#could only find low resolution images

[selfieignite]

Selfie (2014) - set design for Charmonique's apartment

[x]

[ellecdc]

Forbidden love, has to hide it from everyone around them, likes doing the nasty in places they could get caught (quite the thrill) and they end up getting caught

Could this be a prompt for any of the ones you are currently writing or future ? 🫡🙏

mhm, mhm, mhm, loved it - give me 14 of them. [I knew I wanted to do this pairing for it, and finally got around to it!] also, since we're obviously fluff-city and happy-ending central over here, it's low on angst

Remus the Sibling Stealer

poly!moonwater x Potter!sister who need to find better hiding spots [1.2k words]

CW: first part is mature/18+, NSFW, oral (m receiving), professing love, sibling dynamics

You felt vindicated in your efforts when you chanced a look up at the boys above you and were gifted with the most beautiful image. 

It seemed Regulus was only still upright thanks to Remus’ grasp around his middle; scarred hands resting languidly at Regulus’ bare hips thanks to the fact that his trousers were currently situated around his ankles. 

Regulus was wrecked; his head thrown back and resting on Remus’ shoulder and his mouth hanging open in a silent moan as Remus worked another love bite into his neck.

“You’re missing quite the show, Reg; our girl looks gorgeous from up here.” He murmured into Regulus’ shoulder, earning him a pitiful whimper as Regulus’ neck appeared incapable of lifting the weight of his head.

“Come on, pretty boy; look at her.” He encouraged, placing his palm at the back of Regulus’ head and positioning it so that his face was pointed resolutely at you.

The sight was almost too much for you; Remus looking down at you like you looked good enough to devour whole from above Regulus’ shoulder, his hand roving the expanse of Regulus’ waist, and Regulus’ red and teary face looking down at you like you were both his salvation and damnation. 

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t. I’m- I can’t, I’m gonna-”

You responded simply by taking his cock further into your throat and humming in acknowledgement as you felt him tense.

“Fuck baby, I’m-”

And you swallowed; your throat constricting around him as he fell over the edge, coming with a cry.

You fell back onto your heels as you caught your breath and looked up at the pair; Remus petting Regulus’ hair down from its rather rumpled state as he, too, caught his breath. 

“Merlin, you’re bloody good at that.” Regulus breathed at last, causing Remus to bark a surprised laugh.

“Is that how you say thank you, Black? We’ll have to work on your manners.” Remus taunted as he patted his hip.

“I thought you Sacred 28 children were raised to be gentlemen.” You teased as well.

Regulus grumbled miserably as he bent down to retrieve his pants. “I’d appreciate it if you refrained from speaking about my parents while my dick is out, amour.”

“Did Reggie just say dick!?” You squealed in laughter. “How terribly uncouth.”

“Would you lower your voice.” He hissed at you then; tone harsh but face dutifully lovestruck. “Lest you wish our brothers to hear.”

“Lest.” You snorted as you went to stand; Remus quickly at your side to help you up. 

“We really need to tell your brothers soon, you two.” Remus added solemnly, causing both you and Regulus to groan in unison.

“Listen, if they find out, it’s me they’re going to castrate.”

“And?” Regulus asked as he buttoned his trousers. 

Remus glared at him. 

“But they’re so dramatic, Rem.” You whined as you sat on an overturned crate.

Was the secret passageway between Honeydukes and the castle an ideal place for canoodling with your brother's best friend and your brother’s best friend’s brother?

No.

But when you had brothers like Sirius and James, who had a charmed map of the entire castle that told them exactly where everyone was at any given time (thanks to your horribly stupid boyfriend [boyfriend? Could you call Remus that when the three of you only ever met in private? You’d have to ask him] who helped create said map), options were limited. 

“I don’t like lying to them.” Remus argued then.

“You think we do?” Regulus asked, to which you and Remus answered ‘yes’ quickly. “Yeah I do.” He relented. 

“I really don’t feel good about it guys and…I, I don’t know, I love you guys and I want to be able to love you all of the time, not just some of the time.” Remus admitted softly then.

You and Regulus each seemed completely dumbfounded by both the admission of love and the vulnerability of your [yup, you were definitely going to start calling him your] boyfriend.

“Well how the hells am I supposed to argue with that?” Regulus spat with no ire as he pulled Remus in for a kiss. 

“What do you say, dove?” He asked you as he and Regulus pulled apart. “Do you have an argument for that?” 

Yes.

You had plenty.

First of all, you didn’t want to share this with your brother because he would react in one of two ways: he could either a) be horrified and try to forbid the three of you from seeing one another or [and perhaps more disturbingly] b) be so overjoyed at the idea of love that he becomes a unwelcome quasi-fourth in your relationship.

But Remus loves you. Loves.

And perhaps more importantly, you love Remus, and this was important to Remus.

Son of a bitch, “Fine.” You harrumphed. 

“Yeah?” He asked hopefully around a laugh, Regulus smiling at you as they came to stand above you.

“Yeah.” You breathed out as Remus took both sides of your face in his hands and brought his lips to yours.

“My sweet girl.” He murmured reverently.

You smiled up at him as Regulus pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“So are we really doing this? Are we actually going to tell them?”

“Tell who what?” James’ voice echoed through the passageway; the three of you whipping your heads towards the sound to see James and Sirius coming around a corner. 

And it appeared that, despite your best intentions, none of you were quite willing to actually share the news with your brothers/best friends.

But apparently, you didn’t have to.

Apparently, your well rumpled hair from Regulus’ hands, your swollen lips and smudged mascara, Regulus’ belt hanging loose and his uniform shirt still untucked from his trousers, and Remus’ awkward shift in an attempt to hide his bulge which was still at half mast (though falling quickly now) said it all.

“Wha-” Sirius started, though the question died on his lips as he continued scrutinising the three of you. 

“I…I don’t- I don’t understa- I….” James tried then, also to no avail. 

Peter - the bastard - took that moment to appear around the corner then, lifting his head from fiddling with his wand to see the three of you standing there being stared down by James and Sirius like you were in some off-brand western standoff. 

“Oh? Oh! Oh… are you guys shagging?” He asked ineloquently. 

That seemed to restart your brothers’ brains as they both shouted “my brother!?” and “my sister!?” in unison. 

“Rem, it’s been nice knowing you and your bollocks.” You murmured solemnly. 

“Seconded.” Regulus agreed before the two of you took off in a sprint down the passageway and away from your brothers, boyfriend, and Peter.

“Merlin, Moony; you really know how to pick ‘em…leaving you to the wolves like that.” Peter laughed as he carried on ahead; slapping a hand on Remus’ back as he passed whilst Sirius and James continued standing there with their mouths agape. 

“Does it make it any better to know that I’m absolutely head-over-heels in love with them?” Remus asked cautiously then.

“Minutely.” James gritted out then, earning him an elbow in the gut from Sirius. 

“I expect to be allowed two weeks of moping and muttering.” Sirius bargained.

“One week.” Remus countered.

“Nine days.” James tried then.

"Eight?"

"Eleven." Sirius countered.

"Nine." Remus backtracked.

James and Sirius shared a look before James turned his gaze back to Remus. "Deal."

“Fuckin’ hells.” Sirius griped as he ran a heavy hand down his face. “This was not on my bingo card this year.”

“Sorry mate.” Remus offered then, earning him a glare from his best friend.

“No you’re not, you brother-fucker.”

This was going to be a long nine days.

[sirfrogsworth]

Photo Restoration: Adventures in Upscaling - Part 1

After finishing my big photo restoration for Katrina's family I was organizing my files and noticed a scan I missed.

The scan was fairly low resolution and the photos were only 400x700 pixels.

But I was bored and restoring photos helps me relax, so I decided to fix them up anyway—even if they did not have great fidelity.

I did my thing, and it worked pretty well.

But I have been interested in a set of photo tools made by Topaz Labs. They are known for their noise removal and upscaling apps and are praised by many photographers I follow.

Before I jumped into this A.I. suite of tools I wanted to make sure it was trained ethically with licensed images—same as how Adobe operates.

So that made me feel better about that aspect. Plus I feel this is exactly the kind of thing A.I. is great for. A tool to help artists rather than displace them.

I have used a few upscalers in the past and have had varying degrees of success. Typically they just implore various sharpening tools and try to control the chunky artifacts with denoising tools—trying to find the best balance between the two.

Two opposites trying to reach a compromise.

But I was not expecting the results I got. This is way beyond anything I have ever tried before and I had no idea the technology had improved this much.

