick cream-colored paper cradled in his large hand. You took it from his hand, unwrapping it to reveal beautiful red meat.

 His hand lingered on your shoulder, warming you with his touch. His proximity gave you a small, unexpected thrill. Perhaps he was just being polite, but the moment felt charged, and a flutter of something deeper stirred within you.

“This will work beautifully, Mr. Smith. Thank you for the generous donation,” you said, placing your hand gently atop his warm one resting on your shoulder. It felt electric, and you were sure no one had noticed the intentions behind your action; just paying the favor back and getting to touch Charles was just a plus.

“Father (Name), do you need any help with dinner?” Kieran perked up, his eyes almost pleading to help. He had asked so many times that you started to think he was a busybody, always needing to do something, even when relaxing. Charles's hand left your shoulder, landing at his side as you thought about a possible job for Kieran. 

“Sure, Mister Duffy, could you wash off the potatoes?” You suggested, trying to quickly distract from the lingering warmth of Charles still spreading through you. Practically leaping into action, Kieran grabbed the sack from the ground and moved it to the medium-sized sink the church had installed. 

The bison chuck settled on the counter as you bent slightly to guide Kieran through washing potatoes. Your fingertips brushed against his hand when you noticed him struggling to keep hold of the potatoes. 

If looks could kill, Kieran would've been six feet under weeks ago, but especially now, there would be fresh dirt on his grave as each man observed the subtle touches of your hands over Kieran and how the sides of your hips were pressed together. 

You explained how to peel the potatoes without cutting his hands, and it suddenly dawned on you that you weren't wearing your cooking apron! There was no way you'd risk dirtying your cassock by unconsciously wiping your hands on it. The skirt of your cassock slightly lifted as you spun to grab your apron. 

You pulled the fabric and admired it. You had it for many years, and it was a faded gingham pattern in your favorite color. Your hands, like clockwork, tied the apron behind your back with no complication. “You’re a capable man, Kieran; I’ll work on the bison now.” 

“Of course, Father (name)!”

The cream-colored paper crinkled in your hands as you fully unwrapped it. You couldn’t help but admire the chunk of meat; the color was beautiful. Of course, you’d seen meat fresh off the bone living in Valentine, but bison wasn’t processed here. Any time it was donated or brought into town, it was when an outside vendor stopped through. 

Your trustee skillet pan was heating up on the stove for a pan sear cooking of the meat.

Looking at the thickness of the meat and the number of people, you could fry it in quarter-inch slices to have plenty of extra. The knives in the church had never been the sharpest, and you had put off sharpening them for so long that the task was tedious. But when the knife slid effortlessly through the meat, as though cutting through silk, you couldn't help but smile in surprise.

The idle chat behind you continued as you worked; the chatter helped you work. Most nights were silent, and while it was nice to have a peaceful night, a room full of people and talking was more than welcome. Had Father Gavin taken the time to sharpen them for you?

The sound of voices behind you swirled softly in the background, blending with the rhythm of your work. Most nights, the kitchen's silence would settle, a peaceful solitude, but tonight, the hum of conversation felt like a warm embrace. You welcomed it even more than you expected.

“Ay Father (Name), are the knives working better? You guys had them so dull.” Javier's voice was much closer than the seat he was previously in as he crossed his arms and leaned next to you. “Oh! I didn’t realize you had done this, Mister Escuella! I had been putting off sharpening them for so long I thought Father Gavin had taken care of it for me.” Javier glared for a moment, upset and almost offended that his efforts would’ve gone to the likes of Gavin. 

“When you left this morning, I thought I might as well clean them up for you.”

 His attention to knives shouldn’t have been surprising when you remembered his scarred hands—the small cut scars littering his fingers. You looked at your hands, cutting the meat, comparing them with Javier's. It looked like you had never done a day's work, even if that was the farthest thing from the truth. 

His presence made you nervous, as you were almost done cutting the meat strips. You were sure the knife was sharper after Javier had worked his magic than when you first purchased it. You placed a pot on another burner, tossing in some salt and waiting for it to boil to make mashed potatoes. 

Four pieces of meat could fit in the pan, with butter and a few herbs to taste. The pan's smell quickly mixed in the air, overtaking the tobacco scent that filled the room. 

"You’ve got a way with food," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper now. "Doesn’t just come from a recipe book, does it?" You flipped the meat in the pan. 

“Well, in seminary school, I had free time to work with the nuns for a few cents a day, picked up some things from them, and showed me plenty of cooking tips and methods. To keep the most people fed and satisfied!” you glanced up at him. “It’s like pouring a little piece of your heart into every dish. I think that’s what makes my food taste good.” Javier raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to think before speaking. “So, that means you taste good?” You stumbled over your words, “I… I’m just saying that the food is made with love. It brings people together,” your voice flustered.

 As you moved to stir the herbs into the pan, Javier’s eyes were fixed on you, the warmth radiating between you both palpable. “It brings us together,” Hosea mused behind you. You peeked over to see him smiling softly. Your eyes returned to the stove as you finally saw the pot boiling harshly. 

“Oh! Kieran, how are the potatoes?” You left the meat to cook to join Kieran at the cutting board. A slight grin was on his face as he showed that he was practically done washing and peeling. 

“Great job, Kieran! You did amazing for the first time you’ve done this.” You took a different knife from the drawer and easily sliced through the potatoes, cutting them in fours as you added them to the pot. 

The rest of the cooking went smoothly, roasting carrots with rosemary and thyme sprinkled on them and mashed potatoes with butter, ground salt, and pepper. Of course, the meat was the main attraction; it had all your focus as you plated each meal.

The women, especially Karen and Mary Beth, came out of the room commenting on the smell. They insisted that it practically lured them out as they stood and waited to make a plate. 

“Here you ladies go!” You handed each woman a plate with a big smile. They looked at you, stunned. “Wow, thank you, Father (Name)! What a gentleman!” Tilly had a big smile as she turned to sit in the pews. “Those fools could learn a thing or two!” Mary-Beth and Karen followed, paying you their compliments and following to sit in the pews as well. Mary-Beth whispered, ‘See! I told y’all things would be changing for us women!’ 

You were always polite, or at least tried to be regarding food. Whoever ate first depended on the guests you had. If there were children, they got their meal first, then women, then men. No matter what you ate last, you knew where to find a hot meal you could afford. You didn’t know if the people who came in also had that guarantee.

You sat a plate in front of Hosea, a slight thump against the table before you spoke, “Is Dutch not joining us tonight?” Hosea placed a cloth napkin over his thigh. You smiled, turning to pray over your food before digging in.

“I don’t think so; he wandered back to camp with Arthur after mass.” Your heart leaped into your throat. Eyes snapping open to your clasped hands over your chest. Your whole body was tense; it couldn’t be Arthur; indeed, Arthur was just a common name. It was so common that there were two separate newcomers with different names. One with affiliation with a gang passing through town and the other… you couldn’t even kid yourself. 

You were feeding, housing, and even dreaming of these violent outlaws. The ones in Arthur’s stories, the ones you heard horrifying tales about. Part of you knew how you could not subconsciously connect the dots. 

You knew who these men were, but that made no difference in how you should treat them. They were men like you, and in this building, you wouldn't treat them like criminals; they get enough of that everywhere else. 

A nervousness stirred in your stomach. Yes, you would treat them like normal men. Knowing their history, you should have been running for the hills. It was foolish to think you’d somehow be safe. But your feet were planted firmly, unmoving. Running from these men who had done nothing to harm you went against everything you had been taught. You couldn’t contradict the lessons you learned in your twenties.

You were the biggest fool. 

But Arthur’s proximity and your complete ignorance of him made you feel naked and exposed. Had he seen you as you walked through town, down by the river, or at the saint's hotel? Had he watched you perform mass? Was he someone you had bumped into or waved at politely? 

Did he notice the flush on your face when Javier teased you or the innocent look of Kieran as he eyed you over? The thought that you could have been no more than five feet away from him, with no confessional wall between you, was overwhelming.

You stared at the counter, which was covered in patterns of blue and white tiles, a few sprinkled with swirls and flowers. “Aw well, that’s… too bad. I hope they can join us soon!” Your hands unclasped as you reached for your plate. The plate was warm in your hands as you sat at the table between Kieran and Charles. 

The potatoes practically melted in your mouth, and the fresh bison paired delightfully with the roasted carrots. There was a hum of bliss next to you as Hosea took his first bite. 

