#customs broker courses

[markiafc]

familial cannibalism has a powerful presence in chinese history + as a popular literary trope in chinese myths and texts; fathers tricked into eating their sons, sons who display a nonchalance or even willingness to eat their fathers (vice versa for fathers taking the act of eating sons in stride). and ofc these male figures are frequently political leaders & generals; voluntarily eating their own kin is a sign of accomplishment, pride, power, strength. men in power proving they can remain solid & unshaken in the face of utmost brutality.

the whole phenomenon of filial slicing 割股 where younger members and/or children of the family cuts out a part of their body (usually the thigh, but organs are also on the menu) for the parents to eat. both a medicinal means to cure ailing parents and bring the family together via ritual bond.

it entered mainstream chinese society in the late-ming period. and is also a way in-laws can secure a position and/or establish a deeper tie with the other family, eg. a bride giving up her flesh to the mother-in-law entrenches her in the husband's family.

and the ancient chinese practice of sacrificing your firstborn son - to be shared as food amongst the family + other parties like local rulers (who is, again, a male lord or royal aka. an imperial patriarch). exactly because eldest sons are so valued, so prized they are imagined to be a profound flavour befitting of the heavens. so much so they're killed, then dismembered as infants, then turned into sacrificial meat (using the term zuo 昨 which means "meat" as well as "blessings / fortune"); this duality of first-sons as dehumanized victims & also harbingers of prosperity and social order.

and the custom is meant to be a communal event. it's important that eldest son is divided amongst a group in a ritual feast. something for the family to share internally or the people in society to partake in. or, on a greater scale, a portion of the sacrificed son becomes a token of friendship to secure an alliance with other regions. your firstborn son is also a political instrument to secure national stability and safety.

cannibalism inside the chinese family is pretty versatile, it's deployed for a variety of reasons chronic in chinese society: an attribute for the indomitable, power-hungry male ideal. an act of filial piety. a sacrifice in order to ensure the welfare of greater society, be it through gods or governance. and consistently, it's a form of violence which nurtures a closeness and unity amongst the perpetrators.

the confucian structure and traditional chinese thought as a whole breeds parent/child violence in the name of material profit and social wins. it's a filial piety issue & a patriarchal system issue & a pragmatism policy issue, and so on.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Their Career Change After the Military

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COD Men Headcanons

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König

Househusband

He was tired all the time after coming back from the Military so he picked up on being a househusband and doing all the chores around the house while his s/o goes to work

It started out as making lunches for you

Then hand delivering them to you before lunch

He also started to fix things around the house he told you not to call someone for because he could look it up and do it himself free of charge

Hates messes now. He started to develop this thing where he hates messes no matter what it was. It wasn’t OCD, but he hates when he cleans something and thing a few seconds later gets dirty again

Cleans…that’s all he does when he’s bored

Hardly sits, he only sits if he needs a break from whatever he’s doing

————

Ghost

Police officer

He misses how he use to help in the military so picked up an application and filled it out to be an officer

He guards around the royal palace to keep those stupid and annoying tourists in line when touching the royal palaces horses at the gates

His voice starts to slowly become more deeper over the years from telling pedestrians to leave the horses alone

Of course they listened to man holding a gun, not like he was ever going to use it, it was just to make myself look scary

Honestly hates working in the cold or rain but does it for his job

Gets shy when his s/o comes around to have lunch with him. He waits till he is relieved from duty to go eat with his partner

He loves seeing his s/o come around in cute outfits he knows that he will fold to

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Price

Office manager

Loves wearing the suits to get a rouse from his s/o

Loves it when his s/o visits him in the office just to drop something off he forgot at home or just to have lunch together

Got the job because he knew some people that could help get this job after he retired from the military

His desk at his work his boring with a small framed picture of his s/o sitting next to his pc

He doesn’t go to the office parties, he’d rather stay home with his s/o and not have to worry about them, he deals with them long enough at work he doesn’t need to be there for after hours

Doesn’t have a “work wife/husband” because he’s married

————

Soap

Mechanic

Took the job because he liked fixing cars

He was a personal mechanic to a race car driver for some time but quit to open his own shop

Makes a lot

He fixes his s/o car for free

Has his personal project with a Porsche 911 GT3 that he does drag races in

His personal car has nothing special but maybe a loud exhaust pipe

Takes time in his work, if it’s something bad like a busted engine he’s going to take his time not rush the process just to get the car out of his shop. If it takes a month it’s going to take a month

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Alejandro

Stock Broker

He didn’t want the job at first knowing it’s probably boring but when his friend bragged about the almost 3 million dollars sitting in his pocket

Took the job and makes close to 5 million

It’s a love hate relationship type of job. Hates it because of the people he works with, loves it because he gets to spend his money on his s/o

His s/o meets him for lunch dates

Doesn’t go to work parties

He does pull the late night hours coming close to 3 in the morning but doesn’t have to go to work till 11

He likes trying on new suits he bought to show them off to his s/o to see their opinion on his suits

Alejandro’s desk is full of random papers from other co-workers and from customers

————

Gaz

Works from home

He starts working from home. He was able to find a job he could work from home from and can go in once a month

Gaz was able to find a job as a I.T. Guy, when Gaz was younger he messed around with coding and helping people with new technology, so he figured this would be good for him

He’s stuck in front of a computer 6 hours a day, but then the rest of his time is with his partner

He loves the view he has from his home office being able to overlook the city as he worked from home and his s/o bring him lunch and snacks every so often

Gaz loves the idea that he can wear whatever he wants to his job and no one will know

Gaz sometimes loses his mind when he has to deal with an elderly who could barely remember their password, there has been many times Gaz would have to remind them that he doesn’t know their passwords

————

Alex

Picks up the hobby of gardening

He lowkey didn’t think he’d enjoy gardening

He thought it was boring till he grew his first strawberry bush with success and no rotten fruit

He started to make the garden bigger and then made a greenhouse for flowers and succulents

Started to sell fruit and vegetables at the local farmers market

Doesn’t make a whole lot and that’s fine with him. What he does make he spends on his garden or his s/o

His s/o also jumps in to help him with the garden

Starts asking his ol’ buddies if they were interested in some of the stuff he grew

The next thing now is he wants chickens to sell their eggs

[lunastrophe]

Drow Lore 🕷️ Dangerous Merchants

Drow merchants are often not who they seem to be. Some of them are more or less independent information brokers, selling not only goods, but also knowledge to those who can pay for it. Some others secretly work for noble drow houses, occasionally serving as their spies, agents or assassins.

Normally, the drow merchants' first and foremost priority is to ensure the prosperity of their business, but they are often fine with taking an additional assignment now and then - for a fee, of course, or in exchange for other benefits.

In the Icewind Dale series we can meet a great example of a prosperous drow merchant who is much more powerful than he seems to be at first glance - Nym.

🕷️ Polite Drow Merchant - Nym can be found in the hidden svirfneblin village in the Lower Dorn's Deep and after being approached, he greets the player characters in drow language:

"Mallan uss, dis malli usstan tal tanas talthalra. Usstan zha Nym."

This line contains some drow words from canon sources and some others that seem to be distorted - but it can probably be translated as: Honoured one, you honour me with this meeting. I am Nym.

Nym is always exceptionally polite while talking to adventurers, referring to them as "honored customers" - however, soon it becomes clear that under this veneer of politeness and almost-friendliness, there is a cold, cunning and manipulative mind.

🕷️ Profit And Self Above All Else - when the player character points out that it is strange to see a dark elf in a village of deep gnomes, since svirfneblin typically hate drow, Nym replies casually:

"Dire need overcomes simple hatred in periods of duress. I am a businessman. Petty racial differences are irrelevant in my dealings. The deep gnomes have gems. I have goods. It's an excellent relationship. Most profitable."

Since svirfneblin from Lower Dorn's Deep are in deplorable situation, doing business with them - or maybe rather taking advantage of their misfortune and lack of other options - must be "most profitable" indeed.

Nym also tries to take advantage of the visiting adventurers: he buys even quite valuable items cheaply, but his prices are high; he offers special services (enchanting a shield), but demands an outrageous amount of gold as a payment; he is also a slippery negotiator - if you are not careful, you may end up paying him way too much for a simple dagger +2.

But as it turns out, in the past Nym was doing much worse things for a profit.

🕷️ Skilled Thief - the player character can ask Nym about his profession, commenting that being an Underdark merchant sounds like a possibly dangerous and short career. Nym replies calmly that for many, it is, but then states:

"However, I have been in this trade for over four hundred years. I have seen my way into and out of places that no other dark elf has ever seen. You'd be surprised how powerful a single merchant can be."

He is clearly proud of his accomplishments and cannot resist boasting a bit:

"I have seen many things, been many places. The gem mines of Thay aren't quite as frightening as some might lead you to believe. The depths of the Moonsea aren't filled with undead. Oh, and the treasury of Dorn's Deep wasn't very secure even when it was inhabited by the dwarves."

Why is the information about the treasury of Dorn's Deep so important?

🕷️ Nym's Stratagem - sometime after 900 DR, the elves from the fortress known as Hand of the Seldarine and the dwarves from Dorn's Deep formed an alliance and together they created many powerful artifacts. At some point, though, many of those artifacts mysteriously vanished from the treasury and inexplicably fell into the hands of enemies - orcs and goblins. The elves accused the dwarves for secretly supplying the orcs and ultimately, the alliance was severed. The war that came after destroyed both nations.

The vanishing of artifacts was apparently Nym's doing:

"The darthiir [elven] and dwarven artifacts produced by the so-called "Time of Cooperation" were too valuable to resist. Selling the artifacts to the goblinoid armies was the best business decision I ever made. It had so many angles to play. The stupid goblins went bankrupt just to buy artifacts that they couldn't use properly. The dwarves who were threatening to attack some drow outposts were implicated, and the darthiir slit their own throats when they decided to wage war against the goblins and dwarves. Silly elves."

🕷️ Drow Cause - Nym's words about "dwarves threatening to attack some drow outposts" suggest that he was acting not only for his own benefit, but also for the benefit of some local drow community - likely Rilauven, drow city located below the caverns of Lower Dorn's Deep.

Was Nym supported, or maybe even employed and sponsored by Rilauvenian drow? Or was he acting independently - and making the entire drow city owing him a debt was only a side consequence of his plan?

It is not really known - but when we meet Nym several decades later during the events of Icewind Dale II, he seems to be on good terms with Rilauvenian leaders like Malavon Despana and he even works for them...

Also, in one of the books that can be found in game, we can find this note:

"It is rumored that a dark elf by the name of 'Nym' was the individual truly responsible for the fall of the Hand. Through magical means he entered the vaults of the dwarves, stole their artifacts, and sold them to the goblinoid armies. He then sat back and watched as the elves and dwarves destroyed their alliance with accusations of guilt.

It is speculated that Nym did this to remove a significant threat to the drow population in the area of the Hand. With the elves and dwarves vanquished, the drow were free to claim their territory as their own with no consequence..."

🕷️ So, to sum things up - beware of the Underdark drow merchants... especially the ones who somehow manage to stay in this dangerous business for centuries.

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 10: Yes.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Once in a while, right in the middle of a (not so) ordinary (un)life, love gives us a fairy tale.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Commissioned from my dear friend Leira Art <3

Astarion’s thigh was starting to get numb. Ban was on her stomach, stretched out beside him, her hands cradling her face. The unfortunate fact that her elbows were digging into his thigh was something she missed entirely.

He’d arranged for a small moonlit dinner in the gardens, just bedding laid over the grass and nothing but the moon and the stars to keep them company. It had seemed like the perfect idea after a long day of trying to broker some sort of arrangement between Shadowheart and the city about the now-abandoned Sharran cloister. Ban had gone to see Shadowheart for this purpose when she’d first come back to Baldur’s Gate; that had been the day the mirror had been delivered. The two had been coordinating in anticipation of today’s meeting ever since.

He sighed and flexed his leg in an attempt to get Ban to notice his discomfort. She shifted along with the muscle, but merely looked at him, smiling.

“You’ll have to move soon, else your poor husband loses his leg,” he remarked.

She lifted from his leg, smirking. “Nonsense. You’re undead. Regardless, bodies don’t work that way; all you’d get is a… spasm, of sorts, which I’m sure you can handle.” She gave him a soft pat on his beleaguered limb, playfully dismissive.

“As enlightening as you think that is, I actually do know what cramps are. Being undead doesn’t save you from that particular torture, as I’m sure you know.”

“Just teasing you,” she said amiably, lying down to rest her head on his thigh instead.

He looked down at her, admiring the way her hair fanned out in a halo around her head.

“Cramps, spasms… you’re all too familiar with such things, aren’t you?” He wrapped his fingers around her bicep, squeezing. “You’ve probably had more than your fair share, flailing about with that frankly ridiculous weapon of yours.”

“Says you.” Ban huffed, glaring good-naturedly at him. “You couldn’t even swing it, Astarion. You and your little crossbows and daggers…”

He laughed, sliding his hand over her shoulder. “You’ll have to tell me how you became so… forgive me, brawny.” Astarion watched her consider the question, eyes glazing over as she brought forth memories.

“After I ran away from my family, I found my way into the employ of an innkeeper, as a barmaid. Not a horrible place to earn your keep; they were kind enough to allow me to live in one of the rooms of the inn. But as in all such establishments, you occasionally get… unpleasant clientele.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course. “And so this was a way to protect yourself.”

