#code base architecture

[teatime-tangents-and-toys]

Interesting Monster High design things that are never explicitly stated:

* Unlicensed vampires are all some type of pink-skinned for some reason, including related species like the manananggal

* Clawdeen, and by extension, other werewolves, never wear silver metals, because that weakens them. The Wolfs only wear gold jewelry and accents.

* Lagoona's sporty theme aligns with the use of mesh fabrics to make a pun about fishnets

* Wydowna Spider's hairline is a widow's peak and one of her hands is in Spider-Man's web-slinging shape

* Twyla's eyes glow in the dark on most editions--common knowledge, but Mattel has never told buyers about it on her boxes!

* Twyla is a boogeyman and her costume designs all feature antique architectural details and imagery of things that might be in a scary bedroom at night, like wallpaper patterns, doorknobs, bugs, and beds, while her outfits often resemble pajamas

* The two G1 pop star characters are a witch and a black cat, and a witch and cat were also a Create-A-Monster duo

* The Grant sisters' monster twist on genies is to make them plated like desert scorpions

* Elissabat's face is deliberately highly similar to Draculaura's, but their sculpts have been determined to be different--this when MH has used shared sculpts for more distant-looking and disparate pairs of characters!

* The Blob and Ice Girls are a Create-A-Monster duo because freezing was the one weakness of the Blob monster

* Deuce and Cleo as a couple invoke the synergy of snakes and Egyptian culture, the famous Cleopatra being Greek, and Cleopatra being stated in legend to have died by snakebite--similar reasons a mummy and Gorgon were paired in the Create-A-Monster sets

* Operetta is from New Orleans because it's a uniquely French area of the USA, tying her into the original setting of the Phantom of the Opera

* The manufacturing code on the back of Skelita Calaveras' original head mold is a custom sequence made to depict the name "KATRINA".

This refers to the tradition of carving a name of honor into a Dia de Muertos sugar skull, and may also reflect La Catrina, the iconic Mexican skeleton woman in the wide hat often seen in the holiday's imagery. Other dolls have these stamps on the backs of their heads with meaningless sequences of letters and numbers which are never meant to be seen, but Skelita's stamp was used for a purpose. I've checked her dolls after G1 (starting with her first collector doll in 2016), and they have a generic code stamped in and have lost this detail.

* Viperine Gorgon has distinct visual hallmarks of both human and serpent albinism, and her use of sunglasses could correspond with sensitive eyes from the condition, though she's never stated to have the condition in any material.

* Great Scarrier Reef's transformations: Electric-powered Frankie became an electric eel, Draculaura became a vampire squid, and tigerlike Toralei became a lionfish. I've heard Clawdeen was based on a wolffish, but can't be sure that was actually clear. Gil turning into a ray may be a pun with manta and manster? No idea if Lagoona was based on a specific fish or not. Nor why she even had to transform in her native territory for any reason beyond making a new doll.

* Bonita Femur's color palette is based on the rosy maple moth, which is as implausibly candy-colored as Bonita. Luna Mothews is absolutely not actually a luna moth, but could be loosely based on the cecropia moth, the largest in North America and found in regions that could include New Jersey where she's from (or West Virginia, where the Mothman is from). Her yellow exoskeleton also loosely resembles the hornet moth, but may not intentionally be based on it.

* Mouscedes King, Luna Mothews, and Elle Eedee are a primary yellow/red/blue trio but also a past/present/future trio based on an old fairy tale, a current cryptid legend, and a speculative idea of future tech

* Headmistress Bloodgood's first name was eventually revealed to be Nora, an iconically Irish name that may have been chosen to liken Bloodgood to the Irish folklore of the dullahan, another "headless rider" monster.

* River Styxx is a young-adolescent Grim Reaper ghost who is partially translucent, revealing bones in her limbs and having a more opaque face that looks like thin skin over a bony structure. This creates a fun possible worldbuilding idea that reapers start as ghosts with skin and it fades as they develop, becoming full skeletons in classic Death style when mature.

* Peri and Pearl are conjoined Hydra sisters, obviously reflecting a rare human scenario of conjoined twins through the Hydra monster concept, but also possibly being influenced by the animal phenomenon of snakes being born with two heads in an even Y-shaped structure.

* Elle has a separate sculpted panel on her hip where her factory stamp is placed, canonizing the real-world manufacturing artifact as a real/literal/diegetic feature on the manufactured robot character.

* Corazón Marikit's red fringe blends the two halves of her outfit, but also stands in for the gorier imagery of dangling intestines and entrails when the manananggal monster's body splits at the waist. She does have a spine coming out of her upper torso as the peg that clicks her pieces together, but the dolls aren't brutally gory, so her costume alludes to the folklore's more extreme imagery in a graceful way.

* Scary Sweet Birthday Cupid is the only doll in the SSB collection whose cage element is under her skirt rather than on top of it.

This placement and its rectangular silhouette make the cage functional rather than decorative, replicating an old-fashioned crinoline frame used to internally shape big skirts, and its wide boxy shape matches some rococo skirt silhouettes, suiting the other elements Cupid has drawn from the rococo aesthetic, even before G3. Victorian-steampunk Robecca Steam has also worn cage elements that invoke a crinoline without a skirt to be shaped by it.

[fannedandflawless]

The Uniform Was Armour

An attire analysis of Severus Snape, as portrayed by Alan Rickman

What does it mean to wear forty buttons every day? To choose black not for fashion, but for function? To wrap yourself in discipline and precision while others wear colour and comfort?