Here are the results...

All photos will be displayed in order of original, my edit, Topaz upscale followed by extremely zoomed in crops to help you better see the effects.

Crops...

Topaz has a specific "face recovery" algorithm and I was curious if these results were only because of that.

But then I looked at this little guy and he seemed pretty sharp as well.

I was stunned at how well this was working. I was able to upscale these photos so they could be printed as an 8x10 with 300ppi resolution.

Maybe that first photo was just a fluke, so I proceeded with the others.

Santa's face was mostly obscured, but it was still able to work its magic despite that.

Crops...

At this point I felt like I was a caveman discovering fire for the first time.

This next photo is interesting because it has a very creepy clown clearly plotting to kill baby Katrina. And the clown has on full makeup, which could confuse the face recovery.

Crops...

The clown face looked great, but there were two interesting artifacts involving text.

First, there was not nearly enough information on the clown's button. So the A.I. did its thing and rendered nonsense. I found a smiley face button and just did some classic compositing.

There was also a bottle of Elmer's glue on the table and even though I felt there was enough detail to make out the words, the A.I. still struggled. So I found a bottle of vintage glue with the same label and replaced it.

And it kinda feels nice that A.I. can't do everything yet and I still have to use my problem solving skills to make the best photo possible.

On to part 2!

[madaqueue]

Dripping in Gold | Chapter 4

synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader [toji fushiguro x f!reader]

themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, fluff, angst. kissing. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.2k

a/n: toji jumpscare!

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

The feeling floats around in your mind as you process the implications. Gojo didn’t pay you, and you didn’t care. No, that can’t be right, because then it would mean that you were just seeing him because you…what? Like spending time with him? Have feelings for him? Fuck no.

You told yourself - and he told you - that this was just casual. This was just a way for you to make some money while you look for a job, nothing more.

But then why do you get butterflies when you see him? Why do you find yourself laughing with him like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done? Why do you count down the hours until you can see him each week?

You toss your phone across the room, landing on your bed as you stand up and pace around your apartment, trying to regain some semblance of control over your emotions. Okay, sure, seeing him is nice and all, but you could live without him if you needed to, right? The question suddenly sends a pang of dread through your stomach at the idea of not getting to be with him.

Shit.

So maybe you do like to be around him, but it’s just because of the sex, right? Against your will, images of your dates flash through your mind - the two of you sitting across from each other as he teases you for not knowing how to use chopsticks, or you wiping whipped cream off his nose after he got a bit too excited about the cake you ordered to share, or the way his arms would wrap around your waist, pulling you into a hug the moment he sees you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Shit, shit, shit.

It’s okay, they’re just feelings, and you can ignore them, right? You’re strong, in control, and-

Your thoughts get cut short as you hear your phone buzz, lunging to grab it just in case it might be Gojo.

When you see his name lighting up the screen you feel your cheeks blush in excitement. Your thumb moves to answer before you have a chance to think about the way your body reacted to him calling.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he purrs, his voice low over the phone.

“Hi, Satoru,” you hum, trying to ignore how giddy you are to talk to him.

“I know I just saw you yesterday, but I just can’t seem to remember what your voice sounded like when you were moaning my name. Any chance you’d be free to refresh my memory?” he flirts.

You chuckle at his cheesy attempt at a pickup line. “I am free, but you really have to start working on those lines, that was one of your worst ones yet.”

“Mmm, I dunno, they can’t possibly be that bad if they keep working,” he taunts, and you can hear his smile through the phone. “I’ll be over in 15 minutes, don’t worry about changing or anything, you know how much I love you in those pajamas of yours.”

“Okay, ‘Toru,” you laugh softly, “See you soon.”

He hangs up and you lay back onto your bed, your heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of your chest, a mix of nervousness and excitement building inside you. It wasn’t typical to get to see him twice in one week, especially back to back like this, and you still aren’t sure what to do about your possible feelings for him.

Should you tell him? You have to, right? The worst he can say is no. Sighing, you gather your thoughts.

With a new resolution, you decide you are going to tell him. Besides, it’s honestly not that hard to believe he feels the same - the way he treats you, the way he looks at you, the way he fucks you, everything about him is so soft and tender, full of adoration and kindness. Nobody just acts like that with someone they don’t care about - right?

–

Punctual as ever, you meet him downstairs exactly 15 minutes later. As you step outside of your apartment complex, the cold morning air hits your skin through the t-shirt and shorts you slept in. Looking down, you smile, realizing it’s actually Gojo’s t-shirt that currently adorns your body.

Walking towards his car, he gets out to greet you, pulling you into the warmth of his body. The scent of his cologne hangs on his sweater as you wrap your arms around him. Placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head, he shifts his gaze down to your lips before pressing his against yours as you reach up on your toes to lean into him.

“It’s good to see you,” he whispers, pulling away for a moment to rest his forehead against yours, a sweet grin on his face.

Truthfully, he always feels like he’s smiling when he’s around you - how could he not? Everything about you brings him more joy than he’s felt in his life up to this point: your laugh, the way you tease him back when he’s being an idiot, how you treat him with a kindness he’s never known before you. He adores you so much it sometimes feels like his heart might burst, especially when he gets to see you like this. Of course he loves when you get all dressed up to go out with him - especially when he gets to see you after a date, hair messy, mascara running, legs shaking after he fucks you - but this is his favorite version of you as you stand in your pajamas, tiredness still slightly evident in your eyes, with a warm casualness he never knew he craved until you.

You pull him out of his thoughts with a whisper of his name. “Before we go anywhere, I-I need to tell you something,” you follow, voice wavering.

“Of course, anything sweetheart,” he responds softly, trying to comfort you - he’s not sure what has you nervous, but he can sense it in the way you shift in his arms.

Breaking eye contact with him, you take in a breath, trying to steady yourself under the weight of your confession. “I…I think I want more.”

“More money? Absolutely princess, name your price,” he follows immediately, raising a hand up to stroke your cheek. You are worth everything to him, and he’ll give it all if it means he gets to keep seeing you.

“No, Satoru, I mean…” you trail off, shaking your head, gaze still glued to the ground, “I mean more from us. I don’t want you to pay me anymore, I just want you.”

Gojo feels like the wind just got knocked out of him, he can’t breathe as your words cloud his mind. “W-what?” he stutters.

“I have feelings for you,” you state, finally bringing your eyes up to meet his. You feel nervous tears building along your lashes as you desperately try to steady your breathing, waiting for his answer.

In a moment, you watch emotion flash across his face - his eyebrows furrow and raise, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes suddenly glassy as he struggles to keep them focused on you. He takes in a shaky breath, the only word leaving his mouth a soft, “Oh.”

Fuck. There it is. He doesn’t feel the same. You knew it, you knew he was too good to be true, you knew he would never care about you the way you care about him. You were so fucking stupid for letting yourself think this could be anything more; it’s your fault for forgetting what this whole arrangement was supposed to be. He told you it was casual, and you tried to change the rules. It’s all your fault. Fuck.

“I-” he stammers, trying to comfort you as he can see sadness building on your face. “I’m sorry. But you know that’s not how this works, sweetheart,” he whispers, afraid that if he raises his voice any louder it would crack from heartache. A tragic smile forms on his lips as he realizes that he’s about to lose the one thing he wants most.

As silence settles between you, the tears welling in your eyes start to slowly spill out. His thumb instinctively reaches out to wipe them away before you look down, brushing his hand away.

“Y-you’re right, I’m sorry, it was stupid,” you manage to softly choke out, breaking out of his grasp. “I-I have to go, sorry,” you turn around with your head down, trying to hide the tears spilling down your face.

Satoru freezes in shock as you run back into your apartment building. He wants to yell, beg, scream, cry, anything to make you turn around and come back into his arms. He wants to tell you he’ll be yours for eternity, that he’ll pull the stars down from the sky if it means you’ll be his. But he can’t; all he can do is stand there and watch you leave him. A single tear falls from his eyes and hits the concrete beneath him before he walks back into his car, alone. Inside, he suddenly feels himself break down, cries racking his body. How could he be so stupid? How could he let you go?

–

Back in your apartment, you land on your bed as your body shakes through sobs. You knew it was a bad idea to tell him, you knew it, but you did it anyway - why? Why did you have to go and throw away the best thing you had? God, you feel so stupid. All you can do is curl up and cry, holding yourself the way you wish Satoru would hold you.