You felt something against your boots. Taking a subtle glance down, you noticed Charles's boot against yours. The knees were not quite touching, but they were close—not enough to draw anyone else's attention. 

“Thank you again, Mister Smith. Without the meat, I’m not sure what I could’ve come up with today!” Charles waved his hand between bites, “I’m sure you could’ve come up with something without me.” 

You wiped your mouth, “Nonsense! And thank you, Mister Duffy. It’s very kind of you to offer to help me so often.” Halfway through his food, Kieran's big, wide eyes sparkled at the compliment. 

He smiled and said, You're welcome, the smile never leaving his face. “Of course, Javier, thank you for checking and sharpening the knives! Very thoughtful.” 

Tilly entered the kitchen doorway with a nervous look, holding her plate. “Father (Name), is there any extra food?” Mary-Beth peeked over Tilly’s shoulder, and your heart swelled with happiness.

“Of course there is! Let me help you with that.” You reached for Tilly’s plate, standing up to serve her. The metal plate felt cold, and you noticed a few bites of bison fat left, which you scraped off before preparing a new serving for Tilly.

Mary Beth held out her plate, which had two carrots remaining. You chuckled as you saw the small line behind her, including Karen and Kieran.

As the evening went on, everyone began to yawn and sway with sleepiness. They bid you goodnight and took their leave, but not before you packed the leftover food for the road. The bison from Charles was more than enough, and you knew they would make better use of the leftovers as a group than you could as one person.

After everyone had left, the kitchen fell into a quiet stillness. The only sounds were the soft clinking of utensils being cleaned in the sink and your gentle humming.

You heard the bell ringing—a sign that someone had entered the confessional booth.

Footsteps echoed softly across the hardwood floor. With quiet resolve, you prepared yourself for the visit. The door of the confessional booth creaked with a groan as it clicked open and shut, and you settled onto the grim wood of the booth. You had always intended to buy cushions to soften the harshness of the bench. The only reason you hadn’t sooner was a particularly stern bishop from your past had insisted that the discomfort served a higher purpose in God’s favor, that making the sinner uncomfortable was part of the process. It left a bitter taste in your mouth when he would say that.

“Good evening, Father,” came a familiar voice solemn in tone. “Good evening, Mister Morgan. “What brings you in tonight?” you replied, noting the subtle pause that followed and the rustling of paper that broke the silence.

“I know a man who lends money,” he continued, his voice weary. “He sends me to collect for him, and it doesn’t feel right. The people I’m taking from—sick, desperate, foolish—it's foul work. I hate doing it.”

His confession hung in the air, heavy with regret. You remained silent for a moment, allowing his words to settle into the quiet of the booth before responding gently, “Did something happen with this job recently that made you bring it up to me now?”

“I went to collect from a man here in town,” Arthur's voice cracked with the weight of shame. “Thomas Downes… I went to collect, but by the time I got there, he was already dead.” The mention of Thomas made your heart drop. You had known him—kind, humble, though proud to a fault. The thought of his death made your stomach churn. You and the church had tried to help him in the past, but he’d refuse most days. He only took food and necessities offered to him when he couldn’t find another way. 

“I felt relief when I found him dead,” Arthur's voice wavered, “Relief that his debt was no longer a burden on his family or me. But then I saw his boy, and... the look in his eyes, Father... like I was the devil himself. I guess, to him, I was.”

“Death can throw any of us in a spiral. Reminds us we can die at any time.” You’d seen plenty of death; the cemetery was just outside your door. The funerals and wakes you'd oversee through the years were in high numbers for a small town. “I was just surprised, I guess, Father; I’d seen him before when I was out drinkin’ would’ve killed that Tommy if not for him.” 

“That was you, Mister Morgan? You’re the pretty boy who beat Big Tommy?!” 

“Pretty boy? That's the part you heard about?” You could hear the pout in Arthurs's voice as you laughed. “All I heard from Miss Walker and Miss Moore was that some new rough and tough dream boat in town fought him. Never would’ve guessed it was you, Arthur.” Your tone was teasing. You felt bold and almost breathless when you could make such a comment.

“Arthur? We’re on a first-name basis now (Name)?” A small huff left your mouth. An odd duality existed with you and your title. Of course, it was one you had worked for and earned. Hearing it was nothing new. But it seemed you'd be flustered and stumbling no matter how Arthur said it. 

“Names have a way of changing things, don’t they?” Arthur’s voice was low, almost intimate now, as if he’d allowed the walls between you to slip just a little. You felt the change, too—how the conversation shifted from heavy confessions to something lighter yet somehow more meaningful.

“It does,” you replied softly. “Guess that means we're not just strangers anymore,” he said, and despite the weight of his words, there was a certain warmth in his tone, as if he was testing the idea, letting it settle between you both. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a gentle tug in your chest. 

“I suppose it does.” Your voice was softer than before, a softness you didn’t often allow yourself. The formality of your position—the title that had defined you for so long—felt less significant now, like something that could be quietly set aside in light of this connection.

“Is anything else happening recently?” you asked, remembering when you shared a booth with Arthur. Back then, his stories were filled with a rougher edge—tales of picking fights or provoking trouble. But today felt different; he had two stories to share. The first was light-hearted—he went hunting with a friend, likely Charles, given the mention of bison. And how he heard of a friend who he thought was dead being very much alive but in custody. 

“I hope he makes it home safe; being stuck in a cell is horrible!” You didn’t want to ask how he’d be home when Arthur said he wouldn’t come by tomorrow. 

“What were you up to in town today (Name)? I saw you leaving the hotel in a hurry.” you shifted in your seat, hearing the slight scratch of a pencil on Arthurs's side of the booth. 

“I went to have a bath and get my sheet cleaned! I ended up enjoying the bath far too much and was almost late for mass.” You sighed. You knew the others in the church didn’t mind you finally taking time for yourself, but it felt rude when people were there expecting to see you. 

“I have been to that hotel a few times, rent it out for a night to sleep in a real bed.” You hummed, noting that he didn’t have a ‘real bed.’ 

“Speakin’ of I must get goin’ (Name) duty calls.” there was a soft ripping noise under Arthur's low voice. 

“Goodnight, Arthur. Be safe out there.” 

“Goodnight (Name).”

You stalled behind in the booth, taking in the small noises around you. Arthur's retreating steps as he left. The chirping of crickets just outside of the church, and if you strained your hearing, you could slightly hear the piano from the saloon playing a happy tune. 

The confessional door swinging open cut through the air. The hinges were so squeaky these days. There was a flutter from behind the door. When you shut the door entirely, you saw a folded paper on the floor. It was a thick piece of paper you tucked into your hands. Retreating to your room before opening it.

There was a drawing of you. You gasped softly, your breath hitching in your throat, and your fingers traced the delicate lines of your features on the paper. You were careful not to smudge anything, treating the artwork with the reverence it deserved. 

It was as if someone had taken a photo of you without your knowledge. The shading in the drawing made you look soft against the buildings. Taking in more of the art, you saw Arthur's signature at the bottom. A.M. and a small heart at the bottom of the M. 

Warmth bloomed in your stomach as you sat on your bed, still admiring the drawing. You put the drawing on your bedside table and tuck yourself into bed. The heavy quilt over your body adds a comforting pressure. 

You were giddy as you slipped into sleep. Imagine the drawing over and over again in your head.

The usual nighttime routines began on the other side of the train tracks on Horseshoe Outlook. Some were sitting by the fire, picking at Pearson's overcooked food, others were playing at the poker table, and some were aimlessly wandering around, getting ready for bed. 

Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen sat around the campfire with Charles and Javier. Dutches music is playing nearby. 

“When I was around town today, I heard something interesting about that Father (Name).” Every man glanced over, the game of dominos stopping momentarily between Hosea and Arthur. Javier's strumming slowed, and Charles continued to work on his arrows with Kieran.

“Don’t tell me, is he some sort of evil man under that little cape he wears?” Karen laughed, taking a swig from her beer bottle. Tilly waved her hand, laughing, “Well, Mary-Beth and I thought it was bizarre how there are hardly any people at the church, even for free food. We asked these few men at the saloon, and apparently, when Father (Name) first came to Valentine, he very much preferred the company of men.”

Heads perked up, “What kind of men?” Kieran's voice sounded too excited as the question left his lips. 