I’ve been studying Severus Snape’s wardrobe across every film—and what began as curiosity quickly turned into full analytical obsession. Because beneath that iconic silhouette is an entire philosophy stitched in wool, linen, and silence.

Let’s talk about it.

👔 The Buttons, Layers, and Surprising Realism of Snape’s Wardrobe

Yes, I’ve zoomed in. Repeatedly. Across every film, from Philosopher’s Stone to Deathly Hallows, I’ve counted his buttons—frame by frame, button by button, layer by layer. Let’s just say—I’ve become very familiar with this frock coat’s construction.

And darling, here’s the breakdown:

3 unbuttoned at the collar

9 buttoned down the front

10 per sleeve

4 per leg

🧮 Total: 40 buttons.

Forty. Let that settle in your bones.

On set, most were decorative—Alan Rickman wasn’t fastening all forty by hand. Hidden zippers, snap closures—clever costume design. (This is based on standard film costuming practices—where elaborate garments are often modified for ease of dressing with hidden closures. No official quote confirms this for Snape's outfit specifically, but it aligns with how similar costumes are constructed.) But in-universe? If the real Severus Snape wore this...

It’s safe to assume he used a spell. Realistically, no one’s spending fifteen minutes every morning fastening forty buttons—not even Severus Snape. He had essays to mark, potions to brew, and a corridor presence to maintain.

And oh, that presence.

—

🧥 The Full Layer Breakdown (Based on Alan Rickman’s Film Costume and Button-by-Button Image Zooming)

1. White high-collared shirt – stiff, sharp, and always buttoned to the throat. Clean. Severe. Scholar-coded.

+ Black cravat or neckcloth – visible in several key scenes (notably when inspecting the cursed necklace and seated with the Dark Lord). Likely silk or satin. It adds formality and structure, anchoring the layers while communicating a quiet, old-world elegance.

2. Inner black buttoned layer – possibly a waistcoat or inset panel. Tailored close. Minimal.

3. Frock coat – double-breasted with 14 visible buttons. Structured. Commanding. The real statement piece.

4. Long open-front robe – that iconic swirl. When he enters a room, it follows like a shadow.

5. Straight black trousers – clean-cut, no nonsense.

6. Tall black boots – polished leather, confident heel.

7. (Possibly) sewn-in underlayer for structure – subtle but significant.

—

🪡 What Could the Fabrics Be?

Shirt: Cotton or stiff linen—light but architectural. Holds the collar high.

Inner layer/waistcoat: Lightweight wool or twill—close fit, breathable, efficient.

Frock coat: Wool blend or gabardine—thick, silent, unmistakable.

Robe: Wool or silk-blend—fluid with weight, designed for drama.

Trousers: Soft wool or worsted—no embellishments, just utility.

Boots: Black leather—lived-in, lacquered, ready to move.

The entire ensemble whispers: do not underestimate me.

—

🔥 How Did He Survive the Heat?

All black. All layered. All day. In July? (Or August, depending on the school calendar—but we’ll get to that heatstroke later.)

The answer is geography. He lived in the dungeons.

The Slytherin common room sits beneath the Black Lake—stone walls, filtered light, the occasional squid gliding past. Cold enough to preserve potions and secrets alike.

So yes—he wore forty buttons and never broke a sweat. Because the walls were colder than any seasonal breeze. And honestly? So was he.

—

🧼 How Many Did He Own?

We never see his wardrobe, but let’s be honest—he’d need more than one. You don’t brew over a cauldron daily without carrying the scent of asphodel and burnt fluxweed for hours. Add parchment ink, dust from centuries-old tomes, a hint of candle soot—and you’ve got a potion master’s signature scent.

And let’s not forget: Hermione Granger literally set fire to his robes in Philosopher’s Stone—whether it was the hem or that slightly fluffy bit at his ankle, the damage was real. There can’t have been just one. Not in a school full of reckless students and volatile substances.

These garments weren’t just iconic—they were functional. And surely duplicated.

Three, at minimum. Five, if he allowed himself the luxury. All identical. All immaculate. Possibly with a charm or two to keep the folds crisp and the fabric warded.

—

🧣 The One Exception—His Layer for Weather

Across eight films and countless scenes, Severus Snape’s uniform never truly wavered—except once, perhaps twice.

In Philosopher’s Stone, during the infamous Quidditch match where he counter-cursed Quirrell’s jinx, he wore something different:

A high black scarf

Fingerless black gloves

A heavier, textured outer cloak—draped and more tactical

It’s the only time we see his silhouette altered so clearly.

Still black, still formal, but slightly more utilitarian. Weather-appropriate, perhaps? November in the high stands of the Quidditch pitch must’ve been brutal—wind cutting, robes whipping. Most students wore house scarves not just for pride, but to survive the chill.

So yes, that scarf and heavier cloak weren’t just stylistic flourishes. They were practical, protective, and quietly prepared.

Either way, it stood apart—and not just in costume. In that moment, he was cast as the villain, misunderstood and brooding in layers.

And I must wonder—where did that cloak go? At first glance, I assumed it had been lost to the flames of Hermione’s accidental sabotage in Philosopher’s Stone. A dramatic end to a singular garment.

But then—rewatching Goblet of Fire—there it was again. During the Hungarian Horntail trial, Snape sits beside McGonagall, and if you look closely: folded cuffs, denser weave, a broader drape over his shoulders. The silhouette is unmistakable.