You know you can’t see him again, you can’t text him, you can’t call him. You messed this up, and you have to live with the consequences of it. You don’t even care about the money or the food or the clothes; all you care about is him. And now, he’s gone, because of you.

–

A few months go by as you let yourself mourn the loss of Gojo’s presence in your life. You slowly work your way through the money you had accumulated and take the time to try and heal your broken heart. Eventually, you know you’ll have to move on, but it takes everything in you to not cry whenever you see something that reminds you of him. You’ve had to move all of the clothes he got you into the back corner of your closet, hiding the jewelry he got you because it “matched your eyes.” Every memory with him becomes painful, and you struggle to go anywhere because every place reminds you of him.

Finally, after numerous pathetic months, you get a notification from your bank: your rent payment bounced. You’ve finally run out of Gojo’s generosity, and now you’re back in the exact same place you were when you started this whole thing, only more emotionally damaged.

When you were with him you paused your job search, not needing one with the excess wealth that seemed to follow him everywhere. After you stopped seeing him you gave up because you just didn’t have the energy or willpower to pretend to be happy for an hour-long interview. Now, the gravity of your poor decisions weighs on you, your chest heavy as you struggle to think of a solution.

As you lay in your bed, you pull out your laptop as the memories of how everything started flood back to you. Absentmindedly, your fingers type in the name of the same website that led you to Gojo all those months ago.

This is stupid, what am I even doing? you think to yourself as your screen once again fills with pictures of older men, this time with the notable lack of the white-haired one who originally caught your attention.

Scanning the page, your thoughts start turning in your mind. I mean, I do still need the money. And maybe it could help me get over him?

Your eyes land on a dark-haired man wearing a shirt that is clearly too tight for him. You scoff, Satoru would never wear something like that. Moving to close your laptop in defeat, the thought finally registers in your mind. Why are you still comparing everyone to Gojo?

A mix of anger at yourself and at him bubbles up inside you as you reopen your computer and click on the profile of the man you just mentally insulted. Looking closer, you notice a small scar marking the corner of his mouth as you scroll through his pictures until you find one of him shirtless.

Holy shit, he’s built.

Gojo was toned and everything, but you could still wrap your arms around him if you tried, whereas this guy looked like his arms were as thick as your torso, his chest covered in muscles. You almost find yourself drooling at him as you keep scrolling until you find his name.

Bio: “Toji. 37.”

It certainly gives you less to go off of than Gojo’s, but at least he doesn’t seem as bad as the other guys on the site. What the hell, you think as you type out a message.

You: Hi Toji ❤️

It’s simple, but hopefully your pictures are enough to get his attention. Almost immediately, a message pops up below yours.

Toji: $1000 if I’m fucking you in the next 30 minutes.

Well, at least he’s straightforward.

After a bit of back and forth to confirm his address, you grab your keys and walk out of your apartment to meet him.

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Nintendo 3d rendering vs Sony disc size

The Nintendo 64 and the Nintendo Gamecube both had better 3D geometry than the Playstation and the Playstation 2, but the Playstations were able to have much more music and textures than the Nintendo consoles. They were also able to have more 3d objects in a space at one time. Infamously you could fit all the top 10 N64 games on a single Playstation disc, and then more.

The N64 models looked solid despite their low polygon count. It had this weird double anti-aliaising effect which made images look blurry. However, textures were very, very limited, and the cartridge could not fit much music or fmvs.

The playstation had worse geometry and even had the "wobble" effect on most games, due to its Z-buffering hardware not being used. However, it was able to make up for its weaknesses.

It used textures to elevate the look of its 3d models, and replaced backgrounds with detailed 2d textures in games like Resident Evil and Final Fantasy 7.

It also used pre-rendered videos and lots of music, things missing from the N64 entirely.

Games that use pre-rendered videos on other platforms, like "Star Wars Episode 1: Racer," had them removed from their N64 ports.

This image seems to be taken from an emulator. I'm having a hard time finding images captured from the original devices. However, you can see that the ps1 has a "wobble" effect and the n64 has lower resolution textures.

These issues ended up carrying over into the PS2/Gamecube generation.

This is Mariokart Double Dash. It's a very good looking gamecube. Its geometry is simple and it only has 16 tracks, but it's more than playable today, and still looks good when upscaled on an emulator.

This is San Andreas. While the game is graphically impressive, you'll notice that the models for vehicles and even the UI look worse when compared to Gamecube games.

However, San Andreas was able to fit so much more information on the disc than any Gamecube game.

Instead of being limited to 16 race tracks and 16 racers like Double Dash, you have an entire open world to explore and dozens of cars to choose from. You have a hundred hours of things to do in this game. There is hours of music that you can listen to in the cars.

That's why San Andreas was never ported to Gamecube - the game requires 4.2gb of DVD space, whereas the Gamecube's DVD-R was never larger than 1.4gb.

To be honest, I have no idea what black magic Capcom used to port Resident Evil 4 to Gamecube.

When the Nintendo Wii came out, it retained the Gamecube's power for the most part, while offering DVD space of up to 8gb!!! Finally it could have things like music and voice acting.

However... the PS3 and Xbox 360 were already on their way, and the standard definition Wii was far from their ballcourt.

In the Wii's early days, the PS2 was also still in a lot of hands. So developers who wanted to make games for Wii ported them to PS2, and vice versa. Both consoles ended up having lots of "previous generation" versions of games, like The Force Unleashed, which ran better on Wii than the PS2 by a small margin and had different features like motion controls.

[novaviis]

All The King’s Men.

Chapter Six. Persecution Complex.

Watercolour Series.

Words: 47k Status: In Progress Rating: Mature Relationships: Dick Grayson/Wally West, BatFamily

Summary:

A threat against the Wayne Family arises, one that forces them into hiding. Stuck out in a cabin hidden in the mountains of Montana, Dick has to juggle keeping his family from tearing itself apart, missing his fiance like crazy, and a mystery that has plagued him all his life.

Chapter Six Excerpt:

The sweeping aerial shot circling above Wayne Manor could barely contain the magnitude of the fire. Grainy and low resolution as the small television screen was, the image was violent and vivid, a sea of black set alight with strikes of flame glowing blood red, orange, and yellow. It lit silhouettes in shattered windows, illuminated the harried edges of the trees on the surrounding grounds. The flashing lights of first response vehicles only added to the chaotic maelstrom of light. Streams of water shot out from their hoses as they fought desperately to save what little of the structure they still could, while containing the fire from spreading into the surrounding estate. New Jersey was two hours ahead of them, and as late as it was here in Montana, it was the middle of the night back home. There was no way of knowing how much damage had been caused until morning light, if the fire could be put out before then. “Gotham City Fire Department is on the scene with assistance from the Bludhaven units,” reported the news anchor taking up the bottom right corner of the screen. “There has been talk of calling in emergency assistance from the State Troopers, but sources have at this time been unable to confirm that the request has been made. Wayne Manor, aside from being the residence of Bruce Wayne and his family for generations, has been designated as a historic building. Wayne and his children have now been missing for four weeks. No advancements in the ongoing search for the High Profile Billionaire have been announced publicly, although Police Commissioner James Gordon had stated in a press conference the day of the coordinated abductions that all available efforts were being expended to find the Waynes, including a joint effort with the FBI. Whether this fire is connected to the abductions still remains a mystery...”