“It was,” she agreed, “One day, a customer managed to get their hands on me; before anyone could intervene, I broke his nose. It was mostly a lucky shot, but the innkeeper saw potential in it. They had been a skilled fighter, and decided to pass their skills along to me. Over time, I built a small reputation keeping the peace in the tavern, took a shine to… all that, and eventually received offers from merchants and the like, to help out or provide protection.”

“With a greatsword?” he said, a little incredulous.

“No, although I wish I had. Merely a longsword; easier to handle, but a lot less impressive.” Her hands mimed swinging one, the movement quick and efficient, if inelegant.

His hands covered hers. “You’ll have to teach me how to wield a greatsword one day.”

Her answer was quick. “Not a chance you’ll have the patience for such a slow weapon, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken. Besides, finesse and dexterity are all you ever need, really.” He twirled their entwined hands, flipping an invisible dagger in the air. She giggled, and he watched their hands against the night sky, dancing amongst the stars.

“This was a brilliant idea. I’m impressed you came up with it.” He peered down at her as she spoke; he’d thought she’d passed into sleep - her eyes had been closed for some time.

“I’m far more capable than you give me credit for,” he scoffed. Since she was not asleep after all, he gave in to his lingering urge and wrapped his hands around her wrists, tugging her off his much-abused leg and up. Spreading his legs, he guided her to sit between them. She leaned against his chest, closing her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Far more romantic is what I would have said,” she corrected, “not that I’m complaining. But this is something that… I don’t know, Gale would have done.”

“Gale?” Astarion scoffed in mock offense, “I can do better than anything he could conjure up. Had you said Wyll, I’d have to admit I’d have a slight challenge on my hands.”

“A slight challenge?” Ban laughed, “It would be quite a bit more than a slight challenge for you to outdo Wyll in romantic gestures, Astarion.”

“Tell me, then. What would you consider the most romantic,” he rolled his eyes, “thing he’s done?”

Ban was silent for a moment, then raised a finger in an aha! gesture. “He gave up his life in Faerûn and followed Karlach to the hells.”

His stomach turned, the comment stinging as it hit sensitive spots. She said it in jest, but there was an underlying truth behind her playful words.

“You truly think I wouldn’t do the same for you?” He was a little piqued, the offense not entirely feigned anymore.

Ban shrugged, failing to sense the change in his mood. “And give up everything you have? Every bit of luxury? Your palace, your art, your suits… the sun? Why would you?” she quipped airily.

A soft hiss escaped him. “I would do anything for you; have already done so, to be frank. I’ve fought everything we’ve had to overcome, have I not? Everything we’ve ever faced. I fought for you, for us - fought our enemies, our companions, the Absolute, my master, myself…” he took a sharp, pained breath, “I have clawed my way through everything for the privilege of being the one by your side. Nothing would part me from you.” He clenched his jaw, his scowl deepening. “If anything, I should ask the same of you. Would you go to the hells for me?”

He watched her face. She barely considered the question and answered quickly - too quickly for his liking.

“I would, of course,” she replied, her tone still light and conversational, as if she didn’t take his statement or his question seriously. She smiled at him, but it did nothing but agitate him further.

Why would she take him seriously? It was hypothetical, nothing serious, even though his words had been from the heart. They’d even been to the hells before, however brief, although that was for thievery and to save the godsdamned world. For a moment his mind flashed to Haarlep, his daggers sinking into that cursed incubus’ flesh, for her, always for her-

“Forgive me for asking such an inane question, then,” he snipped, all mirth gone, “For the longest time I’ve felt… unsure. Of how much you love me.”

He’d always felt it, he realized. From their days on the road - wondering when she’d come to her senses and he’d be left to rot, to the early days of his ascension - wondering where she had gone though her body had still been there, to their eventual reconciliation - wondering if he’d ever be enough for her to love him as he did her. Always doubting, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was exhausted.

She blinked, surprised. “Don’t I tell you enough? I love you so, so much. Endlessly so.” He felt her body stiffen in his arms; it merely served to irritate him even more.

“You do say it more as of late, which I find gratifying. Thank you.” The bitterness bled into his voice; not that he’d tried very hard to mask it. “Whether you truly mean it or not remains in question, especially with how you’ve…” he tilted his head in that cold, arrogant way of his, a defense mechanism she hadn’t seen in awhile, “treated me, since we reconciled.”

She finally realized the extent of his pique, that it ran deep, and that her flippancy had reopened the wound. She lifted herself up to meet his gaze.

“Astarion, I… I am sorry. I-”

“Do not apologize, at least not yet.” He took a moment to clear his head; the Ascendant could never be allowed free rein in conversations like this. Never again. “I refuse to hear mere platitudes in an attempt to placate me. I wish for you to hear what I have to say, and should you feel it appropriate, you may do so then.” He was stern but holding the vitriol back. This needed to be said, but it need not be an argument.

“Alright.”

He watched as she pulled away from him. There was a sudden spike of fear there, one that dissipated when Ban stayed within the circle of his arms. She’d shifted just far enough so that she could meet his gaze.

“I’m listening. Say everything you need to say,” she said gently, offering him a nervous smile. She rested a hand on his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

I’m here. Her mind touched his, something she’d been doing more and more often these days. He let her in, lowered the walls he’d been hiding behind for so long.

“I am aware you love me. How can I not be, when you have shown me so time and again?” A small, rather sad smile graced his face as he spoke. “What concerns me is the intensity of it - rather, the strength and longevity of it, compared to mine.”

“Strength?” Her lips tugged downwards as she considered his words.

“But I… I did tell you. You’re enough. You’re all I want,” she sighed, “But I also know it’s probably not enough - they’re merely words.”

“I am enough, for now,” he corrected.

A small series of thoughts were passed to her: a memory of their argument after her discovery of the contract, moments when he’d expected her to commune with him but instead she retreated, times he’d hoped she’d feed from him and nourish herself with his blood in moments of intimacy, only for her to turn to their stores instead.

“Would I still be enough, were I to displease you again? We’ve discussed this, but I must confess that I haven’t been completely forthright with my feelings on the matter.”

He wanted to tell her how painful it had been; how reminiscent of being punished by his master it was - to a lesser degree, of course, but it opened the same wounds in him nonetheless. He found his heart failing him, unwilling to inflict pain. He wished he could say it but he couldn’t allow it, wouldn’t willingly hurt her, wouldn’t let her even see-

And what of it, if she treats me that way? I can handle it, have handled it for centuries. I’m not worth better; they’ve all drilled it into me - Cazador and his patrons, our companions, even her. She turned away from me when I was lost, shut me out when I tried to understand her, withheld her heart from me until I begged, wielded silence like a weapon when I didn’t behave. Yes, most of that was my own fault, but that merely serves to prove I’m unworthy of it all. Of her.

Just shut up, Astarion. Let whatever needs to happen happen. You don’t-

He felt the air in his lungs escape him as her arms crashed around him and held him tightly, so tightly it felt like it could bruise. He found himself pressed against her chest, realizing she was murmuring into his hair.

“No, no, don’t hide, please,” she whimpered, barely coherent, “You- I didn’t know, I didn’t see, and I know you’ve tried to tell me before but it felt like barbs you were throwing mid-argument. I didn’t want to see there was truth behind them. I’m them, aren’t I? I’m so sorry, Astarion, please.”

He let her hold him, allowed her to cry into his hair, fingers digging into his back with a desperation he hadn't seen in her before. His hands rubbed her back, but he didn’t speak. His thoughts had slipped into her mind as they’d flitted through his, he realized, but he didn’t regret it.

“I love you. I love you so godsdamned much and I realize I’ve been doing it wrong, not loving you the way you deserve. I’ve been neglecting your needs in favor of my own. I’ve been… all of them. Cazador, everyone who ever used you, even my wretched parents. I’m like them - I’ve been being everything I hated in them all and I’m just like them and I should just-”

Her frantic words cut off in a sharp intake of breath and she tried to pull away, her face stricken with horror. Astarion held on, refusing to let her go.

“Don’t go,” he crooned softly, as if calming a skittish animal, “because that would only serve to hurt me more. If you do love me so much then tell me. Show me. I need both in equal measure, my love.”

“I thought I was,” she choked out, “I thought I had been trying. And I’m not sure I’ve succeeded at all-”

She bit back a sob, refusing to allow her words to dissolve into tears. Not right now, when he deserved to hear more than sad blathering, knowing that his first instinct would be to backtrack. The tears came anyway, pooling in her eyes. She took several deep breaths to collect herself before continuing.

“There’s trying, and there’s not trying hard enough. I’ve been the latter; I see your pain and I make attempts in the moment, but then you seem better and I let myself carry on. I slip into old habits and behind walls that are all too easy to hide behind - and I let myself ignore what’s outside those walls.” She laughed, the bitterness evident. “Ironic, I think, that I’ve been doing what you did after the rite. I’ve been hiding myself from you, the way you hid yourself from me. You’ve tried so hard to heal my pain, attended to my needs, at the expense of your own… worked tirelessly at undoing the damage of those early months, and you’ve succeeded… but it was so easy for me to keep letting you do that, to be neglectful attending to you and your needs. To your heart. I will try to be better - No. I will be better. I swear it.”

And there were truths, painful ones, that needed to be said. She steeled herself; there wouldn’t be a better time.

“It has been better,” he assured, “These past weeks have been wonderful; they’ve soothed a lot of the ache. I suppose I merely wanted you to know, and even then I wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk of dredging up.”

“Oh, but it is. There’s something I should have told you, something I should have talked to you about the moment we reconciled, or any one of a hundred times since. I should have told you that although I never stopped loving you, and wanted to be with you again, I didn’t forgive you. That I resented what you’d done to me, resented it enough to keep holding it against you, to measure every good thing you did against the past - and I found it lacking.”

“Ban-” he tried to interrupt, his face a mask of worry, but she shook her head; her eyes begged him to allow her to do what he’d done for her barely more than a month ago. He quietened once more, tightening his grip on her, grounding them both.

“I withdrew at every sign of discomfort; I didn't even really try to trust you more, not outside of our bedroom, anyway… Even as I promised to work on us... I used affection as currency - I saw it as… justified retribution, at times. Not consciously, not deliberately, I don’t think, but neither did I deliberately try to move past those feelings. Even as I speak now I’m only now finding the words for it. All I know is I should have told you this, should have realized earlier what it was I was doing to you. I should’ve been fighting to improve myself, and our relationship, like you were, instead of putting all the burden and responsibility for my feelings and our happiness onto you alone.” She finally let him go enough to cup his cheek.

“We desperately need to learn how to talk, Astarion, as laughably simple as that sounds. Let’s both do what you promised to do for me - if we find ourselves unable to talk it out, we’ll use the connection to think it out, together.” He nodded in agreement and she sighed, calmer now, but no less agonized over these personal revelations.

“I wish I… hadn’t done any of that, or that we had found our way to talking about it earlier, but I also know how… recalcitrant I can be. And of course you feared yet another retreat, or worse, had you tried and it escalated. I didn’t make any attempt to talk about it, and you didn’t feel safe enough to try. We've both spent too long afraid to talk, me fearing compulsion and now you fearing abandonment.”

He chuckled. “On that I cannot refute you, and thus can provide no comfort. On the other hand, not all of my concerns are because of your transgressions, or mine. Some of it is concern about your… former mortality.”

Ban froze for a moment, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“It isn’t a fundamental issue, but if we are to talk about love, and its relative… longevity, even though such a concept is nebulous at best,” Astarion’s eyes flicked away, gathering the strands of the thought he was trying to piece together. “I suppose this is worth bringing into the discussion.”

She saw the way his eyes darted away, locking onto some distant spot; the way his shoulders squared, the bated breath. Even now he tries to diminish his own feelings to avoid upsetting me further. Now that she was watching for it, she couldn't believe she hadn’t seen it all this time - rather, that she had seen, but had refused to acknowledge it, so much so that it had stopped registering in her conscious mind. Never again, she vowed silently.

“What ‘this’?” She was confused, but allowed him the space to think.

He stayed unmoving for a few moments, then finally reached for her mind.

What flowed into her was immense - seemingly boundless stretches of time, of days flowing into months flowing into years, decades, centuries. The moon rising and setting, interminable nights of untold suffering and the rare, quiet moments in between, stretching seemingly endlessly. To her, it felt an eternity - although she knew this was a mere grain of sand in the infinity of time.

Fragments of memories, the earliest of which were mere wisps, lost to the weight of the centuries; then his time with Cazador, bathed in cruelty, a parade of bodies and the scents of rot and sex and filth, blood-red and tinged with pain and fear and anger and self-loathing, all blending together in one massive wave of anguish - then silence.

His year alone, she realized, a small gasp escaping her as he allowed her to see a fraction of how it had felt. The maddening isolation, the despairing, desperate prayers to every god ever named, his fingers bleeding throat raw stomach hollow every muscle aching mind racing and this is it forevermore the four corners of this cold tomb please let me die please-

“Astarion,” she cried out, gripping his shoulder, trying to stop him from spiraling. Those beautiful eyes locked onto hers and to her surprise he was calm. He took her hand, squeezing it.

The memories shifted. The colors became more vivid, the smells became warm and heavenly in comparison to everything else before. The chirping of birds. The smell of grass and earth. Sunlight. Blood from a boar, warm and so, so much of it, and his stomach had never felt so full…

Footsteps, a blade held to someone’s throat. Cautious, hesitant trust. The smell of thinking blood, so close he could lean in and taste it. Laughter. Voices. Her voice. His teeth, sinking in, that first taste forever dooming him to crave it, crave her. Their first nights together, the push-pull of his heart and mind, warring between thinking her a gullible fool and the flickering ember of warmth and affection in his chest.