The scarf and gloves are gone, but the cloak’s presence speaks volumes. Not flashy, but deliberate. A return not for spectacle, but for utility. Its weight, its shape, the quiet precision in its fit—nearly identical.

So no—it wasn’t destroyed. Not gone. Not forgotten. Simply reserved. Practical. Intentional.

Another glimpse into how even the rare deviations in his attire still follow a purpose. Nothing is ever random with Severus Snape.

Still all black, still stern—but there’s something in the added structure that reads more formal. Less dungeon-brewer, more event overseer. It’s functional, wind-resistant, and dignified in a cold, open-air setting.

Perhaps it was kept for outdoor events—or those requiring a touch more presence. It reminds us that even the most stoic wardrobe had its layers—and that nothing Severus Snape wore was ever without intent.

Even when the silhouette shifted slightly, the reasoning didn’t. Whether reserved for specific events or dictated by weather, every layer had purpose. He was always watching. Always calculating. Always protecting.

—

🖤 What the Uniform Meant: Endurance as Identity

The choice to wear such rigid attire wasn’t just style—it was declaration. It was discipline. It was Severus Snape, sealing himself into something he could control.

"It is endurance. Conditioning. Discipline—of body and mind. This attire is not meant for ease. It is meant for containment."

That’s how I imagine he would have spoken of it, if ever asked. With restraint. With precision. With the same measured control that shaped his every movement.

He didn’t wear black because he liked the colour. He wore it because black absorbs. It doesn’t reflect, doesn’t shine, doesn’t distract. It takes.

And if someone ever questioned the heat? The weight of so many layers?

"If I wear less… I feel more." "And for someone who has spent most of his life bearing what others cast off, that is… not always bearable."

It was never about temperature. It was about endurance as aesthetic. About turning vulnerability into fabric. A way of saying: I will bear what others shed.

To wear layers was to keep the world at a distance. To button forty buttons was to remind himself: control is chosen. Every day.

"There is a certain power in being the only one who does not wilt under pressure. Let them sweat. Let them squirm. I remain."

Snape didn’t need robes that breathed. He needed robes that held.

Because the man beneath them had spent a lifetime feeling too much. And hiding it all in plain sight.

And somehow, it worked.

He endured.

And never once did his silhouette flinch.

[engineering]

StreamBuilder: our open-source framework for powering your dashboard.

Today, we’re abnormally jazzed to announce that we’re open-sourcing the custom framework we built to power your dashboard on Tumblr. We call it StreamBuilder, and we’ve been using it for many years.

First things first. What is open-sourcing? Open sourcing is a decentralized software development model that encourages open collaboration. In more accessible language, it is any program whose source code is made available for use or modification as users or other developers see fit.

What, then, is StreamBuilder? Well, every time you hit your Following feed, or For You, or search results, a blog’s posts, a list of tagged posts, or even check out blog recommendations, you’re using this framework under the hood. If you want to dive into the code, check it out here on GitHub!

StreamBuilder has a lot going on. The primary architecture centers around “streams” of content: whether posts from a blog, a list of blogs you’re following, posts using a specific tag, or posts relating to a search. These are separate kinds of streams, which can be mixed together, filtered based on certain criteria, ranked for relevancy or engagement likelihood, and more.

On your Tumblr dashboard today you can see how there are posts from blogs you follow, mixed with posts from tags you follow, mixed with blog recommendations. Each of those is a separate stream, with its own logic, but sharing this same framework. We inject those recommendations at certain intervals, filter posts based on who you’re blocking, and rank the posts for relevancy if you have “Best stuff first” enabled. Those are all examples of the functionality StreamBuilder affords for us.

So, what’s included in the box?

The full framework library of code that we use today, on Tumblr, to power almost every feed of content you see on the platform.

A YAML syntax for composing streams of content, and how to filter, inject, and rank them.

Abstractions for programmatically composing, filtering, ranking, injecting, and debugging streams.

Abstractions for composing streams together—such as with carousels, for streams-within-streams.

An abstraction for cursor-based pagination for complex stream templates.

Unit tests covering the public interface for the library and most of the underlying code.

What’s still to come

Documentation. We have a lot to migrate from our own internal tools and put in here!

More example stream templates and example implementations of different common streams.

If you have questions, please check out the code and file an issue there.

[kirlicues]

The Old Country Church | CC-Free Sims 2 Community Lot Download

The old, 1800's style country church has weathered the test of time and, despite it's age, is still is as solid as the messages that have been shared from the pulpit. It's built on a 5x5 community lot.

It's over-all simplicity stands in stark contrast to more ornate architecture, but it is this humble structure, reminiscent of a purer time of faith, that stands as a testament to scriptural truths.

Let's take a tour of the place!

Joy. Laughter. Tears. Weddings, funerals, picnics on the lawn, and baptisms in the lake--all the memories that have meant so much--have happened here in this peaceful country setting. It's a place for friends to gather, caring words to be spoken, and a base for larger community outreach.

This landmark is surrounded by trees, and old nature trails that meander through the woods. It's the perfect place to hear the birds sing, sit by the water reading the Good Book, and to remember where the true meaning of life comes from.

Right now the old church is dressed up for a wedding, but you can remove the arch and flower decorations for a more authentic feel.

This lot is CC-free which is why the podium is one of the career reward objects. You can find a buyable version without the cringy teleprompter screens in this set over on Mod the Sims because being a minster should never be about the money or charismatic personalities.