Things are heating up! 🔥🔥🔥

[Read on AO3]

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 The Difference a Stab Wound Can Make by RadAceFriend

💙 The Difference a Stab Wound Can Make

by RadAceFriend

T, WIP, Series, 49k, Wangxian

Summary: The sword went through Wei Wuxian's chest. Suihua went through Wei Wuxian's chest. Kay's comments: Another series marked as incomplete, but the story definitely feels complete! In which, at Qiongqi Path, it's not Jin Zixuan who dies, it's Wei Wuxian. So, Jin Zixuan lives, but at what cost? The cost is that he has to grow up and grow as a person as he realises how corrupt the Cultivation World is. Everyone is congratulating him on killing Wei Wuxian and he's just really not feeling it and I really loved this Jin Zixuan POV. Also has the nice effect that the Wen remnants live, something the second and third story of the series deal with. Wangxian get a happy ending in the end as well, because Wei Wuxian still gets to return as Mo Xuanyu. Excerpt: His father ordered a stone tablet carved of his noble deed and Jin Zixuan wanted to scream. The design the artist had drawn to give over to the stone carver showed his sword piercing Wei Wuxian, the expression on his own face one of righteous judgement while Wei Wuxian’s was one of murderous rage. There was a second drawing, one of him in the main hall with A-Li against him. In that one, Suihua dripped blood still, and A-Li’s face was one of sorrowful acceptance, and his one of peaceful resolution. Jin Zixuan hated them. Jin Guangshan ordered for both of them to be carved and put up with the images of his own accomplishments, so that everyone would know what his heir had done. It was only at night, when A-Li was asleep, and Koi Tower was quiet, and he was as close to alone as he could get with only the peepholes he could find blocked against peering eyes and listening ears, that he took A-Ling from his cradle. A-Ling was still so young that he did little but eat and sleep. But sometimes, he was awake, and not crying, and this moment when Jin Zixuan picked up his son was one such moment. He pulled out the bell and tassel. “Someone wanted you to have this.” He said quietly. He spoke in a low voice rather than a whisper. One of the first things he had learnt from his mother was that a whisper travelled further and could be more clearly heard than a low tone. “He made it, to protect you.” A fastened the bell to A-Ling’s swaddling clothes. “It will have to be a very strong resentful creature if it wanted to harm you.” He gently pressed his lips against A-Ling’s forehead, where the vermillion mark had already been painted. “I’m sorry that you will never get to meet him.” He rocked his son back to sleep, ignoring the pain still lingering in his ribs and chest.

pov jin zixuan, pov wen qing, pov lan sizhui, canon divergence, jin zixuan lives, jiang yanli lives, wen remnants live, canonical character death - wei wuxian, thirteen years of wei wuxian's death, butterfly effect, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending, not jiang family friendly, jiang family dynamics, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, cultivation sect politics, angst with a happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[acupofqueercoffee]

“With her earth brown hair, her arms hard and lean”

Andromache the Scythian x Witch Reader

more or less a sequel to "with her sweetened breath and her tongue so mean" as per @nightly-polaris 's request

tagging as requested : @charlizetheroncansteponme

6th of January was my birthday, so consider this a present from me to you, although it ain’t my proudest work since i’m in a bit of a slump :'))

────────────────────

The images of Andy that had kept you company in the dead of night for the best part of your life made into a fine montage of the Scythian’s life. A born and bred warrior though she was, throughout the centuries, she had been a wearer of many hats, an assassin, a friend, a foe, an outlaw, a salvation, a traveller, even a god to some, but above all, she was a Baklava aficionado.

It was a relatively slow day in the safe house. Andy and Nile were away to get rations which was originally the task for you and Nile. The Scythian had volunteered to go in your stead since you were still low on stamina courtesy of yesterday’s strains, some of which were still in the process of healing. It was decidedly one of the repercussions of being a witch. Whether you were in possession of immortality with fast recovery rate or not, overexertion and energy depletion could, more often than not, expose your body to lasting injuries.

With nothing urgent on your plate, you had deemed it an ideal day to put your plan into motion. The last piece of Andy’s indulgence had run out about a couple of weeks ago, and since then, you had been toying with the idea of rectifying it. Although the chasm between the two of you had compelled you to think better of it, now that the rocky affair had been remedied, you no longer had any qualms about realising your resolution.

“If unfortunate, this might land you in another feud with Andy. I doubt she’ll tolerate if you butcher her treasured treat, even if unintentionally.”

“Don’t underestimate her love for Baklava. It’s positively peerless. I’d strongly advise you to tread lightly.”

The two lovebirds’ playful warnings that were designed to discourage you boiled down to futility as they left you undeterred. Even though there was a good chunk of truth buried beneath their words, you knew that they were not so much a genuine caution as a quip about your baking skills that were nothing short of non-existent.

The coming to be of your very first Baklava was achieved through trial and error. You were not as dexterous with kitchen equipments as Andy was with her vast array of weapons, meaning that your baked goods were not the most beautiful. Baked to near perfection and drenched in ample syrup, even though they did not taste too good to be considered divine, thankfully, they were good enough to be deemed delectable.

Unfortunately, your confidence that had remained steadfast throughout the day started to wane considerably as the time of Andy’s arrival approached. The nearer it got, the more restless you became. From “what if it does not suit her taste” to “will she find it insulting like Joe had warned” , doubtful thoughts were bombarding your mind.

By the time the Scythian made her return with Nile, the decision had been reached. No way in your right mind could you present your sloppy attempt at a Baklava to the very connoisseur of Baklava. You did bake her treasured treat to the best of your abilities, however when your only experience in baking ended with you very nearly burning down your previous home, managing something as simple as turning the dough into recognisable, solid blocks was a considerable feat in itself.

When night fell, you pulled Nile aside instead, asking her to temporarily play the role of a taste tester to tweak the recipe if necessary in your future endeavours. You handed her a block of the sweet treat, before you took one of your own into your hand. As Nile nibbled on her snack, you took a bite out of yours, and expectantly, awaited her feedback.

The crumbs that were sticking to the corner of the marine’s mouth compelled your fingers to fly towards them, gathering the fine dusts with the pad of your thumb. It was done out of reflex, the same way you would usually wipe mucus off Leo’s eyes.

“No offence, but it’s-”

An unforeseen interruption put a halt to Nile’s speech as it did to your action. Following the snug lock of fingers around your wrist, you felt a gentle crawl of calloused digits on your jaw before in a heartbeat, your head was angled slightly for your lips to be enveloped in heart-melting warmth. After the soul-stirring experience from last night, it was impossible not to remember the familiar velveteen feel of the Scythian’s lips.

Wide-eyed and mouth ajar, you were positively kiss stunned as you stood stock still, hypnotised by the tantalising tip of a tongue that poked through pink lips to trace the upper arch of the tender flesh.

“Mmm” She moaned, the mesmerising green of her eyes disappearing behind her eyelids. “The scent of rose was a little too overpowering,-” She had brought your wrist that was ensnared in her fingers to her mouth where her teeth sank into the baklava that was held betwixt your thumb and forefinger. As she did so, her line of sight shifted from your hand to your face, causing the collision of your gazes. The golden specks in her eyes, like fine grains of sand swirling in sea green waves, shimmered and shone. “-but not too shabby for your first attempt.”

In the twinkling of an eye, you found yourself trapped between the Scythian’s body and the kitchen counter. Caged in her wonderfully toned arms, your heartbeat was a frenzied staccato inside your chest. Meanwhile, the hard muscles of her arms rippled beneath your palms as her face gravitated to yours. You watched one corner of her coral-coloured lips tilting skyward into a mischievous smirk.

“Excuse me? Uhm…what the hell is going on?”

“I uh- wow I’m completely ignored- alright then I’m just gonna disappear real quick. Evidently, you have more pressing matters to attend to than getting my feedback.”

Whatever Nile had uttered was not so much an intelligible remark as a background noise.

Nothing reached your ears except Andy’s voice, smooth and spicy as honey mulled wine. “You made my favourite snack and decided to keep it from me?” The warmth of her breath softly teasing the shell of your ear, coupled with her sultrily low cadence of a hum, brought about an eruption of goosebumps. “How bold of you.”

“I merely wanted to perfect my baking skills before I have you taste it.”

“Oh? Even when I liked them alright as they were?”

“Are you quite certain?”

The question created an arch in an earth brown eyebrow, some strands of the same hue deliciously curtaining her eye as a shadow of amusement dawned on her lips.

“Who do you think know more about Baklava, hm? You or me, or the rest of the team?”

“You, of course.”

“Precisely.”

“It’s just that I-” The feeling of hands fitting flawlessly into the curve of your hips punched a breath out of your lungs, if only for a moment, rendering you speechless. “-I know it’s your only indulgence. So, I wish you would truly enjoy them instead of acting otherwise for my sake.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. Sugarcoating isn’t my forte.”

One of her hands had abandoned its place on your waist in favour of plucking your chin between a thumb and a forefinger. Her touch was nothing but delicate as she coaxed you into seeking her eyes.

“Your Baklava has something very unique in it which I’ve never been, and certainly will never be able to find anywhere else in the entire world.” Gentle fingers had travelled along your jaw, taking your cheek into a palm where she cradled you with great tenderness. The bone-meltingly soft touch of battle-hardened fingers had your tummy butterflies dancing jovially.

“Do you know what that is?”

Your response was a subtle shake of your head, given while nuzzling the warmth of her hand like a cat basking in the sun.

“Love.” Calloused pad of a thumb softly caressed the apple of your cheek. “The love you had put into making them is what makes them all the sweeter, all the more meaningful. I’m certainly not faking anything. It truly was scrumptious.”