“See, now that’s the thing—we were hearing all kinds of different answers! Some said a fellow altar boy came with him to Valentine; others claimed it was the former bishop.” Mary-Beth interrupted Tilly: “But then I started hearing it was some handsome ranchhand, a stable boy, or some sort of traveler or hunter he was seen sneaking around with.” Tilly cut back in, “A few of the fellows in the saloon were sayin’ it was men who went to the church; he’d put moves on them during mass, married or not!” 

“And he didn’t mind swaying his hips for older men, neither!" Their voices began overlapping as they dropped information. “I think I heard he’d even flirt with the rich men in town into donating more money!” “One of the workin’ ladies said she heard of him takin’ in men down on their luck for “Favors.””Mary Beth used her fingers to do quotes. 

“Now, there's no way girls as smart as you believe that.” Arthurs's voice broke the silence, “You’ve met the man who practically bends backward to help anyone. Could’ve been a misunderstanding!” Mary-Beth clicked her tongue, “Well, true or not, people in town haven’t forgotten about it.” the fire crackled, leaving everyone in their thoughts. Each man couldn’t believe what they heard; there was no way you were capable of it. At least at your age now. But for you to do it 20 years ago? Well, they just didn’t know you then. 

The most they knew about you from 20 years ago was the photograph of you and other church members when you first arrived. You aged fairly well, and your serious face in the photo didn’t scream that you were some deviant at the time.

Everyone turned in for the night, tucking themselves in, but sleep would be restless for the men of the camp, each of them plagued by an odd dream….

[creature-wizard]

What an AI generated website can look like

Hey folks! I just encountered a website that's obviously AI generated, so I figured I'd use it as an example to help you spot websites that might be AI generated content farms!

First, the website is called faunafacts.com. And one of the first things that sticks out to me is how low-effort the logo is:

Regardless of whether a website is AI generated or not, a lazy and low-quality logo is a big clue that the website's content will also be lazy and low-quality.

If we click on Browse Animals, we see four options: Cows, Wolves, Bears, and Snakes.

Let's click Wolves.

The first thing I want you to notice is the lack of topical focus. Sure, it's all about wolves, but the content on them is all over the place. We have content on wolf hunting, a page on animals that resemble wolves, pages that explain the alleged social structure of wolves, and pages on wolf symbolism.

A website with content created by real people isn't going to be all over the place like this. It would be created with more of a focus in mind, like animal biology and behavior. The whole spiritual symbol thing here mixed with supposed biological and behavioral information is weird.

The next thing I want you to notice are the links to pages on topics that are quite frankly bizarre: "Wolf vs Mastiff: Things You Need To Know" and "Can You Ride A Wolf? (No, Because...)" Who is even looking for this kind of information in large enough numbers that it needs a dedicated page?

Then of course, there's the fact that they're repeating the debunked wolf hierarchy stuff, which anyone who actually knew anything about wolves at this point wouldn't post.

Now let's look at what's on one of the actual pages. We'll check out the wolves vs. mastiff page, and we can soon find a telltale sign of AI: rambling off topic to talk about something completely unrelated.

Both animals are carnivores. In the wild, wolves hunt large animals like bison, deer, and even elk. Sometimes, they may also hunt small mammals like the beaver.

Mastiffs, on the other hand, are mainly fed with dog food. As a dog, a mastiff left in the wild will eat anything. However, it will have difficulties hunting, as this instinct may have already departed the dogs of today.

A mastiff is not an obligate carnivore. Dogs can eat plant matter. Some say that dogs can survive on a vegetable diet.

Dogs being made vegetarians is a contentious issue. Scientifically, dogs belong to the order Carnivora. There is a movement today to convert dogs to a vegan diet. While science has nothing against it, the fear of many is that when dog owners do this, a vegan diet will certainly have an impact on the species.

This page is supposed to be comparing mastiffs with wolves, but then it starts talking about the vegan pet food movement. This happened because large language models generate text based on on what's statistically likely to follow the last text it just generated.

Finally, the website's images are AI generated:

If you know what to look for, this is a very obviously AI generated image. There's no graininess to the image, and the details are both unnaturally smooth and unnaturally crisp. It also has that high color saturation that many AI generated images have.

So there you go, this is one example of what an AI generated website can look like! Be careful out there!

[silliest-donkey]

Oh, to be loved by an artist. [chapter one]

wlw (men DNi !!) // smut (minors DNi !!) // reader receiving // artist!ellie x waitress!reader // obsessive!ellie // stalker-ish!ellie // gentledom!ellie // modern Jackson, no outbreak AU // slowburn // popular!el

Another day, another agonizing shift at the Tipsy Bison. You have been working in the main street's pub part time ever since you had moved to Jackson for college two months ago. You had left your hometown behind, eager to step out of your comfort zone and push yourself to become the independant, educated, and hopefully successful woman you've always dreamed to be.

You had found yourself a small, but cozy apartment in the suburbs of the town. It wasn't perfect - to be fair, it was more of a room than an apartment - but at least it was yours. You worked at your part-time job every evening apart from sundays. The pay was a bit tight, but you had tried your best to squeeze in enough working hours to pay rent and give yourself a decent lifestyle without needing to rely on your family.

This evening, as usual, the pub was crowded. The room was bustling with mixed up sounds of laughter and drinks. You had to pay extra attention to not spill the orders you were carrying, swiftly slaloming between drunk clients and hormonal youngsters.

You put down on the end of the lounge area three cocktails. The girl who had ordered them was a regular at the pub. She would often invite people for a drink and a mundane debate about fine arts. As you took the change, she gave you her usual smirk. "Took you long enough, missy. Here's your tip." she chuckled, sneaking money in the back pocket of your jeans. Her touch wasn't strong enough to be damned inappropriate, but the feeling of her slender fingers was still lingering on your back.

You gave her no reaction whatsoever, already used to her weirdo behavior, and well aware she only did it to get a strike out of you. You walked away, focusing on handling the rest of the orders, cursing that cocky girl in your head.

Her name was Ellie Williams, and oh boy, was she popular. She was Jackson's renowned and cherished little artist. Won a few awards there and there, held a few meetings there and there, always with some drinks at the Tipsy Bison in-between, of course. Everytime you had to bear her presence made you want to rip your nails off. You saw through her nonchalant facade, and hated the way she would always give the same, boring speech to the people she invited. It was clear she was doing what was best to follow the trend and attract as many people as possible, and no matter how necessary this probably was for a full-time artist, you couldn't stand this show-off behavior.

Today was the end of your second month of working at the Tipsy Bison. After the bar closed, your manager gave the team a restrospective about this month's business. You yawned, occasionally nodding to pretend you were listening, when the only thing you could ever think about was getting back home. Without interacting with your colleagues, you left the bar as soon as you retrieved your paycheck, alongside your timetable for the next month. At your surprise, your shifts got changed to the early mornings. You just would have to hop at the bar for a few hours before going to college. No more busy nights. And, most importantly, no more noisy Ellie Williams.

Or at least, you thought so.

After a peaceful week of enjoying your new timetable, Ellie made her appearance again. She started visiting the bar in the mornings, ordering cups of hot chocolate or smoothies, sketching on her notebook for hours.

You had never seen this side of her before. In the mornings, when she was deep in thought, with no guests to entertain, no potential client to impress, she almost looked cute. You felt frustrated of thinking so, and did not let it show. But you couldn't deny the hint of attractiveness you had discovered in her, in the way she would lean back against her seat, a strand of her hair falling over her rosy lips, which were slightly parted in focus, as she studied her papers.

The first days, you did not pay that much attention to her. However, as the weeks passed, your switched often between morning and night shifts. And Ellie never missed even one. Whenever your starting hour went up or down, you noticed Ellie's visit to the bar would too. Claiming this unexpected turn of events as a coincidence was not possible anymore. It was clear that Ellie had her eyes on you. With no interruption, you could feel the weight of her emerald gaze crushing you down. Everytime you turned around, you saw her eyes boring into yours. She always kept a neutral expression, not even bothering to break eye contact, her slim fingers moving a pencil on their own over her sketchbook.

At first, you thought her behavior was just another scheme to get under your skin. But, day after day, the way her eyes fluttered at your every move gave you a sense of thrill you had never known before. It felt like she could impale you from across the bar with her eyes only.

One day, Ellie left the bar in a hurry, seemingly picking up an urgent call. When you went up to her table to retrieve the money she had left to pay for her drink, you found her notebook. Guessing she had forgotten about it as she left in a rush, you decided to keep it until she came back. As your hands met the softness of the leather cover, numerous unattached sheets of paper flew away from the pages, scattering all over the ground.