I want us to be something real.

But not merely real; thiramin - passionate, true, eternal. Nights under the stars. Fighting back to back, daggers and sword flowing seamlessly. Banter by the campfire. Frustration as he regarded her hands, trying to teach her how to pick locks, only for her to give up and smash the chest with one swing of her sword. Those same hands, touching him with an aching tenderness. Uneasiness slowly morphing into trust and then into comfort and then longing, into home. Touch me love me see me be with me, forever and longer than that. I love you, I love you and I will say it, soon, every single day, when I am free.

His eyes left hers, downcast as the memories continued to flow.

Power, as it flowed into him, exhilaration drowned by the look on her face and the disgust in her heart until all he felt was loss and anger, that the thing he loved most would slip through his fingers when freedom was finally his. Regret, still stabbing even to this day. Visions of her face, cold and angry and at times frightened. His voice, commanding, demanding her subservience - on your knees, a finger pointing downwards. The denial of any vulnerability - rebuffing her when she reached for him, admonishment for the attempt. The slow corruption of what was between them.

Astarion didn’t shy from it, his hand merely tightened on hers. The stream of recollections didn’t stop, but his eyes flicked back to hers.

The agony of losing her, the hopelessness, the emptiness. The slow process of prying open his heart once more, at first nearly impossible and then increasingly easy. The sheer joy of seeing her smile at him again, her face emblazoned into his mind. Memories of more recent, happier times. Elation mixed with spikes of anxiety whenever she retreated from him - confusion, worry, fear. And finally, the slow ebbing of those feelings, contentment suffusing more and more of the final visions, the doubt ever-smaller, more easily brushed away.

And then she was seeing through his eyes, he through hers, here in the garden with no other soul, only the stars in the sky. One last feeling - love - and he retracted from her mind, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Ban snapped back to reality, to her own mind, reeling. In front of her Astarion looked fond, his hand still cradling hers, waiting for her to settle before he continued.

“A long time to live, and I am still young for an elf,” he began, “I would assume the weight of it infinitely more burdensome for someone as young as you, from a short-lived race.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t contest that. Were I not turned, I would have died within the century.”

“But you will not,” Astarion reminded, “I am merely concerned about your capability of loving steadfastly, long past the normal span of your lifetime. The constancy required for a love that spans millennia, that follows us through reincarnations… It is something elves are born with. It is not so for humans. I simply… wanted to bring it to light.”

“Astarion,” she said, voice tinged with hurt, “Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I will fall out of love with you in a century or two. No one can know the future, but I swear to you - I will love you for however long this-” she gestured between them, “-undeath lasts, love you the best that I am able. Eternity, if it comes to that.”

Ban weighed her words, weighed the visions he’d allowed her to see. “I know I can’t prove anything today. The future is never set, and I’ve hurt you. I have no idea how to measure our love, to even consider if they are things to be compared against each other-”

“They are not,” he assured her, “But I appreciate that they have now been spoken out loud. That I am understood, seen, and that you do not disagree.”

“If that’s the case, I can promise to continue comprehending. To… see you, fully, even when it’s uncomfortable for me. To understand, to do better. To listen and care, and love. To work toward your happiness as much as my own. To fight for us, always. I can’t prove it today, but I will prove it. From today, until forever.” She made this vow without hesitation or reservation, and with utter sincerity.

Astarion smiled at her, a soft, almost hesitant smile, one that told her she’d soothed a lot of his heartache, before leaning his forehead to touch hers. They sat, quietly, absorbing one another’s feelings through their bond.

“Astarion…” She lifted his hand and placed it over her heart as she spoke; his brows raised in surprise. They had spent a long time in heavy but comfortable silence, basking in the closeness of their shared emotions. Hearing her speak aloud nearly startled him, but he was eager to hear what she may have to say.

She waited until his eyes met hers, until that slight surprise passed into curiosity. He held her gaze, lips parted as if to speak.

“Let me get this out,” she interjected before he could respond. His lip quirked, eyes narrowing, his brows shifting into an expression of wry, if fond, amusement.

Ban locked her gaze onto those beloved crimson irises, ignoring everything else. If she considered any more of his beautiful face, she was sure her courage would fail her. She’d been thinking about this, had been considering it for a long while before the mirror, before her family came back into their lives. She had lain awake thinking of it as she was cradled in his arms, had almost spoken it into being numerous times in post-coital bliss or in quiet, happy moments. It had never been quite the right time - something had always come up - whether it be some small quarrel they had, some playful remark that derailed her line of thought, or simple cowardice. She’d let her lingering doubts serve as excuses, but the idea never went away for long. This finally felt like the right time, to finally fully open herself to him, to let her faith and love and trust shine through in actions, as well as words.

She felt her hand shake, tears threatening to blur her vision, and swallowed hard.

“I figured I would say this sooner or later, or if I’d kept letting my cowardice win then later than sooner, to be frank. It’s been on my mind for…. Well, I’m not even sure how long, but it’s been a long time. It first crossed my mind that it would make sense, politically - legally it would make sense as well: properties, assets, all that - and no one would question the legitimacy of our union, would solidify alliances and our good standing, and-”

Her words were cut off by a soft laugh. He leaned in, keeping his hand over her unusually fast heart, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Keep going,” he urged, his tremulous voice filled with a hunger she barely recognized, and although he was smiling, his eyes were misty and intensely focused, as if not a single other thing existed in the world besides her, and him, and this moment. “I think I’d rather like to hear what else you have to say.”

She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, so she gave up trying. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I love you.”

“I’m aware,” Astarion responded, the picture of patience. “And you’re well aware of how much I adore you in turn.”

“This isn’t… politically it does make sense,” she said again, knowing full well she was repeating herself. “But I don’t want you to think that, I- I’m not doing this because it makes sense. It- that’s not it, and I’ve just been thinking it and it’s not that, do you un-”

This time it was his lips on hers that interrupted her, a soft caress that was unhurried and filled with nothing but reassurance. He held the back of her head, keeping her close. She allowed herself to melt against his parted lips, allowed his tongue to slip in and explore her, but he barely dipped in before retreating. He didn’t speak, merely gave her a small nod, thumb wiping away a falling tear.

She took several deep breaths, collecting her thoughts as best she could; she was appalled how much she had fumbled it thus far. “I’ve thought about saying it so many times, and in just as many ways. When I was lying in your arms, when I’d made you laugh, over meals, when we talked about our plans, even when we argued…” She shook her head. “Gods, even before that. I fantasized about it that first night in the clearing - stupid and naive, I know, but there it is. It just kept popping into my head, ever-present, always a wonderful daydream that I daren’t speak into existence. I was afraid I’d ruin it.. I knew… I knew it would seem cold, calculated, because there is so much benefit to our goals in it, and I didn’t want it to be for that. I didn’t want to say it when you might think it was only about that, because it isn’t, not at all. And then the time never felt quite right, and I was so scared of making you feel it was cheapened by politics…” She sighed, pausing again to gather her courage.

The words finally managed to leave her mouth. “I want… forever. I want what you wanted, all this time. To be real.” Another shaky breath, and she saw the smile on his face fade, replaced by an eagerness framed with such tenderness it almost broke her. “I was your first. I want to be your last. I want you to marry me. Say yes, please.”

“Ban,” Astarion chuckled. It was a soft, wet sound, his sniffling ruining the intended effect. “You merely had to say ‘will you marry me’ and it would have sufficed.” He flapped a hand dramatically. “You could have gone with some quip, like ‘if you turned me into your bride, why don’t we make it real’ or some comment about how I already call you my wife…” He trailed off as he realized she’d begun to sob, shoulders shaking.

“Love… yes. Of course yes!” He shook his head at the utter idiocy of this moment, of how she’d assumed, even for a moment, that he’d refuse, as if all that babble wasn’t just his own nervousness coming to the fore, the old theatrics a way to defuse strong emotions. He pulled her to him tightly, pressing her to him, his joy overwhelming him as he felt her return the hug with just as much strength.

Yes. Of course, yes. Astarion recognized it for what it was - a large step - and felt joy suffuse him. I am seen, chosen, cherished, loved… I am enough! Everything he’d wanted and had ever needed, condensed into the being of this magnificent person he held in his arms. He pulled away to peer at her face and she shied away, cuddling deeper against him, as if she could stay there forever to avoid his prying eyes.

“Darling, your tears will stain my shirt,” he chided, as if he wasn't crying himself, tears streaking all over his own face. There was a muffled sorry and she let him go, her hands moving to cover her face; he was quick enough, however, and caught her wrists.

“There’s no need to hide, nor cry for that matter,” he murmured, blinking his own tears away. “This is a happy moment. We’re to be wedded, for real this time - not that it matters, really,” he scoffed. “I’ve considered us husband and wife for, gods, I don’t even know how long.” That made her smile, at least, and she finally opened her eyes, although she hadn’t looked him in the face yet.

“Do indulge your to-be-husband, Ban. First, don’t enlist a cleric to officiate the ceremony. I won’t stand for religious prattle. And second, I want to be wed quickly. No more than a month.”

“A month we can do. As for the other, I was thinking Ulder might help us,” she finally said. He blinked in surprise, impressed.

“So you have planned this,” he mused. “You figured you could pull favors from dear Wyll’s old man, get a wonderful ceremony, and consolidate political influence, all in one fell swoop.” He clapped his hands in amusement. “I’m impressed.”

“Well there was also the fact that I get to marry you,” she quipped, eyes still pointedly staring at his chin instead of his face.

Astarion placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face up. “I know,” he murmured. “I know all too well.”

He leaned in close, slotting his lips against hers. This time he didn’t pull away, allowing the kiss to intensify. He waited for her to part her lips then pushed his tongue in, tasting and devouring. Finding a fang, he pressed his tongue against it, longing for her to taste him.

When they parted he was breathless, eyes locked onto her face. “How long have you been considering this?”

“A while,” came the answer, spoken hurriedly as he pulled her on top of him, lying back onto the dewy grass. “After the clearing, it was a daydream - a silly, romantic wish. I first thought of it as more than a fantasy, in terms of the political benefits, shortly after we reconciled, but of course didn’t really think seriously on it then. In terms of when it became something I definitely wanted, for myself - for us… When we had the ball to celebrate our first year. I could see us doing that, but instead of celebrating an anniversary, it would be our wedding.”

“Then why not ask me earlier? That was months ago.” He shivered at the feeling of her lips pressing against the base of his ear; Ban was obviously seeking to correct previous shortcomings. He felt her trail a small path of kisses across his jaw, and then the underside and down his throat. He sat up a bit, propping himself up on his elbows, baring his neck to her, a plea for her to continue. “Did you think I would be so foolish as to decline forever with you, when that’s all I’ve longed for?”

“I thought you would find the ceremony involved trite; like you said, you already obviously considered us wedded,” Ban said. “I also didn’t want you to think it was merely a political move. I didn’t know how to make it romantic and not… pragmatic.” There was a quick pause and then her lips were replaced by fangs, cautiously scraping against his skin, far more hesitant than he would have been. The sensation sent a wave of delight straight to his groin, regardless. “I apologize that I haven’t been feeding from you. It’s not you. I- it’s taken a long time to be comfortable with what I am now.”

“Forgiven.” Astarion purred as her hand wrapped around his nape, guiding his head to the angle she desired. Fingers caressed the curls at the base of his neck, sending more shivers racing along his body. He’d known of her issues coming to terms with her undeath - he’d been hoping learning how to use her powers would help finally ease her into it. That being why she rarely sank her fangs into him was a significant relief, chasing even more of his concerns away. “It is trite,” he admitted, a small sigh escaping his lips as he pressed his hips against hers. “As much as I do agree - doing so will solidify your legitimacy as my partner, afford you more respect, provide a wondrous opportunity to host a grand ball, provide ample chance for mingling, and bind us together in a new way, one that I want very much. I am no fool; I am not incapable of knowing both can be true at the same time.”

“I know you’re not. I just didn’t want you to-”

“To be hurt,” he agreed, placing a hand over his chest dramatically, the effect significantly lessened by the fact that he was painfully hard. The comfort at her openness, in the acknowledgment of his hurts, the balm of her promises, the all-encompassing joy of their engagement, the pleasant weight of her straddling him, grinding against him, the press of her fangs against his neck… It all blended, forming an irresistible cocktail of desire. “Darling. I’m touched. A little insulted you’d think me that incognizant,” he chuckled as she huffed at him, “but very, very glad you have thought of me - worried for me.”

“That being sa-'' he began to say, but the words were aborted in favor of a low, undignified whine as her fangs finally found their mark, sinking into his neck. Pain and icy coldness spread from the pinprick wounds as she drank - rather clumsily in his opinion - the pain quickly followed by pleasure. His hips bucked as her fingers gently traced the edge of his ear. “You- ah- might want to suck and then swallow, instead of… whatever it is you’re attempting to do.” He shifted to center his cock against her, allowing her to feel all of him with every grind of her hips.

Ban opened her mouth to snap out a retort, forgetting to lick the wounds to stem the flow beforehand. Blood gushed and she swore, tongue immediately latching onto his neck to seal them shut.

Astarion snorted. “Messy, Ban. Whatsoever would you do if you actually did have to drink someone dry? You’d have half of it spill.” He took a look at his shirt and sighed. “There’s also the fact that you ruined my sh…”

He cut off with a groan, her wicked tongue lapping harder at his neck, sliding down to his collarbone, licking the blood that had pooled there. A soft snap heralded his shirt being torn open, buttons flying off in every direction, baring his chest. There was another sharp flash of painful pleasure as she nipped at the hard planes of his chest, nicking him slightly above a nipple; he opened his eyes to see her licking at the small rivulets of blood.