“So, thank you for the sweet surprise. I love it.”

You detected no lies in her eyes for there was none to begin with. Instead, you drowned in a sea of startling green, bright, beautiful, and brimming with things that you were not yet privy to.

And then,

“I love you.”

The declaration did not come as an absolute shock, nonetheless it still instilled in you a trickle of surprise and instigated a whirlwind of wings as the little hummingbird went berserk behind its bony cage. Although you had been made aware that she harboured strong feelings for you following her apology, you were not expecting her to voice it aloud. Later down the road, perhaps. In a subtle way, definitely. But certainly not as quickly and candidly as she had just done.

So, as you eagerly threw yourself into her chest, heart doing giddy somersaults, and face finding home in the little dip of her throat, all too happily, the Scythian kept you cocooned in her arms, both kind and unyielding.

At the same time, the pair of you were oblivious to the curious eyes of your teammates. Having unintentionally borne witness to the sickeningly sweet display of affection initiated by none other than their positively lethal boss, Joe was in disbelief of both his ears and eyes.

“Nicky, I think my ears are malfunctioning.”

“It’s not your ears, Joe. I heard it too.”

“Nicky?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you seeing this as well?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not my eyes playing tricks on me, is it?”

“I don’t think it is, my love.”

“Andy finally getting a partner after thousands of years? Hell must have frozen over!”

“It’s about damn time though, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No disagreements there.”

────────────────────

[slytherinshua]

FAIRY OF SHAMPOO

genre. fluff. based on fairy of shampoo! warnings. none. pairing. beomgyu x fem!reader. wc. 925. a/n. the way i haven't written in days and i suddenly pumped this out within 40 minutes has me dying.

“Beomgyu-ah, quit staring at the TV! You’ll damage your eyesight and then we’ll have to pay a fortune to get you glasses!!”

“Yes, mom!” Beomgyu shouted back, eyes still glued onto the screen of the old television that his grandpa had owned. This was one of the only TV’s that still played that commercial. 

An instinctive smile spread on Beomgyu’s face as soon as he heard the opening notes of the advert jingle. The low-resolution screen played the short commercial, and Beomgyu watched intently at the fairy-like image of a girl. He mouthed her name as she appeared. He had named her himself. A name that suited her appearance. Y/n.

Her hair seemed to shine and looked softer and smoother than silk. Her eyes gleamed in a twinkle that could hold the whole galaxy. Shiny bubbles danced in the air in front of her face and she smiled, blowing one of them away. Beomgyu smiled with her.

He had memorised this advertisement by heart. He waited every night at 10 pm for when it would play, and in 2 years, he had never been late or missed a day. He still felt his heart flutter in his chest at the sight of the smile she adorned.

“Beomgyu-ah!” A harsh smack landed on Beomgyu’s shoulder and he looked up.

“Okay, okay! I’ll wash the dishes like you asked.” He took one more look at the screen and smiled before jogging off to the small kitchen and the pile of dishes that awaited. As he scrubbed, he hummed the soft saxophone melody of the ad and smiled to himself.

“That boy…” Mr. Choi mumbled to Mrs. Choi.

She grunted in acknowledgement, “He spends every night staring at that old thing and never pays any attention to anything else.”

Mr. Choi let out a long sigh, “If the only girl that gets his attention is one in that shampoo advert, his good looks will be completely wasted.”

Mrs. Choi nodded, “Those poor girls at school will never get a glance out of him.” 

Beomgyu picked up on their conversation faintly. The topic was a regular in the household, and he was used to hearing his parents disapproval and concern. But, truth be told, Beomgyu didn’t care. So what if none of the girls at school got his attention? He liked the shampoo girl on the tv screen instead. None of the girls at school had silky hair or mesmerising eyes or a sweet soft voice or that charming smile. 

Turning off the tap, Beomgyu sighed softly. Maybe falling in love with the girl on the screen was foolish of him. After all, how could he ever expect to find a fairy in real life?

//

“Don’t forget to eat your lunch! You worry me every time you come home with it untouched!” Beomgyu’s mom shouted as he ran out the door, still putting on his shoes halfway down the street. “And one of these days find a pretty girl and introduce us to her!!”

“Sure mom!” Beomgyu called back with a grin.

Math was always the subject that bored Beomgyu the most, so he spent most of his time gazing out the open window in the classroom up at the sky. The soft blues looked just like the background in the commercial, and it wasn’t hard to imagine Y/n living up in the clouds.

“Is it nice up there, Y/n?” Beomgyu thought.

“Who’s Y/n?” 

Beomgyu snapped out of his trance, eyes focusing on Soobin who sat in front of him. “What?” He must have thought out loud.

“Who’s Y/n?” Soobin repeated, smile growing more mischievous by the second. “Is she your girlfriend? Crush? Lover?”

“What!? No!” Beomgyu glared at him, shutting the thought down.

“Is she pretty?” Soobin continued.

Beomgyu’s brain went back to the image of the girl and he nodded slightly. Soobin’s teasing went on for the whole day, and soon Yeonjun was teasing him about it as well. 

Beomgyu walked out of the school building and towards a small cafe that he liked. He bought a drink and walked to the park by the school, lying down on one of the benches and almost drifting off to sleep with the warm breeze. 

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where a convenience store is?” Beomgyu opened one of his eyes slightly, blinking a few times before he could see properly again. He sat up slightly and then froze, jaw dropping and cheeks burning.

“Are you okay?” You asked, peering at the boy on the bench with concern.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu stuttered, “I’m… I’m okay.” He rubbed his eyes and stared at you again. Then he smacked his forehead.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah!” Beomgyu assured you, “How did I manage to hallucinate Y/n in the park-” He whispered to himself.

“Do you know me?”

“Huh?” He looked back at your face, heart almost melting on the spot. It was different seeing the face of a fairy in 3D instead of on the crappy tv monitor.

“You said Y/n, right?”

Beomgyu nodded, and then his brows furrowed in further confusion, “How did you get out of the tv?”

“Tv?”

“Nevermind,” Beomgyu smiled cheekily. He had a pretty smile. “I’m Beomgyu, by the way.”

“I’m Y/n.” 

Beomgyu let out a soft breath halfway between a laugh and a disbelieving sigh, “You said you were looking for a convenience store, right?” 

You nodded, “Yes. Are there any nearby? I usually don’t come by this neighbourhood.” 

“What are you looking for?”

“Shampoo.”

↳ txt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-bluehair,, @syrxiee2,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions

[littlelightbolt]

Finding Prowl- Merformers AU

Chapter 4 - To find reason -

Somewhere in remote Alaskan shores -

With every cycle, the growing unease in Jazz's spark grew a little more. He tried to put on a smile around the others. Tried to enjoy their company in hunting and nesting. But in the quiet moments, just like this one lounging on the beach that sheltered their secret home, Jazz can't help but feel like he should have done more.

It had been 5 cycles since the fight that had bled their home waters red. 5 cycles since Prowl went missing. 5 cycles in which no one had seen tail or hide of Optimus prime. Said mer had shut himself away in his cave. Only Ratchet was allowed into his abode. Whether this seclusion was in shame or respite or neither Jazz didn't care to much pry.

Eyes trained to the far horizon towards the low ball of the sun, Jazz's thoughts returned to that night 5 cycles ago.

Jazz had just gotten off a gig at Maccadam's. Prowl had lost an eye in the fight, body littered in deep gouges, the blood loss must have been severe, yet the daft mer hadn't gone to see Ratchet or any of the other healers in the pod. Instead, the bastard had beached himself on the edge of Jazz's nest. ABOVE WATER. Jazz in the late hour had decided against sending Prowl away, going through the hardship of sealing Prowl's wounds to the best of his ability. Prowl was too delirious to have any sort of meaningful conversation with.

When the deed was done, Jazz had gone to bed with Prowl asleep in the low tide beside him, and as he awoke with the first rays Prowl was gone.

Bleeding and injured, to go into the vast alone was dangerous. One mer however strong was no match against the fullness of the ocean.

Prowl was a prickly mech, snarky as hell but Jazz had never wished ill on him.

During the war, they had their moments. A rescue here, a quick diversion there. They could work together relatively well thoughts aside, saved each other's asses once or twice. A sneaky drink in the night, a secret shared. After the war, Jazz had chosen to stay out of the limelight where Prowl had chose to stay in it. Prowl wanted to try and govern Cybertron their now sleeping world underneath the waves. Above them, out of the political circle, Jazz lived as he always done, on the whims of life's simple pleasures. Maccadams always needed a bassist for performance nights.