You cursed under your breath, crouching down to pick back up the dozens of fleeing paper. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks.

The papers were full of drawings of you, in all angles, sides, poses and shapes possible. You were not imagining things, it really was you. And the oldest date on the sketches was from months ago.

You put over the table the pile of drawings, a bit shaken at the sight. Before you could think about shoving the sheets back into the notebook, you heard the sound of someone clicking their tongue behind your back.

"Ah ah ah. What do we have here, hmm." Ellie's sultry voice tickled your ears, sending a shiver down your spine. You did not dare to turn to look at her. You muttered an excuse, before rushing back to your orders, disappearing behind the counter.

Ellie watched you run away, a vicious smirk curling her plump lips.

You spent the rest of your shift pretending this never happened. Your mind was racing with sights of the countless drawings Ellie had made of you during the past months. The realization that it was what she continuously sketched, while staring at you from across the bar with such an intense gaze, had left quite the impression on you.

You went through the rest of your day on auto-pilot, your mind constantly throwing back at you memories of the morning's events. When your day was finally over, and you were back to the outskirts of the town, a sigh of relief escaped your lips. As you got out of the bus, you reassured yourself. You were far away from downtown, about to get back home. You would take a hot, cozy bath, and hopefully forget about the rollercoaster you had to face earlier that day.

You thought you had escaped, that you would be able to push back the wave of emotions flooding into your core, telling yourself it was, once more, just another day of Ellie being her sneaky, creepy self.

But you, in fact, had not escaped one bit.

A smug Ellie was leaned back against the front door of your building.

"There you are." she hummed, looking you up and down, pushing herself away from the wall.

"How'd you get my adress?" You asked coldly, trying your best to keep your composure.

Ellie stood right in front of you, a strand of her hair brushing against your upper lip.

"I have my ways." she stated, as you felt knots forming in your stomach, unable to decipher if those came rather from anxiety or arousal.

"What do you want?"

Ellie's smirk widened at your question. You were in trouble.

"I'm looking for a new model, for my next collection of sculptures. You could be the perfect match." she stated, awkwardly chuckling, fidgeting with the strings of her hoodie.

"I am not interested, Williams. One of your groupies will do the job." you replied instantly in a stern tone.

"-it's well payed."

Now, that was interesting.

Before you realized it, you were already signing a one month contract with Ellie. The job was easy, or so you thought, you just had to stand however she wanted, and not even for a long time. The sessions Ellie programmed did not last more than an hour. Most of them required you to be either naked or partially naked, but you didn't mind. You and Ellie were both girls, after all, where was the harm. Plus, the pay was enough to cover twice your monthly expenses. You could have quit your job at the pub right now, but since your modeling contract was only temporary, you'd better keep working at the Tipsy Bison.

The day of your first session approached. After college, you took the bus to the town's bougie neighborhood.

Ellie's studio was quite large. She led you to the back. A sofa covered with flowers was waiting for you.

She looked at you up and down, a focused look on her face.

"Okay, sweetie. Could you remove your clothing for me, please? You can stay in your underwear for today."

There was something so attractive in the way Ellie was asking you to undress. You knew it was strictly professional, but you couldn't stop your mind from going to forbidden places, as you tossed your accessories, jeans and top in the changing wardrobe.

Ellie positioned your body on the sofa in silence. Her hands pulled your hips in the angle she wanted, her slender fingers encircling your thighs oh-so-gently, as if you were a porcelain doll she was scared to break. She carefully brushed her thumbs all over your form, her experienced eyes studying how the dim light casted shadows over your skin. You stayed silent. The way she was looking at your body with so much caution and admiration made your heart race. No one has ever looked at you this way, not even your past partners. Never in a million years you would have guessed that the cocky show-off Ellie you always knew could act so gentle.

"Are you comfortable?" her voice broke the silence.

You gave Ellie a shy nod.

"Good. Now, stay still for me." she whispered as she placed flowers into your hair, before pulling away, studying the final product with a satisfied smile.

Ellie walked up to the table in front of the sofa. There was a massive piece of clay. She poured water over her hands, before wedging the material. You couldn't take your eyes off her fists. The way she repeatidly pushed her middle and ring finger into the damp, earthy texture was hypnotizing. Soon enough, she started sculpting your silhouette into the clay. She made it seem almost easy, her hands captured into a furious dance with the slippery mess, her eyes drinking in the sight of you.

Thirty minutes later, Ellie rinced her hands, and stood up right in front of your form laid down on the sofa. She leaned down, letting her digits slide from your sides to your hips, loosing them into the folds and bumps of your skin. Her touch sent shivers down your spine, one of the flowers she had placed in your hair earlier falling down on the ground.

"I'm sorr-"

"Shh-shh. Relax, sweetheart." Ellie scooted closer to talk right into your ear, the scent of her invading your nostrils. "You're my artwork now, let me study you whole."

For the next fifteen minutes, she went back and forth from the clay to your skin, replicating every curve, every mount and valley your body offered to her insatiable eyes. You tried your best to remain calm and still, but it was sweet torture. Your breath was growing heavier, labouring as the artist's touch got hungrier. The more the clay was stiffening into precise shapes, the more you, on the other hand, were coming undone.

Ellie was perfectly aware of what she was doing. She loved feeling your thighs tremble under her digits each time she whispered praise and comfort into your ears. By the end, there was not a single inch of your skin she hadn't worshipped. Lost in limerence, she stopped coming back to her clay, and, soon enough, it felt like you were melting into a puddle of it. You let her fondle you to her liking, sculpting your body how she saw fit, she was the artist after all. The way she cupped your breasts over your bra, rocking her hips into yours, was nowhere near professional, but neither of you seemed to care anymore.

When the both of you gently pulled away, you were out of breath, panting heavily into eachother's necks.

"Fuck" Ellie let out in a needy sigh. "You're so gorgeous. I need you."

You reached out for her hands, sliding them on your lower back, under your panties.

"Then. Take. Me." you whispered into her ear.

Ellie's face flushed. She was surprisingly pleased at your bold moove.

"May I." she demanded as she squeezed your butt shamelessely, pushing her forehead onto yours.

The look her eyes gave you left no room for disagreement.

"You may."

You did not have to tell her twice.

She locked lips with you almost instantly, her tongue desperately exploring your mouth, as if she was afraid you'd disappear. You found yourself pinned down on the sofa, your breasts rolling up under hers. Ellie's nipples were so hard you could feel them from under her shirt.

But she stopped your arms from reaching out, pinning your wrists over the sofa with a grin.

"Tsk tsk. Let me take care of you, sweetheart."

You whined. It felt so unfair.

"Please, Ellie, god, I need to taste you."

Ellie hummed playfully.

"This is your punishment for trying to run away from me." She groaned each word as she left a trail of sloppy kisses all over your neck.

Before you could come up with a reply, Ellie's lips were back onto yours, reducing any further complaint into muffled moans. Her free hand was pushing down on the end of your stomach pouch, torturing your needy clit over your panties.

She pulled away from the kiss, taking in the sight of your quivering body under her. Her lips parted in adoration, waves of desire pooling into her core. She was so in love with every little twitch, every pleading gasp you gave her.

"Oh, sweetheart..." Her throaty voice birthed hoardes of butterflies in your stomach. "I'm gonna mold you into my best sculpture."

At her words, your panties slipped away. She held your thighs opened as you whimpered and trembled.

"Please.."

"Shhh. I got you, darling." Her voice grew huskier at the sight of your throbbing pussy. She carefully explored your wet folds, sucking your overflowing juices off her fingers with satisfied hums. "You're so perfect. You're the definition of fine arts itself."

You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice got caught into your throat as you felt her push one finger deep inside you, relentlessely curling and sliding into your gummy walls.

"You're doing so good, honey. So ready and perfect for me. Perfect fucking pussy."

Your head was spinning. Ellie hit every spot. She took her time, addicted to how pretty you looked and sounded while the two fingers she had used so many times to wet the clay in front of you were now wetting the sofa.

"Let's add some colour to the art work now, shall we." Ellie started relentlessly sucking onto your skin, leaving red and purple marks all over your aching body. As her mouth traveled down from your neck to your thighs, she kept pounding her fingers into you. The whimpers you made paired with the sounds of wet skin hitting against one another were euphonious, she felt like she was on cloud nine. When her lips reached your wet folds, she sucked onto your puffy clit as if her life depended on it.