“Fuck the shirt,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously. “I want you to forget everything but my name.”

He swallowed, his skin feeling a little too tight, and his cock gave a long throb at her words. He was rather taken aback, surprised by the uncommon forwardness; he delighted in it, in fact. “You’ll have to try harder than that.” Not that he thought she’d have a hard time of it - Ban knew him as well as he her, and all she had to do was place her finger-

But that wasn’t a finger, was it?

She’d slid up his body again, pressed a kiss against his lips - quick and hurried - and before he knew it she’d taken his ear into her mouth, sucking it once. Hard.

The sensation was gone as soon as it came - wet and hot and tingling all around his ear, almost overwhelmingly intense for that split second. He whined at its loss, hips violently jerking up against hers, cock straining against his trousers.

There was want, there was need, but there was also desperation.

“You utter…” He shook his head. “Where did you learn that from?” More, he thought, I need more.

Ban laughed, pulling away to shoot him a wry grin. “A couple of suggestions from friends, here and there…”

He groaned. “Shadowheart?”

“Perhaps.”

He felt her hand snake down, wrapping around his clothed length; his hips canted upwards of their own accord to meet her, seeking friction. The other hand traced an ear, tongue swirling around a nipple and gods he refused to come like this, at least not tonight…

“That’s quite enough.” There was no bite in his tone - he thought it impossible at the moment - but she paused long enough for him to lean her back until she was underneath him. One long, hard thrust - pressing his cock against her, fabric the only thing between them and oh gods he could feel how wet she was - and he pulled away enough to flip her over.

“Was it too much?” She propped herself up, looking at him over her shoulder with careful, slightly concerned eyes. Astarion shook his head.

“On the contrary; I want more of it, much more - but later, else this won’t be a long enough nor a worthy enough encounter for our engagement night.” He considered her, laid out in front of him, eyes and body beckoning to him. “On your stomach, darling,” he whispered, pleased at how quickly she obeyed, lying flat and resting her head on her hands, the muscled expanse of her back and ass presented to him. He ran his hands up the back of her legs, slipping under her dress, fingers digging into each ass cheek before rucking the garment up and off, tossing it to the side.

She turned to look at him, amused. This he matched with a wry grin of his own as he sat up and made a show of stripping off his trousers - slowly undoing the laces, hooking his fingers under the waistband and tugging them down inch by painstaking inch to reveal pale, perfect hipbones, running a hand over the tented outline of his cock, causing her to bite back a moan. She knew Astarion was fully aware of how he looked: bloody shirt torn open, wounds already closing, grass in his hair, cockhead finally slipping out of his trousers. He stroked himself again, eyes locked onto her.

“Hurry up, you tease,” she admonished, rolling her hips to briefly lift her ass up in the air.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Trousers and underwear were roughly tugged down and kicked off. He crawled towards her and she began to spread her legs in anticipation, but he stopped her with a gentle touch. Guiding her thighs back together, he slid his legs on either side of hers. He grasped himself as he shoved her underwear to the side, sliding across her folds, rubbing himself against her.

She watched him throughout all this, her look of amusement changing into one of lust. He gave her one last smug smirk, then slowly sank inside her; the position made the fit deliciously tight, but she was so wet he slipped in without difficulty, burying himself to the hilt. They both groaned when his balls pressed against her.

He leaned forwards, palms gripping the small of her back, thrusting into her. Utterly perfect, that tight, wet, heat that was taking him so well, the feeling of being home. His thrusts gradually lost their slow pace as his self control dissipated. With every stroke he could hear her moan, feel her clenching all around him in an exquisite rhythm that was only her, could only ever be her-

He wrapped his hands around her waist, urging her to sit up. He sent an image over their connection, showing her what he wanted, and she had to bite back a moan of anticipation. He knelt as her legs slipped out from under him, watched hungrily as she straddled him, her back arching against his chest as she slid down onto his length once more. Her ass was pressed wonderfully against him and she began to ride him slowly, gliding her hips languorously, keeping him deep inside her. He rolled his hips up into her, working with the rhythm of her movements, slipping a hand lower to part her folds and find her clit, tracing circles in a slow but insistent pattern.

“Astarion, I love you,” she groaned out. “I’ve always loved you. Have always wanted you, longed for you, needed you. You… you deserve everything - love, happiness, the world. I haven’t been the best at giving it to you, but I swear I will. I’ll love you and cherish you and choose you, over and over again, in every lifetime and beyond. My life didn’t really even start until you. You were my real beginning, my future… you’ll be with me at the end, and for every step in between. You’re the part I’ve always been missing, the half that makes me whole, the other half of my soul. There’s only ever been you, there will only ever be you.” She was babbling, words spilling freely, words she had kept behind walls for so long.

Words he had always needed to hear. Words that only fueled his desire and joy, that brought tears to his eyes and drew a whimper from his lips, hips thrusting faster in response. What he had hoped she’d be to him for so long, finally reciprocated. In her own words, yes, but very much the same. He breathed the words out into their bond, hoping she understood.

My thiramin. Finally. My very own. I’ve waited for you for so long.

They both sighed, both overwhelmed by the headiness of the moment, their bodies moving in unison. Their grinding gradually began losing rhythm as they both approached their peak, the quiet gasps and groans becoming more urgent. His hand snaked up her body to her neck, fingers wrapping below her chin to pull her head back; she felt him press his lips against her pulse, then replace them with fangs.

“I should show you how it’s done,” he purred. “How to bite perfectly, to suck, to swallow, to lick.” Each word was accompanied by the action itself. A small nip, enough to break skin and draw blood, then pleasant suction, and then loud, exaggerated swallows, accompanied by moans of satisfaction breathed right beside her ear. In conjunction with those talented fingers on her clit and the unhurried rhythm of their lovemaking, it was almost too much, but she never wanted to stop.

She leaned into his touch, arching her back and neck to give him even more access. Tangling her fingers in his curls, she tugged, urging his head forward. He followed her lead, eyes closed. She could tell he was close, possibly even closer than she was - his short, rapid panting, the now-frantic rolling of his hips, the fingers on her clit losing their tempo - she saw it all, saw her husband lost in her, lost in his pleasure and joy, and she intended to give him more.

He was pressed tightly against her, jaw digging into her shoulder as he drank from her neck, his eyes roved down her body, watching everything. He was so focused, so lost, he didn’t even register her movement as she shifted to wrap her lips around his ear again. She took it in and gave a long, firm lick and then a sudden suck, swallowing as she did.

She felt him come before she heard it - the sharp, hard jerk of his hips, the sudden, violent slam of his cock so deep inside her it bordered on pain, and the fingers on her neck tightened, overwhelming her with sensation. His loud, whimpered gasp followed a half a heartbeat later, quickly chased by his low, guttural moan as he spilled inside her. The feeling was so intimate, so delicious, so perfect and she came undone as well, clenching tightly around him over and over as their joint pleasure took them both.

Perfect, his cock buried in her, her spasming around every inch of him, his fingers working her through their orgasms. Suddenly, their minds linked, each reaching for the other at their peak, reveling in the joy and the love and the overwhelming pleasure the other felt. Her clit, his cock, his hand on her neck, her fingers in his curls, his ear between her lips, her nails digging into his thigh - every sensation mixed together in a golden spiral that was magnificent and wonderful and beautiful and euphoric and consuming and it was everything and then suddenly it became too much. They instinctively drew away from the contact, the edges of it having become too keen, leaving them both overstimulated, overwhelmed, and a bit delirious.

Their bodies slowed in unison and they collapsed into each other as the last waves washed over them. She leaned heavily against him; he released her neck and held her close.

“That,” Ban said, licking her lips shakily, “was new.”

“Far newer than even you intended,” he agreed. “I however found it glorious - both things, in case you were wondering.”

Ban nodded. “That last thing we’ll have to use sparingly, I think. I…” she sighed, feeling lightheaded. It was amazing, far more intense than the time they’d melded minds while touching themselves before their reconciliation. Remember, Ban, openness, she admonished herself. She found it easy to do, suddenly realizing the lack had been more a force of habit than any actual need to hide, for awhile now. “It was amazing, much more intense than when we shared our pleasure from afar.” Her voice was quiet, almost distant, her mind struggling to retain thoughts in the aftermath.

“Agreed.” Astarion’s voice cut through the haze in her head, and he slowly repositioned them, turning her in his arms to cradle her in his lap. She could see him peering at her, the concern in his gaze obvious. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, just a bit adrift, like my mind is more exhausted than my body. I do think I’ll need a break after this, though,” she admitted.

He hummed softly, thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be a good time to bring back that idea we had - that little game we wanted to play. We agreed on a tenday, yes?”

Ban chuckled, tickled even through her exhaustion. “I’ll do you one better. Not until our wedding.”

“Not until-” Astarion cursed. “Gods. You are evil, you know that? You give me the best meal of my life and then decide on a month-long fast - evil. Unmercifully, unrepentantly evil.”

“It’s a yes or a no, Astarion.”

He smiled, seemingly pleased at the prospect despite his complaints. “It is not unprecedented amongst elven mates, to fast in this way, for long periods, to heighten the pleasure…” he mused, a devilish smirk blooming at the thought. “I’d very much like to see how intense things can be after a month’s respite.”

“Yes, or no,” she pressed.

He laughed. “Yes, darling. Yes to everything.”

To every question she’d asked today, to every one she would ask from this little game to eternity - yes.

Bonus: Was listening to this song while writing this chapter!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

[sno-the-silly-guy]

ANALYZING Subspace's Character Through Dialogue To Come To The Closest Approximation We Can Of His Personality

ALT TITLE: I start losing it over snippets of dialogue from an evil scientist

I like Subspace. Funny guy. But recently, I had an identity crisis and I realised I have no idea what his personality is anymore, so today we'll be going through most of his dialogue to uncover the DARK SECRETS of what he's really like! (Spoilers: there isn't much)

DISCLAIMER: I am not the authority on Subspace. DO NOT use this to put other people down about their headcanons. All of this could be wildly inaccurate when the Phighting lore is released in 2030.

Very long essay under the cut! Also i'm not sure if this is like an actual analysis, it's more just,,, making conclusions from his dialogue

Backstory

The backstory of a character is vital to figuring out who they are. So, i'll go over what I know of Subspaces backstory. This part is gonna be a little iffy, as it is the most reliant on my memory of what the devs have said about him and not his actual dialogue. But enough preamble, lets do a quick summary!

The farthest back we know is that Subspace is working at Blackrock with Medkit. Subspace only dislikes Medkit a little at the moment.

One day, Medkit and Subspace presumably have a disagreement, which causes Subspace to lash out and rip out his eye. Medkit, in self-defense, gives Subspace a major injury, causing his right arm and the left side of his face to slowly rot away, all while spreading to the rest of him.

Sometime after this incident, Subspace hires Hyperlaser as a mercenary. And three years ago from the current day, he created the Biografts. Possibly, currently working on a new type of Biograft.

Character Motivation

Next, we figure out his character motivation in the context of Phighting. This is a step i've singled out from his personality, as I believe it is quite important. So, lets go over a couple theories!

1: Getting revenge on Medkit

This is likely, but there is one part that stands out to me, as Hyperlaser does not make any mention of trying to attack Medkit. Strange considering he works for Subspace. (the closest acknowledgement of this is HL: "Just for you, Subspace.")

The biografts do target Medkit (BG: "TARGET SPOTTED", "I HAVE COMPLETED THE ULTIMATE MISSION"). Subspace, when talking to Broker on the phone, also presumably asks him for Medkit's location. (Broker: "No, I don't know anybody by that name.") He's also shown to be vengeful, as one of his losing dialogues is (SS: "I will get my revenge!!")

It can be safe to assume that Subspace is looking for Medkit, but this progress is halted by the True Eye Church.

2: Power/Fame

Subspace is seen numerous times trying to gain power, being friendly to anyone who has a higher status than him, and seemingly burying himself in his work for Blackrock, which he believes gives him fame. The most prominent example of this is his dialogue with Banhammer, where he tries to be less weird. It is also referenced in a comic by Soda, where he tries to suck-up to Banhammer (though he fails miserably.)

I can't find it anywhere, but i'm also pretty sure that it's been explicitly stated that he does this.

Either option is pretty likely. He could also want both!

General Personality

This is based off of my own view of what he's like, but I will try to provide as much evidence for all of my claims as I can.

First of all, he's very showy. He wants people to think that he's cool and menacing. He gets offended when people have a different perception to how he views himself. (VS: "Oh! That outfit is cute! Where did you get it?" SS: "Cute!? I'll have you know that this outfit was custom tailored for Blackrock's finest!! Which, of course, is ME!!") (SCY: "Say... Do I know ya from somewhere?" SS: "Of course!! Who hasn't heard of me?? For I am the genius Subspace T. Mine!!")

He also has art depicting him showing off his scars to the viewer, which reinforces this point. He also lies to keep up his persona. (MK: "I'm surprised your body is still holding up." SS: "You didn't do that much to me!!") (BH: "Are all the experiments at Blackrock ethical?" SS: "Of course!!") Despite all this, he isn't good at convincing others of perceived excellence.

He isn't against doing whatever if he thinks it would help him gain more power. He doesn't care for most people. (the non-consensual experiments, the way he talks to Vine Staff etc etc). He is not above snitching. (SS: "I'll have the warden know about this!!")