Congregational singing with instruments was just starting to become popular in the 1800's. Many old churches did not have a piano or organ, but I've added the piano and violin to this lot to give some more interest to the front platform.

The balcony is a lovely place to sit and listen to the beautiful acoustics, and appreciate the rustic beams that make up the upper part of the roof.

The bell tower is empty since there is not anything comparable in the game. You can find a very simple bell at the end of this thread on Mod the Sims if you'd like to put one in.

I built this lot based on historical pictures of churches from the 1800's. This version is a bit larger than most of that era. A lot of the churches at the time did not have anything more than a main sanctuary area, but I've included bathrooms for convenience's sake.

1st Floor: On this level there are bathrooms, and the main sanctuary.

2nd Floor: There's a balcony near the bottom of the image, the rest of the level is open to the sanctuary below.

The Old Country Church MF | SFS

This lot is CC-Free, but All EPs and SPs are required.

I’ve run this lot through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run it through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

Default Replacements Shown: Purple Lupin shrub from @peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Lupin will be blue.

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

[mariacallous]

The so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) is starting to put together a team to migrate the Social Security Administration’s (SSA) computer systems entirely off one of its oldest programming languages in a matter of months, potentially putting the integrity of the system—and the benefits on which tens of millions of Americans rely—at risk.

The project is being organized by Elon Musk lieutenant Steve Davis, multiple sources who were not given permission to talk to the media tell WIRED, and aims to migrate all SSA systems off COBOL, one of the first common business-oriented programming languages, and onto a more modern replacement like Java within a scheduled tight timeframe of a few months.

Under any circumstances, a migration of this size and scale would be a massive undertaking, experts tell WIRED, but the expedited deadline runs the risk of obstructing payments to the more than 65 million people in the US currently receiving Social Security benefits.

“Of course, one of the big risks is not underpayment or overpayment per se; [it’s also] not paying someone at all and not knowing about it. The invisible errors and omissions,” an SSA technologist tells WIRED.

The Social Security Administration did not immediately reply to WIRED’s request for comment.

SSA has been under increasing scrutiny from president Donald Trump’s administration. In February, Musk took aim at SSA, falsely claiming that the agency was rife with fraud. Specifically, Musk pointed to data he allegedly pulled from the system that showed 150-year-olds in the US were receiving benefits, something that isn’t actually happening. Over the last few weeks, following significant cuts to the agency by DOGE, SSA has suffered frequent website crashes and long wait times over the phone, The Washington Post reported this week.

This proposed migration isn’t the first time SSA has tried to move away from COBOL: In 2017, SSA announced a plan to receive hundreds of millions in funding to replace its core systems. The agency predicted that it would take around five years to modernize these systems. Because of the coronavirus pandemic in 2020, the agency pivoted away from this work to focus on more public-facing projects.

Like many legacy government IT systems, SSA systems contain code written in COBOL, a programming language created in part in the 1950s by computing pioneer Grace Hopper. The Defense Department essentially pressured private industry to use COBOL soon after its creation, spurring widespread adoption and making it one of the most widely used languages for mainframes, or computer systems that process and store large amounts of data quickly, by the 1970s. (At least one DOD-related website praising Hopper's accomplishments is no longer active, likely following the Trump administration’s DEI purge of military acknowledgements.)

As recently as 2016, SSA’s infrastructure contained more than 60 million lines of code written in COBOL, with millions more written in other legacy coding languages, the agency’s Office of the Inspector General found. In fact, SSA’s core programmatic systems and architecture haven’t been “substantially” updated since the 1980s when the agency developed its own database system called MADAM, or the Master Data Access Method, which was written in COBOL and Assembler, according to SSA’s 2017 modernization plan.

SSA’s core “logic” is also written largely in COBOL. This is the code that issues social security numbers, manages payments, and even calculates the total amount beneficiaries should receive for different services, a former senior SSA technologist who worked in the office of the chief information officer says. Even minor changes could result in cascading failures across programs.

“If you weren't worried about a whole bunch of people not getting benefits or getting the wrong benefits, or getting the wrong entitlements, or having to wait ages, then sure go ahead,” says Dan Hon, principal of Very Little Gravitas, a technology strategy consultancy that helps government modernize services, about completing such a migration in a short timeframe.

It’s unclear when exactly the code migration would start. A recent document circulated amongst SSA staff laying out the agency’s priorities through May does not mention it, instead naming other priorities like terminating “non-essential contracts” and adopting artificial intelligence to “augment” administrative and technical writing.

Earlier this month, WIRED reported that at least 10 DOGE operatives were currently working within SSA, including a number of young and inexperienced engineers like Luke Farritor and Ethan Shaotran. At the time, sources told WIRED that the DOGE operatives would focus on how people identify themselves to access their benefits online.

Sources within SSA expect the project to begin in earnest once DOGE identifies and marks remaining beneficiaries as deceased and connecting disparate agency databases. In a Thursday morning court filing, an affidavit from SSA acting administrator Leland Dudek said that at least two DOGE operatives are currently working on a project formally called the “Are You Alive Project,” targeting what these operatives believe to be improper payments and fraud within the agency’s system by calling individual beneficiaries. The agency is currently battling for sweeping access to SSA’s systems in court to finish this work. (Again, 150-year-olds are not collecting social security benefits. That specific age was likely a quirk of COBOL. It doesn’t include a date type, so dates are often coded to a specific reference point—May 20, 1875, the date of an international standards-setting conference held in Paris, known as the Convention du Mètre.)