"C'mon, baby. Come for me. Give in. Surrender yourself to me." she muttered in a low, sultry voice at each pump she was taking from the absolute feast you were giving her.

You climaxed so hard you felt like you saw the stars, black dots blurring your vision as your back arched over the sofa, flowers falling down everywhere.

Before getting back up, Ellie cleaned up your juices with her tongue alone, kissing you all over. "You did such a good job, sweetheart. You moan so beautifully."

The only sound you managed to make as a reply was a shaky whimper.

As you were catching your breath, your knees wobbly from the sensations, you heard the frantic sounds of her pencil madly forcing itself on her sketchbook. When you turned your head, you saw Ellie desperately capturing your curves over the paper, her eyes fixed on your trembling form, as if she was stuck in a trance.

You chuckled to yourself. This month was going to be full of surprises, for sure.

To be continued...

[masterlist]

if you made it to here, thank you so much for reading :) this is my first fanfic, and I apologize if I made some typos or if my grammar felt weird at some point, english isn't my first language.

feel free to give me suggestions of what I could write next. If they inspire me, I may or may not execute your fantasy, or at least, it could give me ideas. Just expect to wait for a very, very long period, I'm not good at being consistent, and I love taking my sweet time.

I'm a TLOU fan, I am so in love with every single female character in there. I would totally appreciate it if someone had wlw requests about more secondary, underrated characters such as Dina, Nora, heck even Tess or Maria, I love them all. Abby holds a special place in my heart too of course, but she isn't secondary at all - and probably one of the best female protagonists in my opinion.

[ae-azile]

Fadel, Bison, & Keen: The Implication of Victimhood and Human Trafficking 

TW/CW Note: This essay argues the case of Fadel, Bison, and Keen being the victims of human trafficking. It also compiles and dissects evidence of that claim with sources, analyses of various scenes, and current Thai and International laws. It may be upsetting for some readers.

This meta/essay was written because I can't just watch a fun, Shakespeare derived show about gay hitmen and not get weird about it. 

…And also because I have been working in the mental health/behavioral field for several years, almost solely with minors - some of whom were abused and exploited. 

The more I think about Fadel's and Bison's circumstances - the canon evidence, the implied manipulation and abuse throughout the show, and everything that WASN’T shown or said to give Lilly any kind of legal legitimacy, the more I feel like they aren't as culpable for their crimes as they think they are. 

But first, what constitutes as human trafficking on a Thai and international standard? 

Under Thai law, human trafficking is comprehensively defined in the Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act B.E. 2551 (2008). The Act outlines specific actions, means, and purposes that constitute human trafficking offenses.​

Definition(s) of Human Trafficking

According to Section 6 of the Act:​

"Whoever, for the purpose of exploitation, does any of the following acts: procuring, buying, selling, vending, bringing from or sending to, detaining or confining, harboring, or receiving a person, by means of threat or use of force, abduction, fraud, deception, abuse of power, or of the giving money or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, shall be guilty of trafficking in persons."​

While this definition can be interpreted differently by various parties, the The Act further clarifies that exploitation includes, but is not limited to:

Sexual exploitation

Production or distribution of pornography

Forced labor or services

Slavery or practices similar to slavery

Involuntary servitude

Forced begging

Removal of organs for commercial purposes

Other similar forms of exploitation

It is worth noting that these forms of exploitation are ALWAYS considered trafficking when a child is involved, and Fadel, Bison, and Keen were obtained as minors under duress and violent circumstances. 

Below are screenshots from The Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act, which pertains to Thailand specifically. Highlighted statements support the claims being made in this essay according to their country’s laws on the matter. 

Internationally, human trafficking is defined by The United Nations as: 

"The recruitment, transport, transfer, harbouring, or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation.”

Considering Fadel, Bison, and Keen were all orphaned when their parents were murdered by Lilly’s people, only to be put in the (dubious) custody of the woman who left them vulnerable to make them dependent on her, they more than fit this definition. 

1. Acquisition through Deception and Questionable Guardianship

Following the murders of their parents, Fadel, Bison, and Keen were placed in the custody of Lilly—a woman they had no known relationship with prior.

All three came from wealthy families, yet no efforts appear to have been made to place them with relatives or protect their inheritance. They ended up with their parents' killer. Lilly tricking all three of their families into granting custody in the event of their deaths seems unlikely, but if she managed, this is still a form of coercion, considering what transpired.

Legal Framework: Thai Civil and Commercial Code Sections 1585–1588 require formal guardianship proceedings, prioritizing relatives and requiring oversight.

The UN Palermo Protocol and Thailand’s Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act B.E. 2551 (2008) would both consider guardianship obtained through fraud, deception, or abuse of power as qualifying mechanisms for trafficking. Considering Lilly had Fadel’s, Bison’s, and Keen’s parents murdered, then lied about who was responsible for their trauma and rehoming, she definitely committed: 

Fraud, by misrepresenting herself - both to the boys and possibly to the courts for either legal guardianship, financial gain to obtain the families’ assets, or both. 

Deception, by making her adopted sons trust her initially, only to manipulate them into thinking they were in danger and needed to be trained as hitmen.

Abuse of power, by using her position to manipulate them into a state of vulnerability so they would be reliant on her and loyal when it came to her training and orders once she gained their trust.

Conclusion: The guardianship and its legality may have never been formally investigated, and it may not have been obtained legally. If it was legally documented, Lilly likely obtained it through bribes and systematic manipulation. Considering all three boys seem to have come from wealthy families who would have likely assigned a guardian that their sons knew prior to being orphaned (a family member, a family friend), the circumstances are highly irregular. It also strongly suggests deceptive acquisition, qualifying under the legal definitions of trafficking.

2. Psychological Manipulation and Coercive Conditioning

Lilly began by treating the boys like sons, offering safety and structure before introducing training for violence and strategic killing. In the brief flashback we get, we see three boys standing in a line, foreshadowing their eventual soldier-like expectations. But when she sees one of their shoes untied, she bends down and ties it for them before telling all three they can call her “Mother”. This establishes a gentle, maternal bond that offers comfort, care, and parental authority. But this memory is sharply contrasted by the one following it when she has them practice their aim after the trust and need to impress her has been established. By the time she is sending Fadel and Bison on jobs she frames as necessary and noble, they are fully loyal to her and trust her knowledge, judgment, and orders. 

She framed their actions as necessary protection or retribution for their parents' deaths, creating a false moral narrative to justify lethal missions. This manipulation led to emotional dependence, blurred lack of autonomy, and the belief that loyalty to her was synonymous with survival and justice.

Legal Framework: Thai and international trafficking laws recognize emotional coercion, abuse of trust, and manipulation of vulnerability as means of trafficking.

Conclusion: The grooming and emotional manipulation used to coerce minors into violence constitutes a clear form of non-physical coercion and entrapment. Despite Fadel and Bison being adults by the time they are arrested for their crimes, they were groomed, conditioned, manipulated, isolated from familial connections, and ultimately brainwashed as children. 

3. Coerced Criminal Activity through False Narratives

Fadel and Bison were often told their assassination targets were involved with their families’ deaths or were dangerous criminals. While a few of these claims may have been true, other claims may have been used to manufacture moral permission to kill, embedding loyalty through deceit. They carried out violent missions under the impression that they were defending themselves or serving justice. Again, they were conditioned to prepare for this as minors, and possibly started missions prior to reaching adulthood. The timeline on their first kills was never substantiated, but their conditioning, grooming, isolation from family, and brainwashing make them qualify as victims being coerced into criminal activity through false narratives. 

Legal Framework: The Palermo Protocol and Thailand’s anti-trafficking statute both include criminal exploitation through manipulation or deception.

Conclusion: Their participation in criminal acts under coerced moral justification meets the standard for trafficking-based criminal exploitation.

4. Sexual Exploitation via Implicit Coercion and Mission Pressure

This one is more of an interpretation, but I feel like it is worth exploring. 

Going by what we see, it was not uncommon for Fadel and Bison to perform seduction-based roles as part of their missions—exotic dancing, acting as escorts, or using sexual appeal to disarm targets.

In the first scene of the show, Bison is posing as an escort and spending time with an older man. He starts singing karaoke with him, but is in the robe in the next scene and massaging the target, who is sitting in a tub, which is where the target is ultimately killed. Bison doesn't flinch. He almost looks proud of himself when the man is clearly falling for his advances. This notes satisfaction with his methods leading towards a successful, criminal mission that results in murder.