He's passive-agressive when talking to Medkit, and he seems to get a kick out of calling him a nickname. He only does this to annoy Medkit, because when he is seemingly talking to himself, he addresses Medkit properly. (SS: "How nice it is to see my best friend Medkit once again!!" compared to "Hey Meddy!! How great it is that we get to see each other again?!")

As seen by drawings from Soda, Subspace enjoys it when people are willing to listen to him talking about what he's interested in, especially his scientific developments. He doesn't care about what others are interested in, or any of their worries. (BB: "Any type of music you like, Subspace?" SS: "The screams of the poisoned!!" BB: "Interesting...") (SS: "Another healer?! We could use someone like that back at the lab!!" VS: "...I think I'll pass.") (VS: Be careful not to consume your own poison." SS: "I don't need any advice!!)

He doesn't seem to be aware of how difficult he is to talk to. He doesn't understand sarcasm very well (literally every medkit conversation. SS: "How's that eye doing, Meddy??" MK: "It's doing great, I think i'll be able to see out of it again soon." SS: "Really?!" MK: "No.") (NOTE: I'm not sure how genuine Subspace is when talking to Medkit. Take this point with a grain of salt.)

He gets excited when he is right about something pertaining to science. (SS: "MY INVENTION!! IT WORKED!!") He's generally passionate about his field of study.

He's been described as loud and obnoxious numerous times. (HL: "Finally some peace and quiet." MK: "How long do you think you can keep that mouth shut, Subspace? [...]") His dialogue also implies this, as all of his sentences are ended with double exclamation marks (!!) or an interrobang. (?!)

He, without a doubt, enjoys seeing/hearing people in pain, and murder. He literally tortures people for fun. All of his kill dialogue is the main example for this.

TL:DR: Passionate about science. Wants to be perceived as cool so he takes the opportunity to show off, will lie in order to further this aim, but most demons aren't impressed. Doesn't care for most people, and will do whatever it takes to be powerful/famous. Gets on most peoples nerves, but will try to annoy people he doesn't like. Loves being listened to. Loud and obnoxious. His favourite hobby is torture!

Micellaneous information

Heres some tidbits I found hard to fit in the personality section, that are also important.

He has no sense of taste, due to his rot! He also has spiky teeth!

He's been described as well known but not famous. I suppose you would only know his name if you had an interest in his specialty, like if you needed to keep up with scientific developments.

He doesn't listen to music. Unless you count screaming, that is.

He's only stuttered once, when Scythe bullies him. (SCY: "Or what? Yer gonna run back to yer little robots and cry?" SS: "I-I refuse to answer such a stupid question!!") This implies that he's lying, and that he uses his robots as free therapy. He does not stutter when lying to Banhammer though, but it's still something to consider.

I believe it has been said that he's on painkillers constantly.

Author's Notes

Again, this is not the CANON LORE, this is just my interpretation of the character. I am equally likely to be completely wrong or right on the money. This is just for fun!! (and to prove i have done my research)

Also nobody is talking about Broker phone dialogue. Help me. Why does Broker give sass to Hyperlaser, but not Subspace. He has equal reasons to dislike both, unless he's somehow afraid of Subspace (unlikely since Scythe is fine bullying him) or he doesn't like Medkit (massive implications???). Whats up with that.

I'm still not over the fact that he only calls Medkit "Meddy" when he's talking to him. What a loser. /aff

Thank you Phighting wiki on miraheze for compiling all the dialogue. I wouldn't have been able to make this without it!

[theambitiouswoman]

How To Get Started Investing In The Stock Market

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[japhan2024]

THE ISLAND

Read the entire fic on AO3

Chapter 9: The crash

Things have taken a turn. What will Dave Dilford do now he's unemployed? Also, Ian, Shayne and Courtney are flying on Air Force 1. But Ian senses something's not right...

Chapter word count: 1.503

Rating: teen

“Effective immediately, Defy Media has ceased business.”

As soon as he read the e-mail, Dave Dilford dropped his phone.

“What the hell?!”

He scrambled to pick it back up. His custom Roblox case fell off, but he didn’t have time to put it back. He immediately called every member of the board.

“Shit! Pick up, you boring fucks!”

Noone responded.

As he walked out of his office, into the hall, several other people were already standing there. They were holding their phones and stared at each other with expressions of disbelief and just dumbfoundedness.

“Is it really true?” Dave mumbled, more to himself than to his colleagues. But one of them said, “yeah, we’re unemployed now.”

Suddenly, a junior consultant ran through the hall, screaming, “LET’S SET THIS BUILDING ON FIREEEE”.

This got everyone out of their trance, and they all walked to the lunch hall where people were already rioting.

“Hecox…” Dave balled his fists and punched one against the wall. In the chaos that surrounded him, nobody even noticed. He screamed and stormed out of the building.

Still fuming, and with a sore hand, he drove home in his Volkswagen Atlas Cross Sport. He was deep in thought. His plans were all ruined now. Helping this new guy win over the U.S. with a smile and a wink and nod, and memes. Dave had hoped to become chief of communications in the Hecox administration.

At home in his small living room, he switched on the tv. The news had just now broken about Defy.

“It is a grim day for president Hecox. Donors have fled ever since he shared his extreme and populist agenda. And now, superPAC Defy Media has stopped operations. Hecox’s radical decisions have been quite popular with the people but the former power players in Washington are not happy. Without access to the president, how can they advance their interests?”

“Hecox! You ruined me!” Dave stood up and called a number.

~

Ian, Shayne and Courtney entered Air Force One. They were headed to a foreign country to broker peace talks and try to get some sort of ceasefire deal.

“I love the country,” Courtney said. They were absolutely rocking a hot pink blazer and shorts. “But I don’t see how we’re going to stop this conflict… it’s gone on for so long.” They looked out of the window as the plane ascended.

“Yeah, and the people are so friendly! Why is it that good people elect terrible leaders so often? No offense, Ian.” Shayne shot Ian a playful smirk.

“None taken, man. Just wait until I decree statues of myself all over the world, with a huge dong of course.”

“Actually, that would be pretty awesome.”

Ian and Shayne often bantered like this, and Ian found some solace in it. But even so, he would love someone who would shock HIM with something outrageous. And Shayne had tried but never succeeded, at least not yet.

“It would be, right?”

“Guys!” Courtney said fake-exasperated.

After a few hours had passed, Ian looked out of the window. He saw blue skylines in every direction. And he got an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was this it?

He tried to act cool. “Shouldn’t we be there yet?”

Shayne was totally relaxed. “Maybe some high-altitude winds or something?”

“Only high-altitude wind here is Courtney’s passing gas all the time.”

“Hey!” Courtney protested with a burp.

Shayne kissed them on the cheek.

“Yall are disgusting,” Ian joked. But he couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

“We haven’t heard from the pilot once yet, right? I find it a bit odd. Could you check with them on why we’re taking a detour?”

“Sure!” Shayne walked up to the cockpit.

~

They were falling, fast.

“What’s happening?!”

Courtney stumbled towards the cockpit where Shayne had disappeared just moments ago. Where was he? But then they heard shots, and a couple of loud thuds.

“Shayne!” Courtney shrieked. “Shayne!!”

No answer. The door of the cockpit was locked.

The oxygen was quickly running out and their vision became blurry. They banged their fists on the closed door, then tried to claw it open.

“Shayne, honey… please hold on… I’m… I’m on my way…”

~

What was left of the plane, was quickly filling with water and beginning to sink.

A black boat appeared out of the thick mist that lay over the water. And a guy dressed in all black dove in. He was under for a long time.

Tommy nearly fainted as he held his breath, standing on deck. He really didn’t like the sea. He did respect it, he wanted the best for it, but he didn’t want to be in, on or even near it. And he certainly didn’t want Spencer to risk his life diving around a sinking plane.

Tommy and Spencer had been stealthily following a speedboat. But their plans had dramatically changed as they saw Air Force 1 fall out of the sky.

Spencer immediately went into GI Joe mode. It was like a switch had flicked inside of him. From goofy and lovable back to being a dangerous spy.

He resurfaced with not one but two people. They were both unconscious.

Panting, he handed the bodies to Tommy. “Do you know CPR?”

“Uhm, uhh..” Tommy was stuttering. “Y- Yes, I am OSHA-certified…”

“Quickly, save their lives, I’m going back in.”

“But Spe-” and he was gone. Damn.

Tommy tried his hardest. The first person, a beefy blonde guy, barfed up some sea water and came to his senses. At first, he just blinked and tried to reorient himself. But then he saw the other person. He jumped up.

“Courtney!” Shayne cried, horrified.

“I’m going to try to get her back,” Tommy tried to reassure him.

Shayne kneeled at Courtney’s side and squeezed their hand. He was bleeding but he only had eyes for his beloved Courtney. Tears ran down his face, or maybe it was water still running down from his hair. “Please, save them…”

Tommy kept pumping, blowing air into their lungs… Shayne screamed, it was horrible to see someone so distraught up-close.

Finally, a whole heap of water catapulted out of Courtney.

They slowly opened their eyes. “Hmm, still better than My Favorite Coffee.”

Shayne took them into his arms and hugged them so tightly, Courtney winced.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, honey, are you okay?”

“As okay as you could be after a plane crash, I guess.” They said it so matter-of-factly that both Shayne and Tommy laugh-cried.

“Thank you so much, mister, for helping us. What an incredible coincidence that you just happened to be here!”

“Yeah, about that…” Tommy began, but Spencer resurfaced again.

“We have to go,” he said urgently.

“Where is the president?!” Shayne and Courtney protested.

“The president?!” Tommy gasped.

“NOW!” Spencer commanded and shuttled all of them into the cabin of the boat. He went out on deck once more and released a couple of lifeboats.

“That’s the best I can do for now, president Hecox, I’m sorry. But I’ve met my match.”

Spencer couldn’t believe it. All his years of experience couldn’t have prepared him for this.

There were several adversaries on board the sinking plane. How that could even happen was beyond him. But he fought most of them off easily, his martial arts training paying off handsomely.

Only one of them remained. Spencer had a hard time cornering him.

It wasn’t even a guard or a terrorist. He looked like some tech-bro or something. a sickly pale skin color, bags under his eyes… but a terrifying fire lay within them. Spencer had never known fear until he saw that face. His entire body told him this man was dangerous.

They brawled for a while but neither of them could get the upper hand. Until the guy took a can of gasoline that was randomly aboard the plane and got a golden anime-boob lighter out of his wet jorts.

“But the president is still out there!” Spencer had shouted, catching the guy off-guard.

“He’s still out there?! Okay, that’s even better!”

Dave licked his lips maniacally, and spat, “I am going to blow this shit up, so you better run, boy!”

Spencer was ashamed to say that he did run.

But there was still no explosion. Should he turn back? Had he failed? Spencer’s world was spinning.

A warm hand touched his shoulder, bringing him back to earth.

“Spencer?”

“Oh. Hey.”

Tommy hugged him.

“Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Thank you for saving those people’s lives.”

“We saved them together…” Tommy walked his fingers around Spencer’s neckline.

“I was pretty awesome, I’ll admit. It kinda felt like a Solid Snake mission.”

“Oh my god!” Tommy couldn’t help but laugh. Why was this FBI-agent also a gamer?

“Hey. Want an ice cream?” Spencer caught him off-guard.

“We have those on board?”

“Of course.”

Tommy blushed. “Spencer… you know exactly what I need.”

“Do I, now?”

Tommy got all four of them ice creams.

[ohblackdiamond]

paulventures in florida

first off, this would not have been remotely possible without my dear friend @elrohare who generously, and incredibly, asked if i'd be her +1 to this event. I'm eternally grateful for a wonderful time.

friends, romans, countrymen, lend me your ears--

wait, that's not right.

HEY, PEE-PUL--

On 2/23/24, Cynthia and I met Paul Stanley and had dinner with him. 

Our full weekend adventure eventually ended up taking us all around the sovereign state of Florida, a state I have not (been) driven around since 1998, when my family went on a trip to Disney World.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many palm trees or so much Spanish moss.

But you don’t wanna hear about the insane roads of Florida, you wanna hear about Paul.  We’ll get there.

I was running on approximately four hours of sleep due to having taken a 7 a.m. flight in order to ensure I would be able to see Paul in the first place.  Was Paul actually due to show up around 7 p.m.?  Yes.  Did I care?  No.  It was not exactly a short drive from the Orlando airport where Cynthia picked me up  to the Hard Rock hotel/casino in Hollywood (Florida) where the gallery was.  We had to guarantee our presence (and I had to guarantee that there would be room for error should my flight be delayed!).  Once we were at the Wentworth gallery, Cynthia’s art broker, Laura, showed her one of her pieces. Laura also mentioned offhand that “he (Paul Stanley) was just here earlier” and I believe she may have showed us a picture of him at the gallery– I know she said he was nice.  Inside of the gallery was a small section with a table full of different sharpies (gold, silver, black) and he had scribbled on a piece of paper or something on the table to test one out. 

Cynthia determined she could only fit one of the paintings in her trunk and would have to have the other shipped.  She took care of those details and afterwards asked when we should be there for Paul– we were told that, of course, around seven was it but if we wanted to poke over at 6 or 6:30, we could.  She encouraged us to hang around and shop/etc. if we wanted, but honestly, the mall aspect of the casino was fairly paper-thin and if you weren’t gambling and weren’t super-enamoured with the (admittedly cool) water/fountain light show, you weren’t going to be entertained for hours on end.  Fortunately, obsessing over our upcoming meeting/dinner was entertaining enough when it wasn’t nerving us both out! 