In order to migrate all COBOL code into a more modern language within a few months, DOGE would likely need to employ some form of generative artificial intelligence to help translate the millions of lines of code, sources tell WIRED. “DOGE thinks if they can say they got rid of all the COBOL in months, then their way is the right way, and we all just suck for not breaking shit,” says the SSA technologist.

DOGE would also need to develop tests to ensure the new system’s outputs match the previous one. It would be difficult to resolve all of the possible edge cases over the course of several years, let alone months, adds the SSA technologist.

“This is an environment that is held together with bail wire and duct tape,” the former senior SSA technologist working in the office of the chief information officer tells WIRED. “The leaders need to understand that they’re dealing with a house of cards or Jenga. If they start pulling pieces out, which they’ve already stated they’re doing, things can break.”

[theseptembersim]

Corvid Hill | Residential

MOO and debug used NO CC Base game, Life & Death and Castle Estate kit only

This neo-gothic revival property sits at the top of Ravenwood square, its grand architecture surveying all below. Unfurnished for your Sims ready to move in

World: Ravenwood Type: Residential Origin ID is TheSeptemberSim

If you would like to download this build please use the links below, or via my origin ID above. Although all my builds are no CC, I use a custom thumbnail so make sure 'modded' is checked to see this in your game.

Download (sfs)

If you would like to support me, use creator code:

THESEPTEMBERSIM

when purchasing on the EA app or thesims.com. Please note, this is not a discount code

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Isn't blaze based on Middle Eastern cultures or something

Like Easter Blaze is cool and all, but there's gotta be a more fitting holiday to give her for april

She's distinctly South Asian, most likely Indian.

In the middle bottom row in the pic above, you can see her wearing Shalwar, (maybe shalwar kameez? it’s hard to tell what kinda top she has) which is a popular Southern and Central Asian fashion.

Her final design includes a straight-up bindi– listed as such on the Sonic wiki. Bindi are a mark on the forehead worn by women in Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism, and occasionally Islam (notably in Pakistan during Eid). While obviously anyone of any race can be of any religion, as the bindi originated in Southern Asia, it’s highly associated with that area and is worn by, well, a crapton of people in South and Southeast Asia, for both cultural and religious reasons.

Also, her kingdom: we don’t see it much in the games (in Rush Adventure, they’re mostly traveling through outlying islands and ruins), but we do see it in the IDW comics.

It seems very inspired by Mughal architecture, an Indo-Islamic style developed from Indian, Islamic, Iranian and Central Asian traditions.

In the mobile game Sonic Forces: Speed Battle, Blaze is given a costume for Lunar New Year, as is Silver. Lunar New Year is associated mainly with China, but is celebrated in several other Asian countries, including Indonesia, Japan, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, South Korea, Thailand, and Vietnam. We also got THIS tweet from the official Sonic account in November 2020, showing her having tea in her palace. @penosh-wom​ pointed out to me that the patterns in the room are “VERY reminiscent of India,” and that the scenery outside looks very much like the Asian coast.

The caption is in Japanese, but translating it to English shows that the descriptive is literally “Indian summer with calm waves.” An Indian summer is a term for unusually long hot weather in autumn, but like. Come on.

With that, I would say Blaze is most likely Indian, though the coding is a little vague. She is at the very least Asian, likely South or Southeast.

All that to say. Where the fuck is her Diwali costume. You absolute cowards. It's literally the festival of lights. People literally light candles the entire time. She is the fucking princess of fire. If I don't see a Diwali outfit this October I'm gonna start lighting Sega on fire

[andypantsx3]

omg i'm sorry but i need to techsplain just one thing in the most doomer terms possible bc i'm scared and i need people to be too. so i saw this post which is like, a great post that gives me a little kick because of how obnoxious i find ai and how its cathartic to see corporate evil overlords overestimate themselves and jump the gun and look silly.

but one thing i don't think people outside of the industry understand is exactly how companies like microsoft plan on scaling the ability of their ai agents. as this post explains, they are not as advanced as some people make them out to be and it is hard to feed them the amount of context they need to perform some tasks well.

but what the second article in the above post explains is microsoft's investment in making a huge variety of the needed contexts more accessible to ai agents. the idea is like, only about 6 months old but what every huge tech firm right now is looking at is mcps (or model context protocols) which is a framework for standardizing how needed context is given to ai agents. to oversimplify an example, maybe an ai coding agent is trained on a zillion pieces of javacode but doesn't have insider knowledge of microsoft's internal application authoring processes, meta architecture, repositories, etc. an mcp standardizes how you would then offer those documents to the agent in a way that it can easily read and then use them, so it doesn't have to come pre-loaded with that knowledge. so it could tackle this developer's specific use case, if offered the right knowledge.

and that's the plan. essentially, we're going to see a huge boom in companies offering their libraries, services, knowledge bases (e.g. their bug fix logs) etc as mcps, and ai agents basically are going to go shopping amongst those contexts, plug into whatever the context is that they need for the task at hand, and then power up by like a bajillion percent on specific task they need to do.

so ai is powerful but not infallible right now, but it is going to scale pretty quickly i think.

in my opinion the only thing that is ever going to limit ai is not knowledge accessibility, but rather corporate greed. ai models are crazy expensive to train and maintain. every company on earth is also looking at how to optimize them to reduce some of that cost, and i think we will eventually see only a few megalith ais like chatgpt, with a bunch of smaller, more targeted models offered by other companies for them to leverage for specialized tasks.

i genuinely hope that the owners of the megalith models get so greedy that even the cost optimizations they are doing now don't bring down the price enough for their liking and they find shortcuts that ultimately make the models and the entire ecosystem shitty. but i confess i don't know enough about model optimization to know what is likely.

anyway i'm big scared and just wanted to put this slice of knowledge out there for people to be a little more informed.