Fadel’s reaction towards such methods is a huge contrast. 

In episode 3, Fadel and Bison are expected to seduce a person of interest through exotic dancing. She is then drugged and taken back to her room so they can go through her things and obtain information. Fadel initially pushes Bison to honey trap. He remains distant, cordial, and uses the excuse that Bison is better at it (which might imply Bison having less issues with it overall).

But this time, Bison refuses. It's worth noting this conversation happens right after he talks to Fadel about possibly dating Kant. He may have had little to no issue with it before, but does now that he is developing real feelings for someone. Bison pushes Fadel to be the one to seduce the woman. Unlike Fadel's stiff, professional request, Bison is humorous and playful. This continues despite Fadel showing discomfort and reluctance at the thought of dancing for her and the crowd. He ultimately goes through with it. Bison almost seems smug over not being the woman’s type and Fadel having to be the one to dance (although reacts with subtle and mild offense when the woman tells him that to his face). He also doesn't seem to empathize with his brother’s discomfort.

While it is possible that these methods were not suggested by Lilly and are only ones they resorted to as adults based on their own decision-making skills (as compromised as they were by their conditioning in other developmental areas), their reactions to this situation scream otherwise. 

Fadel is reluctant and uncomfortable that he has to be the one to do it. His consent is dubious at best. He seems to depend more on Bison to carry out this type of skill due to contrasting takes on the matter.

Bison, on the other hand, seems to normalize honey trapping. He only takes issue with it when he is developing a romantic relationship. Even then, he teases and jokes about Fadel being the better man for this particular job, missing the quiet reluctance on Fadel's part. This hints towards desensitization, which can be a common coping response for abuse and complex trauma victims.

While Lilly’s conditioning on this front can only be speculated, we have a couple of pieces of circumstantial evidence that support the idea she either subtly planted seeds to put this method in her adopted sons’ toolkit or directed them to do it more overtly in the past - leading them to choose that method “freely” now. 

Lilly’s recruitment of Kant into escort work—specifically to bring attractive friends to act as 'party favors'—demonstrates a clear pattern of sexually exploitative behaviors. While Kant WANTED to be invited to her circle to expose her for her crimes, she didn't know this. She viewed him as a young golf caddy, someone she could exploit with the promise of payment. 

Lilly was a hitwoman herself. She may have resorted to honey trapping methods back when she was working beneath someone else. Cycled and generational abuse is unfortunately common, especially when the trusted figure refuses to admit they were once a victim or seek out therapeutic services/support. 

So…

Legal Framework: Thai and international law define sexual exploitation to include pressured or coerced participation in sexualized roles, especially when the individual is underage or emotionally dependent. Regardless of when these behaviors started, they were conditioned, groomed, and isolated at a young age and made emotionally/psychologically dependent in adulthood. The crimes they were committing on Lilly's behalf fueled sexualizing themselves for information.

Conclusion: These sexually charged missions—especially when reinforced by peer pressure, manipulation, or emotional conditioning—fall within the scope of indirect sexual exploitation under trafficking statutes. 

5. Systematic Emotional Abuse and Dependency Control

A strict performance-based hierarchy seems to have governed Lilly’s household. Compliance resulted in praise; deviation led to emotional withdrawal, ridicule, or humiliation.

Keen, unable to serve in the field, was repeatedly shamed and belittled, creating an obsessive need to prove his worth. He was often verbally and emotionally abused by Lilly. Fadel’s and Bison’s insults towards him often hint at ridicule or - alternatively - resentment, since Keen has never had to kill anyone. Creating rifts within the formed sibling unit also creates a breeding ground for competition and a need to please the trusted figure, especially in the more isolated party. Keen’s need to impress Lilly later on by trying to carry out the hits on Fadel and Style (and Kant and Bison, if they had been tracked down) was almost inevitable. 

Meanwhile, Fadel and Bison were rewarded for excelling, reinforcing a world where survival and approval were earned only through loyalty and effectiveness. 

Legal Framework: Emotional abuse and psychological dependence are explicitly acknowledged in trafficking legislation as valid tools of coercion.

Conclusion: This emotionally volatile environment fostered long-term dependency and control which meets the criteria for non-physical coercive trafficking.

6. Threat of Retaliation for Attempts to Exit

When Fadel and Bison attempted to retire peacefully, Lilly appeared to give her blessing—then secretly instructed Keen to murder them and their romantic partners.

Keen failed, and was verbally abused by Lilly, solidifying the lesson that disloyalty equals death.

Years earlier, Fadel had tried to leave her control by planning to move in with his first boyfriend. Shortly after, the boyfriend vanished.

Fadel believed he had been abandoned until Keen later confessed that Lilly had put a hit on the man. When Fadel asks why he never told him earlier, Keen says she would have killed him too.

Legal Framework: Retaliation or threats tied to exit attempts are core indicators of trafficking under both Thai and international law.

Conclusion: The lethal consequences for asserting independence—whether through romantic relationships or attempted retirement—showcase total control through fear, reinforcing their status as trafficking victims.

7. Financial Exploitation and Asset Suppression

This point is also more theorized, but is still worth noting. 

Despite their likely inheritance due to their families’ wealth, Fadel and Bison seem to only have limited access to the estates they were legally owed.

It is implied that individuals (likely tied to Lilly) pressured their parents to relinquish property or wealth, and that refusal to comply preceded their murders.

Once the boys were in Lilly’s custody, it is unclear if there is evidence of ethical estate management or legal oversight.

Considering Lilly’s obsession with status - displayed by her friend group, hangout spots, and greed, it would not be surprising if she took control of the majority of their estates. She may have given them access to just enough for them not to investigate the extent of what they lost out on. Bison mentions the island home was the only property that wasn't taken. Any uncovered inheritance in the form of cash, stocks, bonds, property, valuables, and other assets were likely fraudulently controlled and only partially handed over to keep Fadel, Bison, and Keen from asking questions. Otherwise, it isn't out of the realm of possibility that Lilly arranged to take ownership or be the beneficiary through fraud, coercion, deception, or bribery, which is likely how she also gained custody of three biologically unrelated minors. 

In fact, Lilly likely wouldn't have taken in three minors she personally traumatized unless there was a great payout earlier on. While being able to condition and brainwash them helped her financially in the long run, it would have been a huge gamble legally and a risky investment if she had not gotten the majority of their inheritance. So she likely let them keep some of what was rightfully theirs and paid them good salaries, but robbed them of much more than what she gave. 

Legal Framework: Financial control is recognized under Thai law and international trafficking doctrine as a coercive tactic when used to restrict independence or manipulate behavior.

Conclusion: Their restricted access to their potential inheritance—combined with the violent deaths of their parents following coercion—strongly supports a pattern of financial exploitation consistent with trafficking operations.

Final Summary of Evidence Compilation 

Fadel and Bison experienced:

Fraudulent custody acquisition and loss of familial protection

Psychological manipulation and mission-based coercion

Forced criminal activity disguised as moral duty

Possible sexual exploitation through conditioned loyalty and mission expectations

Emotional abuse and performance-based affection to ensure compliance

Lethal retaliation for attempted independence

Possible economic exploitation, likely linked to their parents’ murders

These experiences satisfy all legal definitions of human trafficking under:

Thailand’s Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act B.E. 2551 (2008)

The UN Palermo Protocol, ratified by Thailand in 2003

By this criteria, they were victims—trafficked, conditioned, and controlled through emotional, economic, and psychological means.

Legal and Moral Culpability

Legally and morally, Fadel, Bison, and Keen are victims of human trafficking going by the current laws and standards when their circumstances are examined. 

But are they culpable for the crimes they committed under Lilly’s control and manipulation? 

Yes and no. Morally, they are culpable in the sense that they committed murder and had awareness of what they were doing. They may have thought they were killing bad people, but they also seem to have known that killing was wrong. They knew to lay low and to not get caught. Their situation and upbringing led to other disturbing behaviors (kidnapping their significant others upon being betrayed). In some ways, yes. They have a history of being morally in the wrong and likely know as much, especially after Lilly’s lies and crimes are revealed. 

However, with all of the circumstances listed above that support the idea they were victims of human trafficking, they would have had a strong case that might have excused them from legal culpability if presented extensively and correctly by knowledgeable legal representation. 

“Each Party shall, subject to its domestic laws, rules, regulations and policies, and in appropriate cases, consider not holding victims of trafficking in persons criminally or administratively liable, for unlawful acts committed by them, if such acts are directly related to the acts of trafficking.”