We had some discussion on whether we should show up at the gallery again right at 6 or not, and ended up kind of poking over and realizing that the gallery hadn’t exactly filled up at that point.  We ended up poking back in at 6:30, which was ideal.  Directly outside the gallery (you could only really stick around in there if you’d purchased or were very interested in purchasing a painting, due to the meet and greet aspect that was going to happen there in the back) was starting to get a bit crowded and that only continued– fans with things they were hoping to get signed/hoping he would look at (there was a gorgeous drawing of eighties Paul that a girl was holding up that she’d done!)-- but I think a lot of them just wanted to get a glimpse of Paul. 

Cynthia and I made some small talk with the other gallery-goers, including a nice couple, Heather and her partner, Eric. Heather was wearing a really pretty purple gradient dress while Eric had a blazer with a custom-made purple shirt underneath that had the Starchild makeup on it.  They were pretty invested, especially Eric, though they’d done these events before.  It was cute how Heather would come back over and say “I think he’s bought another one….” (Heather also was trying to ensure there would be a non-meat option at the dinner for Eric due to Lent.)  

I noticed that every so often someone from the gallery would open a door at the back (near the Sharpie table), say something, and then shut it, so I was pretty sure that Paul was right behind there, which terrified me.  But then he just suddenly appeared only a couple feet from us, which was more terrifying (to me) and I sort of immediately tried not to look his way for fear of– aw, geez, I don’t know; I have a lot of feelings.

“Who’re you here to see?” he said, and the small crowd (myself included) immediately answered back with “Paul!!” 

He was smiling– he was smiling a lot.  I have encountered Paul prior on Kruises and I’d honestly never seen him look nearly that happy at those.  Maybe it’s because he’s really a mermaid and is really bitter every time KISS goes out to sea, but honestly, it’s probably mostly because he gets seasick and getting stuck on a ship for five days with a couple thousand rabid fans is probably not his idea of a good time. 

Dinner with about 20-30 rabid fans apparently was right up his alley, though!

We had been told prior to Paul’s arrival that we were third in line for him.  I had brought Mandate but this was more something I’d feel out– I’d said to Cynthia way beforehand that if it didn’t get signed/didn’t feel right to try to get signed, that was fine because after all, I was there as a plus-one.  I will honestly admit that seeing him look like he felt that good made me feel like maybe the magazine would ruin his demeanor– anyway, while we could’ve watched any and all of the other meet and greets, I really wanted to let everyone else have their space/time– I did not want to be creeping around trying to get extra shots of him or anything. 

I was also just extremely nervous.  I think we both were! 

We were called up around maybe 7:10 or 7:15.  I wanted to make sure I didn’t cut into Cynthia’s time and also make sure I was not weird, either.  Paul was great. He immediately complimented Cynthia’s star dress, which she said she’d worn in his honor and curtsied very cutely.  She introduced herself and shook his hand; then I introduced myself and shook his hand, and then she talked to him about seeing the last MSG show and about Evan being there and how cool that was (to have him opening for KISS’ last show); he said it wouldn’t be the last time (for Evan).  He said something about how MSG was special (paraphrase) or that it was a special time, something like that.

Then he said he guessed it was time to take some pictures– they brought out first the Starchild picture, took a picture of us (one of my feet was shaking by this point so I didn’t stand too close to him), and then he said to the photographer, “I blinked” (he did not) and said quietly to Cynthia, “You get two.” 

Next was the Gene picture. Cynthia said she liked the crystals on it and he said that they were Swarovski and that they were hard to put on or took a long time to do, something along those lines. Once the photos were over, he wrote her dedication (“Cynthia, Make life a work of art, Paul Stanley”) on a black sheet of paper– I noticed as he was writing it that he went back to fix one of the letters) and Cynthia seized the chance to ask him to sign her copy of his autobiography. He was really quick about it– “Yeah, I’ll sign that,” and immediately signed the front cover.  (I told Cynthia afterwards that of course he signed the front– it had his face on it; he couldn’t help himself!)  As either this or the paper-signing was going on, the photographer handed me Cynthia’s phone back and I was so dumbstruck by everything that I just kind of looked at the phone in sheer confusion for a second or two– I think a part of me somehow thought there was something he wanted me to do with it, when in actuality he was just giving it back!  He said he’d see us soon and Cynthia corrected that we’d see him at dinner. 

“Three points,” I said as we exited (to the main area of the gallery). (I don’t usually give him any points. I have a lot of conflicting feelings about Paul, but had promised Cynthia I would not say anything disparaging about him during the duration of our time together.) We were both in a state of giddiness mixed with that feeling of it being all over mixed with anticipation. It was really the sort of feeling I’ve only had at meet and greets, but the night wasn’t over.  We stuck around the gallery, still talking to other KISS fans (one guy had the most amazing KISS shoes with the RARO cover art on them that either he or his boyfriend had painted, can’t remember– he said that Paul wanted them and he wouldn’t let him have them!).  Heather said that Eric had moved his timeslot down to the very end, but there were people that came in way later than everyone else, so I’m not sure if he actually got the last timeslot or not.  And as we were waiting, we got another meet and greet.  

This one was not so good and it was my fault.

This one was Doc McGhee’s would-be meet and greet. 

I had met Doc on a couple occasions, the last one being most memorable even if we didn’t speak.  I had a very good seat at the next-to-last MSG concert and as Doc walked down to his own seat before the show started (or possibly a song or so in– might’ve been as I was standing up!) he reached over and quickly pressed something into my hand: I opened my hand and found it was a guitar pick (I couldn’t see whose it was at that point), and immediately closed my hand and held onto it for dear life for the next two hours, only sticking it in my purse when I felt certain I wouldn’t lose it.  It’s a (worn) Paul pick– a good omen. 

Anyway, Doc just wandered in the main entrance, as Doc is wont to, and spoke to a couple people. Doc not being anywhere near as intimidating as Paul, I told Cynthia, “I’m gonna say hi to Doc” and walked over to him.

“Hey, Doc! You gave me a pick at Madison Square Garden!” 

“I did!” (I don’t think he remembered. Maybe he did.)

“Thank you!” and I shook his hand. 

Then he stood there. And stood there. He thought I had more to say to him or that I’d ask him for a selfie.  He did not expect that that was all I had to say to him. 

Doc slunk off into the shadows of the art gallery. Sorry, Doc.

Around about 9:30 or so was the dinner.  We were seated and then Paul walked in, giving a couple fistbumps on the way to our table.  There were three tables, each with 10 or less people there, and he’d be seated at the middle for each.  We were first, so we ate Caesar salad and a charcuterie board full of appetizers (salami, cheese, those little stick things, etc.) with Paul.  Paul was catty-corner to me which was insanely intimidating.  He looked me in the eye twice that I was aware of (without saying anything) and I just dove into the salami like a girl that got stood up for senior prom devouring the refreshment table.  My nerves were killing me.  Paul still looked… intimidating. I was riddled with the wounds of past experiences and the knowledge that I could say absolutely nothing to him that he had not heard before.  I couldn’t think. I could only mindlessly eat and wince as Cynthia excitedly kicked me under the table when Paul began to eat himself.  It was pretty funny, because the first couple times she kicked me, I thought that there was something she wanted me to say to Paul, but she just wanted to point out that he was eating!  

I ran out of salami and the waiter refilled my glass of water (I didn’t order any alcohol) about four times while I tried not to pay too much attention to Paul Stanley being that close to me.  That is to say, I was paying attention, but trying not to be a creep.  He was talking to a dark-haired lady sitting next to him and due to how loud it was in the restaurant, I could hear less than half of what he was saying (and only because I was straining) and basically none of what she said (he did say something about Soul Station, but as Cynthia said, we heard entirely different things regarding that particular venture, which says a lot for the amount of noise in the restaurant!).  After a point, he looked over our side of the table with an expression that was a bit “well?” i.e. “you can talk to me” without actually coming out and saying it.  He was pretty well aware that nobody on our side had really said anything to him as he consumed Caesar salad, various cheeses, etc. at our table, and he did want to give everyone the opportunity.  I was, apparently, incapable of taking said opportunity. 

Enter Patrick, who was sitting directly across from me/on the other side of Paul and whom (along with his wife, Nicole, sitting next to him) Cynthia and I had been talking with from the time we got seated on.  He had made small talk with us on the typical topic (KISS) and the two of them had been collecting Paul’s artwork since he started around ‘08 or so– this wasn’t their first rodeo.  Patrick had a loud voice that carried well.  Patrick did something that he really didn’t have to do at all, that I dearly appreciated– after talking briefly to Paul himself, he gave me the floor.

“I think you need to talk to your youngest fan (at the table).”  

Paul looked at me again.  I did not die. 

“I’m not all that young…”

I can’t remember if Paul actually asked me how old I was or not, but I said I was thirty-four.  Paul said “what?” (he didn’t hear me).  I held up my fingers in a 3 and a 4.  Paul did not understand. (I cannot overstate how hard it was to hear in that restaurant.)  Finally, I got my volume up loud enough.  “I’m thirty-four!” 

I want to say he looked surprised, but that might be wishful thinking.  I’m of mixed Asian and white descent and am very short and small.  Anyway, he responded with, “I have shoes older than you.” 

My incredibly brilliant response was “I know. … My mom’s your age so it’s fine.” (What’s fine? His 35+ year old shoes?)  Paul found this witty repartee hard to answer.  Probably because he likely couldn’t hear it.  

Patrick made an additional extremely kind effort just a second later.  I think he must’ve known how much I wanted to say something and how paralyzed/starstruck I had ended up.  It was exceptionally nice– he could’ve monopolized Paul easily, and he chose not to.  He didn’t have to go out of his way like that. 

“She’s been on the Kruises!”

“Oh?”

“Y-yeah I’ve been on the last three (technically four, I did both the back to back Kruises)--” Inspiration. Stupid inspiration. “I was the one that asked you– no, actually I asked Gene– about Dark Shadows.” 

Great, now Mr. Paul Stanley thinks I have an undying fascination with Dark Shadows. Okay, I do, but my life’s goal definitely wasn’t to ask him about that at dinner. 

“I remember that (show).  Barnabus…. It came on in the afternoons. (I think he said he watched it. … So did almost every baby boomer in the mid/late-sixties)”  He actually looked like he might’ve been contemplating the show, but he might’ve actually been contemplating whether the salad he spilt on his lap made a stain on his pants; I don’t really know. 

Patrick is the true hero of this entire story.  If Paul got three points, Patrick gets thirty. Patrick somehow kept introducing the stuff I had just told him to Paul (i.e. my first KISS record was “Rock and Roll Over,” and said something about “Hard Luck Woman”) and I manage to spill several things I am not sure that Paul heard at all (because I could barely hear myself) including (quickly) that I had only gotten my mom to come with me to a KISS show during EOTR, and that when she finally did she’d wished she’d gone to see them sooner. Paul was looking at us, nodding, and was trying to follow the general convo but honestly, if I was only getting a little over half of what Paul said, he was getting a fourth of what I said in general, best case scenario.  I don’t fault him.  Cynthia told him something about Phantom of the Park, but I could barely understand her! 

Probably a couple minutes after that, he went to the next table for the main course (he spent roughly half an hour at our table). He waved as he left and we remained with a surprisingly good vantage spot to see the back of Paul’s head and occasionally his profile.  Also his phone, which he never got out at our table but did get out for the main course’s.  It has a pink case. 

We saw him move to the final table– I think he may not have gotten dessert, but I could be wrong there.  (I had veal parmesan as a main course and split tiramisu with Cynthia. I only had about four bites of the veal due to having eaten every piece of salami on our charcuterie board, but it was pretty good. The tiramisu was also great.)  After that, he left, but he waved as he went and he still looked happy.  That meant a good bit to me.  I gripe about Paul a lot but I do want him to be happy.  I want them all to be happy.  

Cynthia thanked the art gallery director (not sure of his title) prior to us leaving the restaurant and we were told she could pick up her painting tomorrow morning at ten. It was very late at night at that point– not sure when we got back to our hotel, but I do know we were talking until two about everything that had transpired and the whole rest of the weekend was filled with talk of Paul. 

The verdict: Very good event.  Paul was sweet, engaged and definitely wanted to be here.  The only real negative I have is how loud that restaurant was!  It was something else to be that close to him– I had tempered my expectations due to my own cynicism and wariness, but he was great.  Really incredible time that I’m going to remember. 

Paul, if I see you again, I promise not to bother you about Dark Shadows. 

We’ll move on to Bonanza or Match Game or something.

[pocketramblr]

For the ask game 5 thing do one where Naomasa is Giran's sugar baby 😈

yeah. why not.

1- "Now, information is my livelihood, so I can't give you something for nothing..." The broker started, giving the detective a curious look over. The rookie is stiff, and frowns deeper. He's too clean to bribe for anything and will leave if there's nothing useful here. On saying so, he turns, but the broker tsks. "I didn't ask for money, did I? From you, detective, i wouldn't need much. How about a light?" He pulls a cigarette from his pocket. But the detective doesn't smoke, has no lighter, and says as much. The broker knew it and smiles, wishing him better luck next time. Then the detective whirls, grabs the gun from Giran's pocket, and holds it up. "You won't pay, but you're willing to shoot me for information?" He says, incredulous, but not fearful.

"No." Detective Tsukauchi clicks the gun-shaped lighter, and lights the end of the cigarette. "But you're willing to talk now, you said?"

Giran laughs at the audacity and throws the guy a bone, laughing harder when the detective turns and tries to hide his blush by pushing down his hat as he leaves.