[olenvasynyt]

I know my fellow artists and creators have been frustrated with the rise of AI on Pinterest and Google.  Many of us find it difficult to serch for good references, tips, and general inspiration for art.  So I want to share my collection of good, free websites for artists, designers, film makers, and creators so we can create without ugly AI images staring in our faces 🙌

Sketchfab

An incredible source for references.  Has a huge collection of 3D animals, architecture, interior rooms, vehicles, food, objects, furniture, nature, memes, characters, etc etc etc. You can literally find several insanely detailed 3D models of the Notre Dame (this one is insane) Models can rotated at any angle as well as zoomed in and out.  You can also change the view of the model to be matcap with flat, colorless planes, wireframe, or base color as opposed to fully rendered.  

Cons: there are many uploads that are random and incredibly specific, which overwhelms the search.  Can be excellent for game designers who want to download models but for artists looking for drawing references, you might have to dig a bit for what you want.  Can be so fun for playing around and using crazy fun references for practicing.

Designspiration

As a photographer and graphic designer and someone who can doomscroll on pinterest forever, this is my favorite for finding inspiration for everything: typography, logos, product mockups, illustration, photography, web design, etc.  Has an amazing feature where you can search for art with specific hex codes!  Probably the coolest feature I’ve seen in search engines, and by far superior to google's color search. This site is mostly for design inspiration, but I feel like if you are super into moodboards, then this is the site for you too especially with the beautiful selection of photography.

Cons: I have no cons, I love this website so much and I used to be addicted to pinterest (still am actually😬) but this is easily my new favorite

Public Works by Cosmos 

Thousands of artworks enter the public domain every year, and this website is a search engine for other 100,000 of those copyright free works.  All of these works are free to edit, use, and sell with few restrictions.

Cons: I personally find the layout for the search feed a bit frustrating to look around in sometimes, because it’s not the typical "scroll up and down" website. But is very dynamic and overall fun to explore.

Same.energy 

This is a good visual search engine that’s a good replacement for Google images and Pinterest.  The minimal words makes it simple and easy, and clicking on an image you like to filter the feed to find similar images.

Cons: this is in beta so it still have some kinks to work out. It seems to struggle with specific searches and some of the images brought up in the search can be repetitive or not relevant.  

Reference Angle

A website for finding face references in any specific angle and any expression for any gender and age.

Cons: I would love this website more if it gave you the ability to customize the light source, but sadly is not an option.  I also feel like there is not a lot of racial diversity in the photos, and some of the images do not match the specific angle. But it is overall a great source for face references

Virtual Lighting Studio by zvork

A good source for light studies.  You can change the source, direction, color, and brightness as well stacking several light sources on top of each other.  

Cons: there isn’t a way to angle the face or change the expression, so it is permanently in portrait mode.  There are four different models and I’m not the biggest fan of some of them…I like the black guy the best because he looks at me kindly instead staring into my soul like the two white guys. The ads are also a bit obnoxious and for the love of god DO NOT USE IN MOBILE!!!  The ads are impossible to get rid of.

Film Grab

An archive of stills from a huge list of movies.  Good for film makers, photographers, art studies, moodboards, inspiration, etc. Has a huge selection of movies and you can search by movie, director, costume designer, aspect ratio, year, genre, and country. You can also hit random post and it'll give you a random movie, which I think is really fun.

Cons: I do not recommend mobile. The mobile does not have the option to search for a specific movie, so you're forced to scroll through the giant A-Z list of directors or films to find the specific film you were looking for.  Another con that I just discovered: a big-ass ad on the top of the website that occasionally advertises AI websites 🤢 (not shown on the screenshots I shared because ew)

Unsplash

Another image search website that has the feeling of Pinterest

Cons: some images are locked for premium only, and the feed is a bit frustrating to scroll through on mobile since they show the images one at a time instead of as a nice collage like pinterest.  Some images can also be irrelevant to the search.

Sending lots of love to my fellow artists and creative peeps out there. AI sucks and it feels like it's overwhelming the creative space. But I promise there is a way to avoid it! Keep creating 💕

[bojanastarcevic]

Jewelry Shop, Restaurant & Apartment

#eapartner

The Sims 4 Build | Windenburg | Jewelry Store | Restaurant | Apartment | Businesses & Hobbies Expansion Pack

Welcome to the heart of old Windenburg! 🏰✨ In today’s build, I created a luxurious multi-functional lot inspired by classic European architecture. This elegant building includes:

💎 A high-end jewelry boutique – perfect for your Sims to run their dream business with the new Businesses & Hobbies Expansion Pack

🍽️ A charming restaurant on the ground floor for romantic dinners and social gatherings

🏡 A cozy residential apartment upstairs, ideal for your entrepreneurial Sims who live and work in the same place!

This build takes full advantage of the new business features, letting you own and manage your jewelry store, host guests in the restaurant, and enjoy a beautifully decorated home all in one lot!

💼 Perfect for storytelling, gameplay, or let’s plays with Sims who want to chase both creativity and profit.

🎁 Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe for more builds like this!