Source: ASEAN ACTIP, Article 14(7): https://www.asean.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/ACTIP.pdf

“Any person who is a victim of trafficking in persons shall receive protection and appropriate care from the Government, including physical, psychological, and social rehabilitation, legal assistance, and compensation for damages.”

Source: Thailand Anti-Trafficking Act B.E. 2551 (2008), Section 41: https://asean.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Thailand197.pdf

“Trafficked persons should not be subject to arrest, charge, detention, prosecution, or be penalized or otherwise punished for illegal conduct that they committed as a direct consequence of being trafficked.”

Source: UNODC Issue Paper on Non-Punishment Principle: https://www.unodc.org/documents/human-trafficking/ICAT/19-10800_ICAT_Issue_Brief_8_Ebook.pdf

“The non-punishment principle is integral to fulfilling human rights obligations to victims, and obligations to prevent and suppress trafficking in persons and other serious crimes.”

Source: ASEAN-ACT Non-Punishment Policy Brief: https://www.aseanact.org/story/asean-nonpunishment/

Five years for murder charges? Normally a great deal. It is understandable why Fadel and Bison jumped on it, especially when they do not identify as trafficking victims and feel responsible for their prior crimes now that they know about all of Lilly’s lies. A life on the run was not appealing at that point. Serving five years so they could move on with their lives and hopefully be with their partners after the fact was preferable. 

But I can only assume they declined legal counsel and a hearing/trial in exchange. If they requested legal counsel and got someone knowledgeable in exploitation, their cases and histories could have been examined in their entirety. A legal counsel set on advocating for them would have likely picked up any prior legal loopholes Lilly took advantage of, along with any fraud, coercion, abuse, and legal/illegal inconsistencies. With this evidence being documented, a strong case for their status as trafficking victims could have been established. This could have led to an even lesser sentence or no sentence at all. If it was determined that they needed to be in a restrictive environment, they would have likely ended up somewhere that focused on rehabilitation - not punishment - and it may have been for a much shorter time. Their status as trafficking survivors (if accepted by the courts, legal counsel, and Fadel and Bison themselves) would also likely result in expunged and sealed records. 

So while this drama is classified as a romantic comedy based on a Shakespeare play, it is ultimately tragic when it comes to systematic failure - as well as the long-term trafficking, abuse, and manipulation not being legally recognized for three key characters. Fadel, Bison, and Keen will likely never truly understand the scope of injustices they have faced. They were not only failed by Lilly. They were also failed by the system that should have saved them from her. 

[rebeccathenaturalist]

If you're a bison, an elk, or a bighorn sheep, you can't just walk into any grocery store and take home bags of food to stash away in a pantry. While some wild animals do cache surpluses of food, feast-or-famine patterns are quite common even in areas of great biodiversity and food availability, particularly as seasonal foods may wax or wane. And if there are other species that eat similar foods to what you prefer, there will be competition.

Or will there? Yellowstone National Park is full of herbivores chowing down on the abundant plant life there. But they aren't all going after the exact same plants all at the same time. This study demonstrates that each species inhabits a unique food-related niche, and the parameters of that niche may shift as the seasons change.

Summer, for example, sees a lot more crossover in terms of what the large herbivorous ungulates eat, simply because there's plenty to go around. But in winter, when food is more scarce, each species becomes more of a specialist. Deer tend to eat more woody vegetation (in fact, their digestive systems adjust seasonally), and mostly stick to one area. Bison, which are larger and more powerful, can forge paths through the deep snow to find dried plants other animals can't access.

It makes sense that wildlife would exploit food sources differently according to species and season, but it's neat to see a study giving a more quantitative look at that behavior. Not everything in nature is about competition; sometimes it's about carving out one's own specialized niche that, incidentally, leaves enough room for others to do the same, and then coexisting together even through the hard times. We could learn a lot from our wild neighbors.

[joelalorian]

Lost Cause

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

Word count: 2,594 oneshot

The hits just kept coming. Time after time, year after year, life just beat Joel Miller down. It started when he was young, always taken down a peg by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to build himself up. There was a brief respite when he had Sarah – those fourteen years were the happiest of his life, despite the sudden and unexpected nature of becoming a father so young, until it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye on that one horrific day.

Since then, he’d given up hoping for more. Life had completely shattered his hopes and dreams. He couldn’t even put himself out of his own misery, for fuck’s sake. Life hated him that much it wouldn’t even release its grasp on him. He was so damaged beyond repair, and he could do fuck all about it.

His latest hit was a sucker punch to the gut, though.

Just when he finally opened up his heart again, when he allowed himself to feel something other than misery again, that’s precisely when the hit came.

Ellie – sweet, feral child that she was – wanted nothing to do with him after finding out the truth of what happened to the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

The fracture in his relationship with Ellie sent him spiraling out of control, resorting to old behaviors and vices – drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison, smoking pilfered cigarettes out back behind the bar, taking pills on the rare occasions he could get his hands on them. The nightmares returned no matter how blasted he got to chase them away and he was often moody from lack of sleep.

Joel still contributed to society in Jackson, but he did it in ways that he could keep to himself. Fixing things around town, building stuff in his workshop, taking the odd patrol shift with his brother. He avoided everyone but Tommy and Maria, and Ellie, if she didn’t flee from the very sight of him.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. What the fuck? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because it almost worked!” Tommy was worked up, laying into Joel at the tail end of their patrol shift. He didn’t know if his older brother had a death wish or was just too hungover to pay proper attention, but Joel was nearly taken out by a clicker while they cleared their route. A clicker that he normally would have dispatched without much effort or thought. Joel cut it way too close this time.

Joel gazed at his brother with baleful eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. He did have a death wish, but how could he tell Tommy that?

Tommy knew Joel was struggling – his behavior was similar to what it had been after Sarah died, when he became a fraction of the man he had been. “Come on, let’s grab a drink at the Bison,” Tommy sighed. At a loss on how else to help him, Tommy often accompanied Joel to the bar despite already thinking his brother drank too much.  At least he could keep an eye on him that way.

They made small talk on the way, Joel’s responses little more that grumbles and grunts. Something needed to give, but what? Tommy didn’t know, but he sent up silent prayers for a miracle to save his brother.

Once they were seated at one end of the bar, Tommy ordered a round. “Joel, brother, what is going on, really? Is it just the thing with Ellie or something more?”

Two sets of deep brown eyes stared at each other for long moments, each waiting for the other to flinch or look away. Joel gave in first, clearing his throat, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s… everythin’, Tommy. It feels like somethin’ inside me is broken, somethin’ that was just starting to repair itself until this thing with Ellie shattered it again.”

Tommy’s heart clenched. Life had done Joel dirty, even before the outbreak, and it seemed like it finally broke him beyond repair. “I know it ain’t been easy, not with… well, everything. Do you… would you ever consider talking to someone about it all? Like a professional, I mean. I know we got someone here who used to be a counselor.”

Brows pinched together, Joel’s stormy eyes glared at the bar top, avoiding Tommy’s searching gaze. “Fuck, no! I don’t want a stranger diggin’ into my psyche or whatever the hell they do, just so they can tell me I have daddy issues or some such shit. And talkin’ ‘bout it don’t help none, either. I’m talking to you and it ain’t doing shit but pissin’ me the hell off!”

“Damn, alright! Don’t gotta get all caveman on me.” Tommy held his hands up with a blatant roll of his eyes. His brother never did like the touchy feely shit and he should have known better than to bring it up. “Maybe you just need a sweet lil’ thing to take your mind off shit.”

That got Joel to laugh for the first time in a long while. “Oh yeah? You think getting my dick wet will solve everythin’?”

Tommy smirked. “Well, not everything. You’ll still be you afterwards. I’d pity whatever poor girl got stuck with you, honestly. But it couldn’t hurt none, right?” It was good to see his brother grin, nose and corners of eyes crinkling with the broadness of it, and they fell into a comfortable silence while people watching. Sudden movement at the entrance caught Tommy’s attention and Joel followed his eyeline.

You walked in with Maria, the pair of you had your heads tilted toward each other giggling madly about something. While Tommy only had eyes for Maria, Joel drank in the sight of you. New to Jackson, you arrived with a small group a few weeks ago and, while you were still settling in, you were eager to meet people and get involved in helping around town. Maria took an instant liking to you, and you spent a lot of time with her, quickly becoming part of the Miller group.