2- The broker decides he quite likes this new detective. He decides to keep giving him information for a bit of sugar- a joke, a light, he once got Tsukauchi to grudgingly lend him his coat as Giran's light, open shirt wasn't suitable for going home in the rain in. He did finally return the coat (in exchange for something else of course) and Tsukauchi could never get the smell of smoke out. (For his own part, Giran is curious about the perfumes the detective always seems to wear, but that's far from the most interesting thing about him, so.)

3- Once they establish that they'll be meeting each other semi-regularly, they do some research on each other, background check, quirk check, all that stuff. Then it becomes almost a game to avoid directly triggering the other's quirk. Giran, naturally, has much more fun than Tsukauchi during these games but hey he's giving the guy stuff for free so what's he going to do, complain? (yes. he complains often to Sansa.) Giran's even giving Tsukauchi information about AfO- not everything, he doesn't even know everything, but he's sure telling far more than he'd sell to anyone else. He justifies this as no betrayal to his customer because Tsukauchi couldn't possibly be a threat. What's he going to do, secretly turn out to have All Might on speed dial and help the hero kill AfO a second time?

4- .... um anyway so when Popstep gets Bee'd, Giran tsks at the question Tsukauchi asks him, looking all the wrong ways into the villain factory. "You know, the last victim was a hero's daughter. He paid a pretty penny to get what he needed to save her- but he already knew the real problem you're missing; I was happy to do it." The detective asks what he wants this time, and Giran says he'd like to share a smoke. Tsukauchi isn't sure when he started carrying a lighter (lie: he absolutely is) but he uses it regardless, then stares as Giran offers the cig to him.

"I don't smoke."

"I know. I said I wanted to share a smoke with you."

Tsukauchi finally takes it, almost chokes on it, and fails to keep Giran patting his back over it while telling him about the way to stop the bees. But then Giran takes the cig back to bring to his own lips, then handing it again between them. "There's more you'll want to know. Try another drag."

The taste of tobacco doesn't quite mask the taste of bile when the extent of the parasite is explained.

5- Oh yeah the whole 'All Might Kills AfO a second time' thing yeah that happens at some point after Vigs but before canon, why not, a treat for Toshi. So Tsukauchi actually sees Giran leaving just before everything comes down and skulking around the edges of the scene later. He turns away and lets the broker leave. An exhausting 36 hours later, when he finally returns home and goes to bed, he wakes to find Giran on his balcony. He warily joins him. Giran complains about the loss of a very good customer, and Tsukauchi mentions a suspected accomplice who got away.

"And why'd you let him get away, Detective?"

"I thought he'd be more willing to help later."

Giran doesn't dignify that with a response, merely musing that he's paid to have people killed for less than what Tsukauchi cost him.

"So you think I'll be worth more later instead? An investment?"

"Ah, hah. No. We have the same reason, yes, but we both know that aint it."

"Then what is it?"

Giran smiles, getting closer- then Tsukauchi blinks and he's gone. Confused, he looks around- just a very strong, smokey scent, and when he goes back inside, his alarm clock says the time is later than he expected by a few minutes. Tsukauchi's heartrate begins to pick up when he puts it together- or maybe it was already going faster when he started remembering again.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

To save the news, shatter ad-tech

I’m coming to the HowTheLightGetsIn festival in HAY-ON-WYE with my novel Red Team Blues:

Sun (May 28), 1130h: The AI Enigma

Mon (May 29), 12h: Danger and Desire at the Frontier

I’m at OXFORD’s Blackwell’s on May 29 at 7:30PM with Tim Harford.

Then it’s Nottingham, Manchester, London, Edinburgh, and Berlin!

Big Tech steals from news, but what it steals isn’t content. Talking about the news isn’t theft, and neither is linking to it, or excerpting it. But stealing money? That’s definitely theft.

Big Tech steals money from the news media. 51% of every ad-dollar is claimed by a tech intermediary, a middleman that squats on a chokepoint between advertisers and publishers. Two companies — Google and Meta — dominate this sector, and both of these companies are “full-stack” — which is cutesy techspeak for “vertical monopoly.”

Here’s what that means: when an advertiser wants to place an ad, it contracts with the “demand-side platform” (DSP) to seek out a chance to put an ad in front of a user based on nonconsensually gathered surveillance data about a potential customer.

The DSP contacts an ad-exchange — a marketplace where advertisers bid against each other to cram their ads into the eyeballs of a user based on surveillance data matches.

The ad-exchange receives a constant stream of chances to place ads. This stream is generated by the “supply-side platform” (SSP), a service that represents publishers who want to sell ads.

Meta/Facebook and Google both the “full stack” of ads: they represent buyers and sellers, and they operate the marketplace. When the sale closes, Googbook collects a commission from the advertiser, another from the publisher, and a fee for running the market. And of course, Google and Facebook are both publishers and advertisers.

This is like a stock exchange where one company operates the exchange, while serving as broker and underwriter for every stock bought or sold, while owning huge amounts of stock in many of the listed companies as well as owning the largest companies on the exchange outright.

It’s like a realtor representing the buyer and the seller, while buying and selling millions of homes for its own purposes, bidding against its buyers and also undercutting its sellers, in an opaque auction that only it can see.

It’s a single lawyer representing both parties in a divorce, while serving as judge in divorce court, while trying to match one of the divorcing parties on Tinder.

It’s incredibly dirty. These companies gobble up the majority of every ad dollar in commissions and other junk fees, and they say it’s because they’re just really danged good at buying and selling ads. Forgive me if I sound cynical, but I think it’s a lot more likely that they’re good at cheating.

We could try to make them stop cheating with a bunch of rules about how a company with this kind of gross conflict of interest should conduct itself. But enforcing those rules would be hard — merely detecting cheating would be hard. A simpler — and more effective — approach is to simply remove the conflict of interest.

Writing on EFF’s Deeplinks blog this week, I explain how the AMERICA Act — introduced by Senator Mike Lee, with bipartisan cosponsors from Elizabeth Warren to Ted Cruz (!) — can do just that:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

The AMERICA Act would require the largest ad-tech companies to sell off two of their three ad-tech divisions — they could be a buyer’s agent, a seller’s agent or a marketplace — but not all three (not even two!). This is in keeping with a well-established principle in antitrust law: “structural separation,” the idea that a company can be a platform owner, or a platform user, but not both.

In the heyday of structural separation, railroad companies were banned from running freight companies that competed with the firms that shipped freight on their rails. Likewise, banks were banned from owning companies that competed with the businesses they loaned money to. Basically, the rule said, “If you want to be the ref in this game, you can’t own one of the teams”:

https://www.eff.org/es/deeplinks/2021/02/what-att-breakup-teaches-us-about-big-tech-breakup

Structural separation acknowledges that some conflicts of interest are so consequential and so hard to police that they shouldn’t exist at all. A judge won’t hear a case if they know one of the litigants — and certainly not if they have a financial stake in the outcome of the case.

The ad-tech duopoly controls a massive slice of the ad market, and holds in its hands the destiny of much of the news and other media we enjoy and rely on. Under the AMERICA Act’s structural separation rule, the obvious, glaring conflicts of interest that dominate big ad-tech companies would be abolished.

The AMERICA Act also regulates smaller ad-tech platforms. Companies with $5–20b in turnover would have a duty to “act in the best interests of their customers, including by making the best execution for bids on ads,” and maintain transparent systems that are designed to facilitate third-party auditing. If a single company operated brokerages serving both buyers and sellers, it would need to create firewalls between both sides of the business, and would face stiff penalties for failures to uphold their customers’ interests.

EFF’s endorsement of the AMERICA Act is the first of four proposals we’re laying out in a series on saving news media from Big Tech. We introduced those proposals last week in a big “curtain raiser” post:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

Next week, we’ll publish our proposal for using privacy law to kill surveillance ads, replacing them with “context ads” that let publishers — not ad-tech — control the market.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Hay-on-Wye, Oxford, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/25/structural-separation/#america-act

EFF's banner for the save news series; the word 'NEWS' appears in pixelated, gothic script in the style of a newspaper masthead. Beneath it in four entwined circles are logos for breaking up ad-tech, ending surveillance ads, opening app stores, and end-to-end delivery. All the icons except for 'break-up ad-tech' are greyed out.

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[thegamingmonk]

Goldilocks (Puss in Boots) x Little Red Riding Hood Headcanons

I am cringe, but I am free. Have to remember that! Yeah I made a Puss in Boots oc, yes it’s Little Red Riding Hood, yes I ship her with Goldilocks. I hopped on the Goldilocks x oc ship. I find them cute though! 

Tags: Canon x oc, fluff, crime, physical affection, family dynamic, kissing, couple stuff.

Warnings: Crimes, otherwise none!

Notes: For reference - Little Red Riding Hood here owns a shop stand called "The Mystery Basket" where she sells general items, trinkets and "then some" for customers all alike, including criminals. My voice claim for her is Tessa Thompson (or Keke Palmer, I can’t decide).

They met when the Bear Crime Family needed information on their next big hit; Red was their information broker.

Red was busy haggling with a customer when the family needed her. Just 200 gold for this once-in-a-lifetime item? A bottle with an actual fairy doesn't come cheap or easy!

Little to say, Red was not surprised to get a visit from the family.

In fact, she was excited for the moment. The family is notorious, which means they have good money; and a cute daughter.

Not Goldilocks' proudest moment when she admits, this red hood girl was actually very pretty-

Goldilocks kind of fell a bit hard at first sight, which she covers up with playful flirting. Luckily for her, Red is all for playful bantering, so there was a lot of back and forth between them.

Red grows fond of the Bear family and their antics; she considers them her best customers, especially with their business trade regarding their pie business.

Red would only see Goldilocks when the family came for information until Goldilocks started coming to see her just for "other things".

"Oh, what other things pray tell?" "Who knows, that beautiful smile of yours may be one of em."

It's a mutual down-badness: Red likes Goldilocks' straightforwardness and voice, while Goldilocks likes Red's smile and snarkiness.

Goldi only tells Mama and Papa bear as Baby would never let her down for it; unfortunately, he connects the dots faster than she'd expect anyways.

Mama and Papa are excited for Goldilocks, but of course as parents do, overprotectiveness will happen.

Despite Goldi's forwardness and Red's openness, neither asks each other out for a while. Instead the gap is filled with longing gazes and playful flirting.

Eventually it takes Baby getting annoyed enough to bother Goldi about it that Goldilocks decides to take the shot.

Goldilocks ask Papa and Mama for all the advice she can, but while they insist that Goldi is perfectly fine just asking Red, Goldilocks wants to make sure the confession is just right.

Red is the one who officially asks Goldilocks out though. Mostly because the suave Goldilocks is a bumbling mess in love and couldn't get the question out without stuttering. So much for that!

First date was a picnic that got crashed by Baby; needless to say, Red found it hilarious and Goldilocks nearly caught a case.

Goldilocks is BIG on affection - a bear full of love.

Anytime she can have Red in her arms, best believe she will. She’s a cuddle bug.

Red’s thing is firmly attaching lips to Goldilock’s face.

Her favorite thing to do is kiss Goldi on the cheek unprompted, it catches the bear child off guard so badly and makes her bluescreen.

Absolutely NO ONE is allowed to touch Red's hood except for her mother and grandmother, but she started making exceptions for Goldi.

Especially considering her girlfriend looked really good in her hood.

Red calls Goldi "Sugarpie" and it makes the bear child MELT every time.

Whenever the Bear crime family goes out on a gig, Red has the strangest feeling she should go over to their cottage and see if they need help with any wounds.

Newsflash: she's right.

The family appreciates her for it and Goldi falls in love all over again.

They wear each other's shirts. No elaboration.

Red insists on helping Goldilocks brush her hair after a mishap that ended up with leaves and branches stuck in her buns.

Goldilocks doesn't brush her hair often nor lets anyone else (maybe Mama), but she'd humor Red this time. It took a bit but Red got to the rhythm of brushing the gold hair.

"Babe. B-Babe. Ba- Ah! Too hard!" "Sorry sorry!! So many tangles you have…"

"... Love, that's too soft. You're goin' to have to brush harder than that." "Ah, heard! So much hair you have…"

"There we go, now that is just right." "Hmm… What soft, pretty hair you have…” "What?" "What."

Their cuddle sessions last for much longer than they should, but what can they say? They’re attached to one another.

Anytime Red steals something to sell at her shop, she always asks herself “But would Goldi like it instead?” She’d rob a whole castle for her girlfriend.

Sometimes Red will just stare at Goldi with the biggest heart eyes and swoon over her.

“What big, beautiful blue eyes you have... What pretty, golden hair you have... What soft, plush lips you have...” “Are you goin’ to shut up and kiss me or what?” “Wow, way to ruin atmosphere, sugarpie.”

Ah, the wonders of young, fairytale love~

This is the first time I write a canon character in a mostly not shit-posting way so hopefully this goes well? Hope y’all enjoy my mess! I love these two goobers and maybe will finish the story I’m writing of them! Likes and Retweets are always welcomed (and very appreciated~) and that’s all for now!

[axelpvtmkt]

Advanced Tips and Tricks for Global Market Trading

Trading in the global market can be both exciting and profitable if you employ the right strategies. Whether you're dealing with Forex, commodities, or other investments, these advanced tips will set you up for success.

Master Technical Analysis: Technical analysis is crucial for predicting market movements. Learn to read charts and use indicators like the Relative Strength Index (RSI) and Moving Average Convergence Divergence (MACD). These tools help you identify trends and make informed trading decisions.

Choose the Best Trading Platform: Selecting the right trading platform is essential. Look for platforms that offer real-time data, analytical tools, and a user-friendly interface. Good platforms also provide educational resources and excellent customer support.