The glimpses he caught of Prowl were brief and fleeting but yet he had noticed a change in Prowl. He should have called it sooner.

Prowl had acted like a mer possessed, more controlling, more angry. It had rubbed Jazz in all the wrong ways. Jazz had brushed it off, believing in the petty words of hate that others strung of Prowl.

Now, Jazz wondered why no one else had seen it. The mind control. Living the civy life must have made him rusty. The cycle Prowl went missing, Jazz got to snooping. It seems he had learned the news far too late. Prowl had been changed. Mind raped. Under Megatron's orders. The events of Shockwave's near-successful genocide probably hadn't helped the mer at all. That night of celebrating Cybertron's victory over Shockwave's death was the night of Megatron's plea of pardon. The public resolution of the decepticon pod. The night Optimus struck Prowl.

Jazz ain't got it in him to determine who was more right than wrong. But, Prowl. The image of his face leaking energon, teared fins, the marred eye. Wars over, Jazz had never seen a mer so stricken, PROWL so stricken with hurt and betrayal. Yet Jazz in holding his face to better clean the wound saw that Prowl's gaze still held a flicker of life. A broken mer Prowl may be, but with some help. Jazz truly believed he could get better.

The light of the evening was growing dim. Jazz rose from his spot on the beach. One last moment before he left for the depths beyond.

It has been 5 cycles, and Prowl hasn't returned. No one else seemed to care. No one else seemed bothered to look.

Jazz didn't know why but Prowl came to him for help. He didn't know why he left either. Call it heroism, curiosity, a funny gut feeling even, but Jazz felt like he needed to find out. Prowl had been hurting and is still hurting out there in the vast ocean. Prowl was calling out for help and Jazz was gonna answer.

He was going to find Prowl and bring him home.

Previous

Next

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

Thank you for all the comments! - If anyone asks where Prowl's many scars are - say modern medicine. Or just imagine him more scarred up. Wish i had that kind of derma care.

I'll try my best to write more soon.

[kimmiessimmies]

Simblr's New Year Resolutions of 2024

I was tagged by lovely Lana, @eljeebee. Thank you, my dear. ❤️

Now, I already did a post on plans yesterday, but that was only for the coming few months or so, plus way too long for anyone to properly read, so let's give this one a go (which will probably also be long, because let's face it, I'm simply not a woman of few words).

What's your resolution for your simblr?

I'm not actually sure? Sometimes, I envy the people who are able to keep their Simblr clean and organised by just posting actual relevant things. I often write rambles (I don't always think anyone truly reads), so the story might get a bit lost. But do I really want to change that? I don't know. Maybe my resolution for my Simblr could be to make things easier to find? But then again, if you want easy reading of my story and everything involved, one click takes you to my WordPress, which actually is a lot more organised.

I do have resolutions for the story itself and my writing, though! In 2024, I hope to expand my writing skills. Even though I write easily in English, the fact that it's not my native language still feels limiting at times. I often feel I could make a narrative or a dialogue richer if this was my mothertongue. I've been contemplating focussing solely on dialogue and image (like I did with the AU), but I find I sometimes want and need the narrative. I really do feel the need to sometimes give words to what a character is feeling or experiencing without them actually voicing it to another character. And precisely in that type of narrative, I see room for improvement.

As for ATOH, I hope to be able to do some other characters justice, too, aside from the ones I've been so focused on recently. Although, maybe it'll only get confusing if I bring too many characters in. So, balance will be the challenge, I guess. And, I hope to be able to bring everything together properly and in a way that makes sense. Especially now that I've changed my timeline for a third time...

What do you want from the Sims franchise?

I just hope TS3 remains playable at this point. My worst fear is my gaming laptop breaking down (I do everything on that thing, as there's no place in my house for an actual pc) and any new one being unsuitable to run TS3 with its very specific demands...

Other than that, I think it would be highly unrealistic to expect EA to develop or do anything specifically for TS3 at this point, and I have absolutely zero interest in straining my laptop even more by putting TS4 on it, which I know I won't play.

Any other new year's resolutions?

Oof... Umm... Well, I already wrote about how I'm struggling a lot at the moment (I'm at a very, very low point right now...) and as much as what I want for 2024 is to find my happy again, that seems like a huge ask at the moment. So I shall stick to the quote the Pinterest game brought up: "Never give up on the things that make you smile" and try to focus on the few things they do bring me joy. Which takes me back to the story, and now we've come full circle.

Tagging a few people who maybe haven't done this yet and might like to, @simsaralove , @sircesimblr, @sushiikinsss. Feel free to pass.

[selfieignite]

Selfie (2014) miscellaneous - set design

All I got from this was that there were plans to have a gym at KinderKare Pharmaceuticals and a Chili's restaurant scene in Selfie lol

[x]

[usafphantom2]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (@rangedstories)

As we departed Alaska heading North with the afterburners blazing, I looked out the window at the barren land and ice. We were directly over the ever-moving North Pole. I could see it very well because of starlight,’ Colonel Richard Sheffield, SR-71 Blackbird RSO.

In 1969, on the Night Before Christmas, my father Colonel Richard “Butch” Sheffield, SR-71 Blackbird Reconnaissance Systems Officer (RSO), flew a North Pole night mission.

⭐️Ralph Plaisted was not the only person to make an undisputed trek to the North Pole. It was Richard”Butch”Sheffield and Bob Spencer who in 1969 with a navigation system in the SR 71 that was so accurate that Butch is sure they flew right over the North Pole.⭐️

Late In 1969, shortly after I was crewed with Bob Spencer, we were tasked to fly a night mission to the North Pole. Night missions were very rare in those days because of St. Martins crash (summer of 1967) at night when navigation system failed. We were one of the most experienced SR crews and we were told that the Russians were doing something with our submarines at night at a station they had built on the ice near the North Pole. We did not have a backup or buddy crew this time.

We launched from Beale at night, flew north to Alaska, and refueled over the central part on a Northern heading. Once we were full of fuel, we lit the afterburners and climbed to about seventy five-thousand feet heading north to the ice station. The tanker was briefed to continue to fly north in case we lost an engine. There was no place to land and our emergency procedure was to turn around 180 degrees and do a head on rendezvous with the tanker on one engine.

The thought came to my mind, “this is really risky business,” and if anything goes wrong they will never find us.

But..

We needed to find out what the Russian were doing.

I turned on the Side Looking Radar (SLR), looked at the location and took the images.

The SLR had great resolution plus the speed of the SR traveling 3000 feet per second caused the antenna to believe it was much longer. THE ANTENNA WAS TEN FEET LONG, BUT MOVING AT 3000 FEET PER SECOND, THE MOVEMENT STREACHED THE ANTENNA AS IT TRANSMITTED, SO IF THE TRANSMITTING TOOK 1/10 OF A SECOND, THE ANTENNA WAS 300 FEET LONG. THAT IS A VERY LARGE ANTENNA..

I found a few years later that they were building an acoustic sonar station to track US submarines under the ice cape. The station was not manned during the worst part of winter. When it was not manned, the CIA landed a few people by parachute code name was called OPERATION COLDFEET to find out what was going on at the station. They found everything to include code books. They were recovered by being snatched up into a low flying aircraft A C-130 WITH A BALLON TETHER AND SNATCH HARNESS..

The following day as my family sat around the table having breakfast, I thought to myself, no one would believe where I was last night, the North Pole right before Christmas?

Colonel Richard” Butch” Sheffield wrote this for his unpublished book.