Catching a glimpse of his brother staring at you, Tommy slapped Joel’s back. “Speaking of a sweet lil’ thing. Maybe this is your chance, brother.” Joel scoffed in return. Girls like you don’t go for guys like him, at least not the guy he was now. It was the law of nature or some shit.

“Hey boys,” Maria greeted, taking a seat next to Tommy. With a knowing glint in her eye and an exaggerated wink, she gestured for you to sit next to Joel. You never should have mentioned to her how handsome you found Joel. She was becoming a menace with her not-so-subtle methods of teasing and pushing the two of you closer at every opportunity.

“Hi Joel.” You slipped onto the stool next to him, one hand placed on his shoulder for balance as you did so.

“Hey darlin’. Whatcha drinking?” he grunted, fighting to ignore the burning heat of your touch. When was the last time a woman touched him? It must have been Tess and that was… a long time ago.

“I’ll take a red wine. Cabernet or pinot noir, whichever kind is available, please.”

After relaying your request to the bartender, and with his brother’s attention focused solely on Maria, Joel turned his attention back to you. He was a miserable sod, but you were a beautiful woman – he’d be a fool to ignore the attention you paid him. “How are you settlin’ in?”

“Pretty good. This is some community.” You launched into a few stories about mishaps and people you’ve met so far, drawing a few chuckles from Joel with your interpretation of some of the townsfolk. You had a way about you that drew him out of shell of melancholy.

One drink quickly became two, then three, and before either of you knew it, Maria and Tommy left and the two of you were alone at the bar. The wine buzz left you feeling bold and brave, making a move you would not have normally.

“Do you want to go back to my place for a nightcap?”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, brows pinched, at once drifting back under the dark cloud of hopelessness and unable to meet your heated gaze. “You don’t want to waste your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what and who I waste my time on,” you challenged.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tenacity. You were a beautiful young woman and for some unfathomable reason you were interested in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer someone like you, except for a one-night stand, at best. He was good at those – they didn’t require deep connections or feelings, two things he was avoiding like the plague. Maybe Tommy was on to something though – sex would take his mind off his miserable existence for a bit.

“Okay then. Let’s get outta here,” he replied, downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass, and leading you out of the bar with a large, warm hand at your lower back.

The journey to your house was cold and quiet and you began to wonder if you’d made a huge error in judgement. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of girl, preferring the comfort and security of relationships instead, but something told you that this would be the only way you’d get to have Joel. There was a darkness about him, a deep residing mass of regret and remorse, and you felt a burning need to fix him, to be his sunshine, even if only for a little bit.

Your hands fumbled with the latch when you finally reached your house. The warmth of Joel’s large hands suddenly overwhelmed your senses as he helped you, and you were flinging yourself at him before the door even closed behind you.

His kisses were anything but tender, all harsh presses of his lips, teeth, and tongue, like he was a man starved. There would be marks left on your tender skin come morning, but you didn’t mind, giving him the same treatment as you sucked at his neck, soothing your tongue over the spots you just sunk your teeth into.

“I have a bottle of wine. Do you want some?” you breathed against his lips, taking a moment to slow the momentum before the pair of you spontaneously combusted.

A smirk crossed Joel’s lips as an idea struck him. “Sure, why not.” He watched you open the bottle and pour two glasses before returning to him. Accepting one of the stemless glasses, he clinked it against yours before taking a sip. The momentum picked right back up after that first taste of the dark liquid.

Fingers frantically working to undo the buttons on Joel’s flannel with one hand, you walked backwards up the stairs to your bedroom, pulling him along with you without a spare thought about the wine spilled on the wood flooring as you went. Patience wearing thin, he tore your clothes from your body with his free hand, leaving you naked and yearning as you continued working on his shirt. Placing his glass of wine on the nightstand, his hands were everywhere, he could not get enough of your smooth, soft skin.

You were the antithesis of him, bright and bubbly where he was dark and brooding, soft where he was hard, adaptable and happy where he was rigid and sad. You were ripe like fresh fruit ready for plucking. You were everything he wish he could still be. Perhaps he could get just a brief taste of happiness being with you, inside you.

Once his jeans and boots were shed, Joel tossed you onto the bed, watching with hungry eyes as your tits bounced with the movement. He was on you in a flash, hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body. Sharp teeth scraped against your puckered nipples, making them impossibly harder, and the sensation shot a bolt of pleasure right down to your core, where the weight of his hardened cock rested, twitching for attention.

Nails scraped down his chest and belly until you reached his cock, slipping your slender hand around the heft of him. He was huge – both long and thick, a combination you’d not experienced before, and your mouth watered with the desire to taste him. If you only had one night together, you wanted to make it a memorable experience.

It took great effort to get Joel to detach his lips from your breasts, the whine that emanated from him as you did so had you downright aching for him.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” his deep voice rumbled, dark eyes rolling back in his head when you moved down his body and slipped your plush lips around the head of his cock. “Oh, fuck!”

After spending so long living in hell, your mouth felt like heaven as you licked and sucked on his length.

“Wait, doll, I wanna try somethin’.”

Sitting up against the aged headboard, Joel grasped the wine glass and brought it down to rest on his belly. Two thick fingers dipped into the dark red liquid and swirled, coating every bit of surface area from fingertip to second knuckle before he brought his drenched fingers down towards you. His hand hovered over his cock and you both watched as droplets of translucent ruby red liquid dripped onto his hardened flesh.

Your mouth watered as you watched him repeat the process, eager to taste the heady mix of the bitter tang of wine and his salty pre-cum. Ravenous, you slurped at the liquid trails running down the length of his cock before lapping at the bulbous head, leaving no hint of wine behind as you wrapped your lips around him.

Joel was a panting mess when you took him as far as you could, his weeping head hitting the back of your throat. The glass of wine was forgotten, slipping from his hand to stain the hardwood floor next to the bed. That was a tomorrow problem as you focused on devouring his beautiful cock. He was close to the edge within minutes, the sensations too much, and he pushed you off him none too gently, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

“My turn, darlin’,” Joel murmured, nestling his face between your legs. He’d been told that his current lifestyle was bad for his health, that all the drinking and smoking was hopeless. They weren’t wrong, but it felt like that was all he needed, the only thing that set him free from his sorrows. Now that he’d tasted you, he knew that was utter bullshit. You could so easily set him free if he got to have you, taste you every day. You were enough to change a man like him.

“Joel,” you mewled his name between long moans as his tongue teased at your clit, thick fingers exploring your folds before dipping inside you. He drew an orgasm from you effortlessly and you clawed at his back as the blinding flash of pleasure washed over you. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He could refuse you nothing, shifting to hover over you. “Save me from myself,” he murmured against your lips as he sheathed himself inside your tight warmth. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Always,” you replied breathlessly, rocking your hips against his. Your mouths met in a kiss full of promise.

[akkpipitphattana]

i am about to say something that i am AWARE sounds insane and i don’t necessarily think it’s a good thing but i am genuinely starting to think it’s what’s happening. i’m pretty sure that what they used to replace the fact that katherine and bianca are women and obviously fadel and bison are not… is the assassin plot

like i’m losing my mind as i type this because it just fucking hit me but that’s. that’s exactly what it is. because fadel and bison are assassins, it gives kant and style free reign to kind of act however they want in order to win them over without facing consequences for lying or doing anything crazy to them because what does it matter, they’re murderers anyways? whereas in the play, petruchio’s misogyny was allowed because at the time women were treated like property and even lucentio tends to treat bianca like a prop that’s meant to be won so that behavior gets excused.

the thing that made me realize this specifically was style’s courtship of fadel this episode, which i planned to make a separate post about but i might as well say it all here cause they’re very closely related. fadel parallels katherine very closely in that while you would think given who they are (for him an assassin, for katherine a shrew), they wouldn’t care as much about social norms or being embarrassed by other people, but that is exactly what is used to court them. in the play, petruchio uses humiliation on several occasions in order to widdle katherine down and to force her into submission. and we see style do the EXACT SAME THING! he yells at fadel in the grocery market to get him to help clean the veggies, he calls fadel’s name over the speakers to get his attention, he makes fadel let him deliver the food to the restaurant by using the excuse that it’ll be rude not to. because as much as fadel is an assassin and katherine a shrew, they both have a sense of pride that makes them do whatever their suitor wants to try and get him to stop embarrassing them in public

the fucking subbed in assassinphobia for misogyny. i’m in a state of shock