---

💖 **Support My Work!**

If you’re planning to buy a new pack for *The Sims 4*, use my EA Creator Code: **BOJANASIMS** at checkout! 🛍️

– No extra cost to you, but it helps me keep creating builds, stories, and content!

– I’ll receive a small percentage, and it truly means the world to me.

---

✨ **Now Accepting Build Commissions!**

Need a custom Sims build? Let’s bring your dream lot to life!

- 🏠 **Small houses & apartments:** Donation via [PayPal](https://paypal.me/bojanastarcevic1)

- 🏰 **Larger or highly detailed projects:** Charged per day, based on complexity

📩 **Send me a message for details!**

---

[thebleedingwoodland]

TS3 - 3 STBL Renamed Mods "Asian" --> "Chinese", "Endowments" --> "Breasts", "Goopy Carbonara" ---> "Carbonara"

These 3 STBL Renamed Mods are separated, so you can choose 1 / 2 / all 3 of them. All these mods were tested and working well with each other Mods and with my previous STBL Renamed Mods in Spring Rolls and Mooncake Machine Maker.

I wondered why nobody made these renamed mods for almost 16 years since The Sims has been released from year 2009, therefore I finally made these mods by my own.

1. "Asian" --> "Chinese"

Reason why I made the change:

"Asian" term is too broad. Asia is one big continent, consists of 48 countries. Southeast Asians, South Asians, Western Asians do not eat using chopsticks and do not have traditional architecture like East Asians. East Asians themselves such as Japan and Korea have different culture and architecture from China. If the developer of this game wanted to point one country, Shang Simla, then it should be China / Chinese only. It is like calling Champs Les Sims "European" and Al Simhara "African". Champs Les Sims is called "French" and Al Simhara "Egyptian", why Shang Simla is called "Asian", not "Chinese" instead?

This mod changed the name of Asian in Game Tip, Trait, Tourist, object name of building items such as bridge and rocks that you can find in CAW (Create-A-World) for building World, but I cannot run the application. Please check the name change if you can run CAW application.

Languages are in English, Chinese, Japanese, Korean only.

To be honest I am tired. If you wanted to translate to your language, you can do it by open this .package file on EasySTBLManager by (†) CmarNYC, click "Copy to Missing" > Edit to your language> Save the .package. > Open .package in s3pe > Delete unnecessary language strings if you want.

2. "Endowments" --> "Breasts"

Reason why I made the change:

This text keeps appearing many times on loading screen, so I had to change the word because the word "Endowments" itself is too forced, to censor the name of adult female human body part, in this video game with Teen Rating. Breasts are scientifically & biologically correct term to call upper part of female human body made of fat with mammary glands to give milk to her baby, and they are not genitalia. As they started to develop since young girls were pre-teen, which are the target demographic of The Sims game itself, and adult women themselves wanting to adjust both their own real life breasts and their Sims' breasts, so nothing sexual or taboo here.

Languages: All Languages. (Using online translator, feel free to comment to correct if there was wrong translation).

3. "Goopy Carbonara" ---> "Carbonara"

Reason why I made the change:

I know that "Goopy" name was from Goopy Gilscarbo from The Sims 2 character. But for me, as I have been playing The Sims 3 since the base game released in year 2009, I wanted the name of food was just like in real life. That's it. No Goopy. Just "Carbonara".

The Traditional Chinese language version did not translated directly to "Goopy Carbonara", but instead other food pasta menu and it was incorrect. 醬料通心粉 (Macaroni with sauce) --> 卡邦尼意粉 (Carbonara) While the Japanese translation it was translated directly to "Goopy Carbonara" in katakana, I deleted the グーピー word.

Languages are in English, Chinese, Japanese only.

Known issues: ⚠️ These mods may not be compatible with other STBL renamed mods made by other Modders due to accidental same instance code used by other Modders that can make other Rename mods you installed before this mod will revert back to original word.

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

List of instance code compatibility:

Chinese 0x000F16B00BA8342C 0x0D40E85822FDE71A Breasts 0x00412F6BF0473B4A Carbonara 0x000F16B00BA8342D

As usual, install .package file on Package folder. You can safely delete the package if you no longer want to use the default replacement.

[ Download "Asian" --> "Chinese" Renamed Mod Default Replacement ] Required: World Adventure Expansion Pack

[ Download "Endowments" --> "Breasts" Renamed Mod Default Replacement ] Required: Late Night Expansion Pack

[ Download "Goopy Carbonara" ---> "Carbonara" Renamed Mod Default Replacement ] Base Game compatible.

More screenshots of rename mod proofs are below:

Do Italian Sims players get annoyed or angry if their pasta, Carbonara, is called "Goopy Carbonara" in this game? Just wondering.

[fanficfox]

Not So Helpful Study Buddy (NSFW) PART 1

(based off of this post, fem!reader x schlatt, college twink schlatt (before fame), submissive schlatt, intoxication, weed, edging MDNI) Part 2 HERE💋