Paraphrase by his daughter, Linda Sheffield Miller

@Habubrats71 via X

[creaturecomfortsva]

some old things i made.

i used to call my crochet shop "sadgirlcrochet". i started posting and selling my crochet stuff in late 2020, was dealing with some serious depression, and had only come to terms with being NB a few months earlier. calling myself a girl still felt right back then, or at least not painful. i put frowny faces on everything.

this was the flagship product, the depressed daisy bikini. I'm thinking about re-designing these because they were always my best-selling product. honestly, as someone who works in marketing, "sad girl crochet" was branding gold. I could make any design that was popular with the tiktok crochet girlies but trade a smiley face for a frown and BOOM. iconic piece. hundreds of instagram likes. for example, my 420 creations in 2021:

these are some of my favorite creations from that year. and while they're adorable, they're also simple. i wasn't exactly challenging myself on a technical level - more of my energy was going towards figuring out how to market via the instagram algorithm. because sadgirlcrochet was, above all else, marketable. the clothes weren't for crocheters. they were for followers.

i redesigned the depressed daisy bikinis in 2021. i sold close to a hundred of these, maybe more. i didn't track inventory too closely (but i DID track my instagram followers, obsessively, at the time)

i also had a really shitty phone camera, so i edited the fuck out of my photos to make the blurriness and low resolution into a feature instead of a bug. it worked for a little while. also, my living situation was hellish at the time, but we had a giant yard with this 70-year-old dogwood tree, and it made for an excellent backdrop.

a commissioned witch hat i made for a friend. one of my favorite things i have ever made. after a while, i realized i liked doing commissions more than just creating products to sell to the masses because it let me push myself on a technical level.

this was my most-liked photo of 2021. partly because of my boobs. that's fine. they look great. i created this top because of a commission that went viral, and it spawned so many copycats and fake etsy listings.

my feelings toward the top itself are mild. it's cute. i made it so that people would like and share this photo. there's not much heart in it, if i'm honest. i look back at this top and know that it was made almost algorithmically. granny square bralettes + halter straps + strawberries were all Very In right then so my hands produced this.

the picture above is one of the first photos i took of myself and felt like i looked like my gender. gender euphoria, i suppose, though the stress of my life at the time dampened the joy. it was then that i started really questioning how i felt about having my online image so tied up in my girlhood. in my feminine body shape. i was 24 and recently estranged from my relatives and working through childhood trauma, including all my preconceptions about gender, and whether or not i owed girlhood to anyone.

i owed girlhood to my followers, though.

when i announced that i would be killing the sad girl crochet brand, a lot of people were genuinely upset. i lost over a thousand followers in three months. people didn't care what i, tabby, was creating. they cared about seeing Content under the Sad Girl Brand. that's okay.

when creating for sad girl crochet i felt beholden to both sadness and girlhood. my primary mode of expression and self-understanding, my crochet, started to be incongruous with what i actually needed to express. instead of contending with my sadness and seeking to understand it, i exploited it. instead of finding my own version of girlhood, i recreated the girlhood that was shown to me online. it led to a pretty significant creative drought from mid-2022 till about three months ago, in late 2023.

when you make the art people expect of you rather than the art that is true, you kill a part of your soul. i know this now.

i did my first craft fair in summer 2022 and immediately after, i was creatively bereft. what little bits of creative energy i had left were spent. a few months later my husband and i moved across the state, away from the hellish house with the beautiful yard, a fresh start. once we moved, i told myself, i would feel at home with sad girl again. and i kept waiting to feel the way i did in 2020 and 2021. but the more time went by, the less sadgirl felt like a creative outlet, and more an albatross round my neck.

and weirdly...i started to feel guilty about ever marketing my sadness in the first place. to grapple with the fact that i was making money off of other women and femmes with depression - and marketing to them on the basis that they were as depressed as me. the more i thought about it, the squickier it felt.

i barely posted anything in 2022 and 2023. i signed up for pattern tests and immediately dropped out of them. i made promises i didn't deliver on. eventually, i just stopped logging on.

a lot of life went by. i crocheted for my family, my loved ones, myself. journaled. got back on tumblr. deleted twitter. started trading screen time for books. got outside more. made friends in the new town. and the longer i ignored sadgirlcrochet, the less i wanted to go back.

see, the thing was, i was actually healing and growing, finally. our living situation was stable. my family found our own little village. i came to terms with being trans-er than i'd let myself admit. sad girl was dead. i'd killed her. and that was healthy for me.

creature comforts was born of a desire to be truer to myself and to live with more love. to craft instead of sell. to share instead of market. to be online without wearing a mask. to be active on tumblr instead of instagram. to be a creator and an artist. to let these desires be misunderstood by others. to love, unabashedly.

i'm excited to see where this takes me in 2024.

[phlve]

Subtype Trait Structures: sx9

Very Patient

The sexual E9 is very patient when it comes to tasks, things or relationships in which he believes. Of a patience that may seem infinite to others, but that for him is normal. With children and animals, his patience is extreme. This patience testifies to the need to maintain energy homeostasis in oneself and with the environment so that there are no frictions that could put you in contact with needs or choices.

Without Nuances

Either black or white. He believes that several "versions of everything" cannot coexist. For example, in interpersonal relationships it is difficult for him to understand that there are parts of a person that he does not like, or that he likes less. Both in relationships and in the manifestation of their tastes, there is a middle way, things are white or black, or all or nothing, or they like everything or they do not like anything.

This vision hides the defense mechanism of denying what can produce negative emotions and, above all, it nourishes the false image of a world that is going well at all costs, for which there is nothing missing.

Tolerant With The Other, Severe With Himself

In others, he tolerates everything and finds justification for any act or behavior. (Although inside he has judged first but, from his desire for kindness, "magnanimously understands and forgives".)

With himself, on the contrary, he is severe, critical and does not go too far. In private life as well as at work, he does not forgive himself for any mistakes. The annihilation experienced in childhood and the devaluation received in primary relationships are completely introjected.

Chameleon

Like the chameleon, it is capable of being in any environment and context without being out of place. You can keep any conversation going by carefully following the other person's train of thought. From early childhood he acquires the ability of entering and leaving situations and environments without being seen. The imperative is to be there but without disturbing.

Above Authority

Either he considers it worthy of respect or he does not recognize it. This aspect is very evident from an early age, when faced with a teacher or parent who has not earned his respect, he does what he considers most fair, does not listen to authority and acts on his own behalf. He makes a judgment and appraisal according to wholly personal criteria of that person's merit and ability to perform that role, and then acts accordingly.

But this force to go against authority does not come from the feeling of entitlement. Rather, it is an action driven by defending another or by one's own survival, an acting out by which the experience of low self-esteem can be skipped.

Blind Faith

It is difficult for the sexual E9 to believe in someone because he does not believe in himself. But when she finds someone to believe in , she gives in , she does it blindly and rarely questions. Rather than faith, it would be better to say that it converges with the other.

Mediator and Peacemaker

Not only does he not like to be involved in arguments and conflicts, he does not even tolerate witnessing them. He is stronger than it: when there is an argument, he compulsively triggers the need to placate and fix the situation. He gets in the way without even assessing whether he is in a position to sustain the mediation. The imperative is to quickly regain calm and peace. He doesn't take anyone's side but he manages to assert everyone's reasons and, sometimes without even knowing how he does it, he always manages to achieve his goal.

The sexual E9 empathetically and exaggeratedly feels the pain present in the conflict. The suffering is unbearable for him, he feels the unresolved internal conflicts resonate and so that these do not take priority (understood as the resolution of his internal conflict), he immediately acts on the external world. This terror of conflict often has autobiographical resonances. He is willing to avoid it at all costs because in his childhood the overt conflicts had devastating consequences for him.

Aversion To Change

If there is one thing that triggers a crisis in the sexual E9 and triggers all the alarms, with the corresponding paranoia, it is change. He does not understand why there is a need to change when things are working so well. Fierce supporter of the saying "the best is the enemy of the good", he applies it as much as he can, and to everything. He needs the usual customs, the usual people, the usual places; in short, let no one disturb his quiet, flat little world for which he has worked so hard.

Accurate In The Development Of Tasks

The word "accurate" may fall short, almost maniacal and especially at work. Whether he performs tasks at the bottom of the organizational pyramid or at the top, the sexual E9 is extremely reliable due to his need to always have everything in its place. If a work program is prepared , it must be fulfilled , and if there are changes it goes into crisis and is not very elastic. It does not support the delays of the others, because they are an “unexpected variable” of the program.

Lover Of Good Food As A Shared Pleasure

The sexual E9 loves good food and good wine, but only if he can enjoy it and share it with the person he loves or with his closest friends. He doesn't usually care much about what he eats, and he doesn't like to cook for himself either. Food and drink are a pleasure if they are shared and prepared for someone. When he is alone, on the contrary, they can become a way to fill the void caused by loneliness or the discomfort of doing things for himself.

Dormouse

He has a very deep sleep because he uses sleep as a defense to not feel.

Difficulty For Physical Contact

The sexual E9 does not like physical contact, he does not like to be touched. When talking about this, his idea is that everyone should be in their space. In reality, he does not have the experience of safe skin contact with her mother who, on the contrary, has often been invasive and not respectful of even physical limits. He has not learned to measure personal space.

Ashamed To Communicate His Feelings

He is ashamed to express his affection because he has not been taught to do so. The few times in his life that he has tried to be explicitly emotional, has been deeply hurt or has received a humiliating indifference, and it is a risk that he prefers not to take again.

Incapable Of Making Decisions

The sexual E9 is not able to decide for himself, because he does not know what he likes and that is why it is impossible for him to know what is better. He lets others decide everything, even the important things. Although he will be angry if the decision does not seem fair to him, he will abide by it without raising the slightest objection.

Bad Relationship With The Body And Sexuality

He has a terrible relationship with his body, he does not accept its forms or its aesthetics. He feels awkward, ugly, and thinks that no one will ever be attracted to him. That is why he forgets that he has a body, and the disconnection of desire from him contributes to his total focus on the pleasure and sexuality of the other.

Overadapted

No matter what happens or what others choose, you will always see the positive side and adjust your needs accordingly. The sexual E9 has learned to adapt to circumstances for fear of being abandoned, excluded, rejected and ignored. And this ability becomes a currency to be loved. In reality, it is a false adaptation, which generates a silent rage that accumulates. This anger , of which he is not aware , ends up expressing himself in a stubborn opposition to the other's proposals, posing impediments that are generally of a practical nature , in a kind of displaced revenge.

Indispensable And Docile

The sexual E9 works tirelessly to make himself indispensable to the people around him (relatives, friends, acquaintances). Compulsively, he immediately answers "yes" to any request, even if it has just been outlined, without taking the slightest account of his capacity, his psychophysical availability, the eventual effort to be made or, lastly, his needs. Also in this case it is the price to pay for not being abandoned.

Empathetic

Believes that he always knows with absolute certainty what others need (he does not know what he needs). He is amazed that the others do not have that characteristic to the same extent. When someone does not understand him, he immediately blames himself for that inability that, in reality, is not his. He does not feel loved then, he suffers and is filled with rage. It never crosses his mind that the other might not instinctively possess that empathetic capacity that he considers universal.

Welcoming

Creating a comfortable environment , being open to welcoming the other, being hospitable and affable, using a voice that can be pleasant and friendly, and showing unlimited availability, make the sexual E9 well accepted in his environment. He acts like this because he feels the need to be welcomed by his fellow men and, above all, because he believes that, otherwise , no one would love him. Ultimately, he believes that he is not lovable for himself but for the attention he provides.

Sense Of Duty

The sexual E9 has such a strong sense of responsibility that he often takes on what does not belong to him. The motivation is twofold. On the one hand, he feels that all the obligations of the world fall on his shoulders (it is up to him to ensure that everyone fulfills his duty). On the other hand, he thus prevents himself from experiencing excessive pleasure in situations that might even procure it.

Susceptible To Criticism

He always expects praise, recognition in almost all the activities he does. If he gets criticized for something he has done, he falls from the clouds with a start and suffers horrors. Indeed, the work that he does with dedication and commitment has value because it is through him that he can be recognized by the external world. His work therefore has a double function of expression and recognition. The sexual Nine believes that he exists only through what he does, and not simply because he is.

Disorganized Or Extremely Organized

He lives a disordered life inside (ordering himself would mean looking and suffering for what he sees) and for this reason his house is also completely untidy. Surprisingly, he also lives the ideal of being highly organized. He knows that he has a great chaos inside him, he would never want to deal with it, but he dreams that, with a blow of the sponge, everything will magically fall into place and nothing will be left out of place.

Loquacious Or Mute

In environments with many people (parties , groups , congresses , assemblies), the sexual E9 can be very talkative, because he can not stand the discomfort of silence. He therefore feels obliged to relieve others of what he feels as density "breaking the ice" as soon as possible. He does this by walking up to someone and starting to talk. He experiences the sensation of saying things that are irrelevant and uninteresting, of being verbose, but he can't stop. He would love to observe the others and remain silent himself. In fact, if there is a lot of noise, he can be quite quiet, and even not answer if he is addressed.

Breaking the silence obeys a second motivation. If you start talking you will stop feeling outside the group - and therefore an object of attention - and you will be able to dissolve into it. The sexual E9 has difficulty feeling really part of the group, he always thinks that he is not up to the task, or that his characteristics will not be valued, or that there are already subgroups in which it will not be possible to enter and that, in any case, he will not will be accepted.

Inconstant

Makes precise projects and acquires commitments that he later postpones and sometimes forgets. Programs that seem to have the highest priority for a time suddenly and for no apparent reason lose interest and fade, replaced by the birth of other urgencies. The sexual E9 acts this way because it indefinitely postpones the satisfaction of its own pleasure. Although at first he moves, and in good faith he believes that he truly feels desires, then the inner dictation of not giving himself pleasure arises. He believes that there is no room in his life for pleasure, and that he only has a reason to be duty.

Pedantic

Has an opinion that he firmly believes, and sometimes expresses it forcefully even if he hasn't been asked, extemporaneously. He is so convinced that he has carefully and correctly analyzed the problem that he makes absolute certainty about it, even though he is spectacularly wrong. The desire to assert himself is not connected with an integrated construction of his opinion.

Disheveled

The sexual E9 takes little care of his external appearance. She dresses without paying too much attention to the harmony of some garments with others and, if she is a woman, she rarely puts on make - up and seldom goes to the hairdresser's. He doesn't care about her aesthetics.

This carelessness is also manifested in the lack of care for their health, when they delay control visits to their doctor and when they ignore, neglect or forget symptoms that may indicate the appearance of some disease. Plain and simple, he forgets himself so much that he does not take care of himself at all.

Autonomous

Not depending on anyone is an absolute need of the sexual E9, which is in conflict with the need to bond symbiotically. As a child, he could not trust the adults around him and learned very early to fend for himself and to reduce his demands more and more, to appear before the world serene, peaceful and unassuming. The motivation is, once again, to ensure the love of others, because if you are not a burden to anyone, you do not run the risk of being rejected. The price you pay is not realizing the lack of independence deep in your feelings and motivations.

Hyperactive Or Distracted

As we have already seen, the sexual Nine sets in motion an «all or nothing» mechanism, in this case oscillating between periods (weeks or hours) of great industriousness and periods in which he wanders and dazzles himself with hobbies of diverse nature that manage to distract him (television, card games, music, books). In both modes, remaining in a superficial state prevents her from contacting his inner world: she is aware that it would be too dangerous and painful.

Source: PDB Wiki

[deathcupcake]

I had one of those days that makes me realize how much of my work experience existed before my current staff entered the workforce.

The employee who is 25 years younger than myself asked a simple question today - one that I'm sure she didn't realize would make me laugh.

She was answering a publisher inquiry about photographs that were sent for publication. The publisher wrote back to say that the author of the book had sent low resolution images and to please send high resolution versions.

My employee was desperately trying to find the images. We manage a repository of 4 million+ digital media files, and a sister unit manages a repository of at least that amount, plus several million undigitized film negatives/positives, but she could only find the low resolution images in either repository. So she asked for assistance.

I took one look at the year the images were taken and started giggling.

I had to explain to her that these photos were taken by a digital camera. In 2001.

I had been working here for 11 years when these photographs were taken. I remember them, I remember the event, I remember that our place of business was still officially using film because it would take several more years for digital cameras to be of a sufficient quality to match film quality (I believe we finally switched over to fully digital around 2005/6). But these photographs were digital only because event photography was usually taken for the business records and therefore did not have to be preservation quality (not that we called it that back then, but you get the point).

Hell, even most of the photographers that captured the events of September 11, 2001 were still using film. Film was the standard medium back then.

So I informed her that this "low resolution" was the maximum the camera could output, and what the book publisher has IS the highest quality that ever existed. Thanks to our metadata, we know it was taken by a Fujifilm digital camera with a whopping 3.1 megapixel chip.

Then I did the math. This employee was...six...when these photographs were taken. She wouldn't have ever experienced a world without the Internet, much less digital cameras, computers (and 5-1/4 inch floppy discs! cartridges! zip disks!), and maybe even cell phones. I doubt she had a walkman and probably not even a discman, given that the iPod debuted in 2001, and other digital music players were already on the market.

I do think it's funny, though, that I watched this whole rise and fall of analog and digital media consumer hardware happen, and so my understanding of the technical capabilities of the era are so internalized that I expect everyone to make the same inferences. Gotta check my assumptions. :)

And yes, I am old.