Schlatt is majoring in computer science. something he has been very passionate about ever since he was on the robotics team in high school, building and coding robots. he loves sharing everything he has learned with you. he would go on for hours just talking your ear off about all algorithms and computer architecture he’s learning. even though it sounded like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to you, it made sense to him and made him happy. and that’s all that matters. so you sit and listen to him talk as he gets animated and excited with his hands and facial expressions. “i’m tell ya babe, i’m learning so much more here then i did back in high school. and it’s great!” schlatt seems pretty please with everything he’s learning. you smile and nod loving how your boyfriend gets so happy and passionate about things. but you can’t help but feel just a tiny bit bored, and understandably because computer science isn’t your forte. you suddenly get an idea. a wicked idea. “i’m really happy you’re doing great in your classes baby. but how about we take a little break from all this computer talk and studying and do a little something…fun…” schlatt looks at you and raises an eyebrow. his expression a little conflicted. “i don’t know toots, i have a lot of work i need to get done. and you promise you’d help me” you giggle a little knowing you did say that, but mainly just because you wanted to be around him rather than actually helping him. “i know and we got a lot of work done already. i’m just asking for a little break. please?” you give him puppy dog eyes and a pouty face. something you know schlatt can never resist. “ok ok…but just an hour then i gotta get back to work…what did you have in mind anyway?” you give him a smirk then reach into you bookbag and pull out a baggie of weed. there’s a couple nugs in there, enough to roll up a blunt. schlatt’s eyes widen. “how did you get that on campus!?” he’s asks, he voice is hushed as if someone could be listening outside his dorm room. his paranoia already visible even before smoking. you just shrug and brush it off like it’s no big deal. it’s just weed after all and you both are adults “i have my ways” you respond back. schlatt shakes his head in disbelief and a little nervousness “i’ve never smoked before….i’m pretty nervous” you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him know it’s ok. “it’s gonna be ok baby. we will take it slow and make sure you don’t over do it. it’s just gonna help you relax i promise” schlatt nods a little hesitantly but doesn’t protest. you begin to roll up and schlatt watches your every move. how you split the blunt, grind the weed and roll it all up just under the span of 3 minutes. this isn’t your first rodeo. you’re a pro at this and he can tell. which helps eases his fears a lot. you take the first hit because rollers rights and just to get it started. schlatt opens a window to get some air flow going. you hand him the blunt and he take it from you his hands shaking. “so all you gotta do is inhale in…and exhale out…just like how you saw me do it” schlatt nods and brings up the blunt to his mouth and takes a deep hit holding it in his lungs for a moment then breathing out. he starts to cough really hard, his face turning red like a tomato “fuck *coughs* i feel like *coughs* im gonna cough up *coughs* a fucking lung, god damn” you hit his back firm but gently letting him get it all out. you laugh a little but no judgment because this is his first time and he has to get use to the feeling. “yeah you took a big hit there. i should’ve told you to take it easy” schlatt stops coughing and takes a deep breath. he’s already starting to feel the high. he feels lighter in his chair and his eyes just got a little slanted already. after smoking the blunt you both are now laying his bed.

[syneilesis]

[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

+

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

+

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

+

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

+

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

+

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

+

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

+

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

+

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

+

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

+

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

+

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

+

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

+

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

+

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

+

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

+

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

+

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

+

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

[copperbadge]

Lying in bed this morning, working on a bit in the novel about defining "shoulder season" for the reader, I realized what my personal aesthetic is currently: Tourist Gothic.

Tourist Gothic as a fashion statement is based on the following precepts.

1. Comfort. Comfortable, weather-appropriate clothing is rarely glamorous, but I'm not here to win Drag Race. I'm on vacation and wearing what best combines 'I like how I look in this so you don't have to' with 'I can wander around a strange place for hours.' If everyone you meet is someone you'll never see again, their opinion of you is irrelevant.

2. Loudness. My traveling companions need to be able to spot me easily. A bright floral print or a weird hat is just the thing. (Protip if you like me are prone to wandering away from the group, a really weird hat is the best way to make sure they can find you. I have a newsboy cap with wings sewn onto it for just such a purpose.)

3. Delight. Where else but on vacation can I wear my Costco Hot Dog t-shirt? On vacation it's appropriate whether I'm at a sausage sizzle, a football match, or an art museum.

4. Utility. If I have to, I can wash my entire wardrobe in a hotel room sink. The socks can be soaked and frozen in a plastic bag to use as an ice pack. Everything has pockets and nothing hurts.

5. Sincerity. Nothing a tourist wears is worn ironically. Commitment to the bit must be total.

The central precept of the look is that one is too concerned with both comfort and adventure to conform to dress code. I don't want to blend in, I want you to take me to the best local cuisine you have and overcharge me for it. I am here to admire your architecture and support your economy. Now just apply all that to everyday life, and boom. Tourist Gothic.

If you're wondering how this differs from everyday Dad Wear, your average Tourist Goth has slightly higher emotional investment in sandals and sunscreen and a lower commitment to belts overall.

Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk, so glad to see so many of you are wearing golf shorts.

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!” 

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.” 

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander. 

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.” 

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights. 

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

[fipindustries]

Im playing a game called turing complete. Its a puzzle game where you solve simple puzzles based on logic gates. The joke is that the puzzles get more and more complex and then you realize that what youre doing is building a computer from scratch.

Now this is a long held dream of mine and im glad its been finally realized.

This is all of course comp sci basics. I remember studying this in processor architecture class. But its really nice to review it over again in a frankly much more didactic and better organized way, with plenty of practisce to make sure the lessons stick. Now i truly understand morgans rule. Now i truly groked how a simple adder works. Now i get how you turn decimal into binary with logic gates (its stupidly complicated).

Now the thing im really curious about is checking out if we are going to cover a couple of really fundamental conceptual leaps that i didnt fully grasp when i was studying this in 2013. Chiefly how do you make the jump from arithmetic and logical operations with binary numbers into assembly code, and later how the hell do you jump from assembly code to making an operating system. Thats what i hope ill learn in this game