Diversify Your Investments: Diversification reduces risk. Spread your investments across different asset classes like Forex, commodities, and stocks. This approach ensures that your portfolio is protected from market volatility.

Stay Updated with Market News: Keeping up with global news, economic events, and market trends is vital. Regularly read financial news and reports. Use economic calendars to track important events that might impact your trades.

Implement Risk Management Strategies: Effective risk management is key to long-term success. Use stop-loss orders to limit potential losses and ensure no single trade can hurt your portfolio too much. This way, you can trade with confidence.

Follow Expert Insights: Industry experts and analysts provide valuable insights. Platforms like TradingView and social media channels can offer advanced strategies and techniques. Learning from these experts can enhance your trading approach.

Use Automated Trading Systems: Automated trading systems can execute trades based on pre-set criteria, helping you take advantage of market opportunities without constant monitoring. Understand the algorithms and monitor their performance regularly.

Focus on Continuous Learning: The trading world is always changing. Participate in webinars, attend workshops, and take online courses to stay updated with the latest strategies and trends. Continuous learning helps you stay ahead.

Monitor Your Performance: Regularly review your trades and performance. Keep a trading journal to track your decisions, outcomes, and lessons learned. This practice helps you improve your strategies and avoid repeating mistakes.

Partner with Reliable Brokers: Choosing a reliable broker is crucial. Look for brokers with competitive spreads, low fees, and robust security measures. A good broker provides the tools and support you need for successful trading.

Trust APM for more expert insights and trading solutions.

[classicquid]

Short Term Cash Loans :- Excellent Source of Cash Without a Broker

You should never run across problems applying for a short term loan! Short term cash loans have now entered the market to help those in need across the UK. The ability to get financial support with a loan without having to meet with a broker is fantastic; as a result, any customer may get the money they need to satisfy their financial needs. Remind yourself that you can use the money for immediate or minor demands rather than larger ones.

The most important aspect is that your bad credit does not prevent you from using short term cash loans to maintain yourself financially. As a result, you are still permitted to obtain financing in a cordial manner even when you have a bad credit history due to things like missing or late payments, arrears, defaults, CCJs, IVAs, foreclosure, or even bankruptcy. Your credit ratings can also be repaired if they return the money within the allotted time, and you will then be accepted as a legitimate creditor for earning money in the future.

As a result, you are able to apply for a short term loans UK direct lender and receive a loan of between £100 and £1000 for a duration of 14 to 30 days. When a lender lends you financial support, the best and most appropriate approach to repay the money is on the day of your income, with the help of a postdated check. The lender withholds the funds until your next payday, at which point they remove the financing once your salary is placed into your bank account.

Before applying for the short term loans UK direct lender, there are a few requirements that must be fulfilled. A genuine, active bank account is a necessary since a debit card isn't needed for the loan being mentioned. You also need to be at least eighteen years old, a resident of Great Britain, and have a stable income source that brings in at least £750 per month.

If you meet the aforementioned requirements, you have complete autonomy to apply for short term loans direct lenders. For these loans, you are not required to fax any papers or complete any extensive online form. Your task is to complete a basic online application form available on the website. Following application, the lender will immediately deposit the funds into your bank account 24/7 if the information provided is verified. You thereby save valuable time by using the online mode. It also has no additional paperwork.

A short term loans UK would typically be considered for very different reasons than a bigger loan. Of course, the sum of money is much less. If you're considering taking out a loan of this kind, you intend to pay it back fast. One of the best examples of this is short term loans UK. Small payday loans—whether from direct lenders or through a broker—should be carefully considered as, should you fail to make your loan payments on schedule, they could still result in major financial difficulties for you.

https://classicquid.co.uk/

[mariacallous]

Zoom, the company that normalized attending business meetings in your pajama pants, was forced to unmute itself this week to reassure users that it would not use personal data to train artificial intelligence without their consent.

A keen-eyed Hacker News user last week noticed that an update to Zoom’s terms and conditions in March appeared to essentially give the company free rein to slurp up voice, video, and other data, and shovel it into machine learning systems.

The new terms stated that customers “consent to Zoom’s access, use, collection, creation, modification, distribution, processing, sharing, maintenance, and storage of Service Generated Data” for purposes including “machine learning or artificial intelligence (including for training and tuning of algorithms and models).”

The discovery prompted critical news articles and angry posts across social media. Soon, Zoom backtracked. Soon, Zoom backtracked. On Monday, Zoom’s chief product officer, Smita Hasham, wrote a blog post stating, “We will not use audio, video, or chat customer content to train our artificial intelligence models without your consent.” The company also updated its terms to say the same.  Later in the week, Zoom updated its terms again, to clarify to say that it would not feed "audio, video, chat, screen sharing, attachments, or other communications like customer content (such as poll results, whiteboard, and reactions)" to AI models. Vera Ranneft, a spokesperson for the company, says Zoom has not previously used customer content this way.

Those updates seem reassuring enough, but of course many Zoom users or admins for business accounts might click “OK” to the terms without fully realizing what they’re handing over. And employees required to use Zoom may be unaware of the choice their employer has made. One lawyer notes that the terms still permit Zoom to collect a lot of data without consent.

The kerfuffle shows the lack of meaningful data protections at a time when the generative AI boom has made the tech industry even more hungry for data than it already was. Companies have come to view generative AI as a kind of monster that must be fed at all costs—even if it isn’t always clear what exactly that data is needed for or what those future AI systems might end up doing.

The ascent of AI image generators like DALL-E 2 and Midjourny, followed by ChatGPT and other clever-yet-flawed chatbots, was made possible thanks to huge amounts of training data—much of it copyrighted—that was scraped from the web. And all manner of companies are currently looking to use the data they own, or that is generated by their customers and users, to build generative AI tools.

Zoom is already on the generative bandwagon. In June, the company introduced two text-generation features for summarizing meetings and composing emails about them. Zoom could conceivably use data from its users’ video meetings to develop more sophisticated algorithms. These might summarize or analyze individuals’ behavior in meetings, or perhaps even render a virtual likeness for someone whose connection temporarily dropped or hasn’t had time to shower.

The problem with Zoom’s effort to grab more data is that it reflects the broad state of affairs when it comes to our personal data. Many tech companies already profit from our information, and many of them like Zoom are now on the hunt for ways to source more data for generative AI projects. And yet it is up to us, the users, to try to police what they are doing.

“Companies have an extreme desire to collect as much data as they can,” says Janet Haven, executive director of the think tank Data and Society. “This is the business model—to collect data and build products around that data, or to sell that data to data brokers.”

The US lacks a federal privacy law, leaving consumers more exposed to the pangs of ChatGPT-inspired data hunger than people in the EU. Proposed legislation, such as the American Data Privacy and Protection Act, offers some hope of providing tighter federal rules on data collection and use, and the Biden administration’s AI Bill of Rights also calls for data protection by default. But for now, public pushback like that in response to Zoom’s moves is the most effective way to curb companies’ data appetites. Unfortunately, this isn’t a reliable mechanism for catching every questionable decision by companies trying to compete in AI.

In an age when the most exciting and widely praised new technologies are built atop mountains of data collected from consumers, often in ethically questionable ways, it seems that new protections can’t come soon enough. “Every single person is supposed to take steps to protect themselves,” Haven says. “That is antithetical to the idea that this is a societal problem.”

[liecoris]

Verse: »» ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴠᴀʀɪᴄᴇ. || 🪷 — baldur’s gate III / bg3.

Mukuro but make it Baldur's Gate 3 lol

Alias: Avarice Setting: Faerûn Originally From: Wa Age: ??? - Human Form makes her look mid 20's Race: Song Dragon ( I know they ain't really in 5e ( at least as far as I know lmao ) but who cares lmao ) And I use this homebrew source for Song Dragon info lol - just ignore the fact that the race tends to be in the ' good ' moral alignment lmao Class: Multiclassed Rouge and Cleric - Trickery Domain w/ deity being Tiamat Occupation: Info Broker / Assassin Preferred Weapon(s): Dual Daggers - absolutely shit at long-ranged weaponry. Background: Noble Moral Alignment: Neutral Evil

Stats: STR »» 16 DEX »» 21 CON »» 20 INT »» 14 WIS »» 23 CHA »» 19

Skill Proficiency: »» Stealth ( Expertise ) »» Deception ( Expertise ) »» Persuasion »» Performance »» Acrobatics

Weapon & Armor Proficiency: »» Weapons: Dagger, Shortsword, Sickle, Spear, and Rapier »» Armors: Light, Medium, Sheild

Backstory:

Originally from the island nation of Wa, Mukuro wanted to expand her horizons and the human equivalent age of a teenager and thus made her way to Faerûn and made her home in Baldur's Gate. She didn't have many things from her homeland that she brought with her ( save for her name of course, and a few of the more fancier dresses that she wears on very special occasions ). She'd go by her actual name for many years while keeping the fact she's a song dragon hidden, Mukuro starts going by ' Avarice ' when she begins her career as an info broker/assassin and would continue to go by that name as the years went on and those who knew her by her true name have well passed.

Mukuro has almost always lived in Baldur's Gate since arriving in Faerûn, there have been some decades where she lived in Waterdeep and even in Neverwinter. But she's lived the majority of her life within Baldur's Gate. So she knows the most about Baldur's Gate and its history over the other two. She'll play it off as she just loves to read rather than stating that she's just lived through a lot of important historical events.

Outside of her very successful assassin career, Mukuro almost always has been married to very high-ranking nobles, who either outlive her or meet a mysterious death and/or disappearance ( depending on how much she actually cared for them ), all of which could never be pinned on her, of course, not only could she pay the authorities to look the other way but it was also just so easy to pin their deaths on jealous suitors.

She lives in a very lush home in the Upper City that's looked over by a well-respected and taken care of staff. ( Honestly they probably really miss her/are worried about her when she disappeared because she's typically very transparent about what she's going to do/where she's going to be so to just poof out of thin air is very upsetting to them. )

Mukuro was yoinked by a mind flayer while she was out shopping ( or rather that's what she intended to do that day ) after getting the tadpole in the eye, Mukuro was one of the few that didn't fall for ' The Absolute ' cult bullshit and is in the process of trying to get this gods-forsaken tadpole out of her eye and return home.

Notable Facts:

»» I'm not classifying her as the custom origin/ Tav character, she's a companion one could gain during Act 1!!

»» takes a mild sedative to combat the draconic rage that fuels her - tiamat is no help in this matter, in fact, she pushes Mukuro towards tapping into more of her powerful, black-out rage moments.

»» Being a song dragon, Mukuro in and after combat is always just softly humming to herself or muttering out a song silently. Since she's an assassin and silence is key, she's learned to harness her volume when singing.

»» There really isn't anyone around who knows her true name, Mukuro, the ones who'd learn such a fact are those who she deeply trusts.

»» The same would go for learning she's a song dragon, but honestly, that's an even closer guarded secret that not even past lovers knew about it. ( A lot of people assume she's just some kind of bard or music enthusiast given how much she sings to herself )

»» She's fully immune to poisons and electricity, and she knows all languages. Attacks from nonmagical weapons can and will simply just bounce off of her if they manage to hit her.

»» Older assassins/nobles/citizens could swear that the Avarice they knew had a vastly different personality than the current Avarice, so the current theory is that these assassins are just descendants of the first ' Avarice '. But it's just been the same dragon woman over the years, just changing her personality traits every other decade just to spice it up, but now she's currently just tired of trying to put on a front. So the " current " Avarice is just her true personality.

»» Mukuro's a high-level assassin known ( both in and out of ) the business as just ' Avarice ' due to the fact that her fees often range in the more exorbitant prices. No one really knows her true name, let alone her actual backstory. As much as she can claim that she's just a normal, human person assassin from Baldur's Gate, not a lot of people actually believe that, especially since the assassin known as Avarice has been around for hundreds of years, far longer than a typical human's lifespan.

»» She can be recruited/met either on the bridge in front of the Goblin Camp or in the Crypt where Withers can be found, the thing with the latter would be that Mukuro would have cleared out that area ( as in the reanimated skeletons - not the people/gimblebock's crew ) basically and woke Withers so if you get Mukuro you'd also be getting Withers

»» Also in this verse, she's probably going to be more temperamental/bloodthirsty than in others, because of her being a literal dragon lol

»» Her main armor look is this ( I'm a big fan of the type of armor that's so impractical and just tends to make a lot of people mad lmao so if that upsets you, sorry. This just really fits her character. )

»» This is what her Dragon Form looks like.

»» She can either shift to her dragon form whenever ( 30 seconds to change from human to dragon, then 190 seconds to turn dragon to human again ) or when she hits the 'bloodied' stage ( specifically 1 hp ).

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

A Bionicle Advent Calendar: December 23rd (Day 23)

The Prompt: Show your characters in a long-running competition or rivalry.

“Ahkmou? You’re going to award the contract to that hack?” Onewa seethed at brokerage merchant in front of him.

“His work is quite exceptional,” said the broker. “It’s the consistency: every piece is consistent with the others.”

~*~*~*~

Another year, another carving contest. No one could deny absolute brilliance of Onewa’s piece: the Rahi portrayed practically leap from the stone: he had carved it so that the striation of its layers played into the motion and lines of the sculpture.  And yet, had it been awarded first place?

No, that trophy was sitting next to Ahkmou’s piece: the most traditional, hide-bound carving of a Matoran head that Onewa had ever seen. Was it perfectly executed? Yes—Ahkmou hadn’t taken a single flawed chip off the stone. But it was utterly unoriginal. Still, they had given it first place.

~*~*~*~

Again and again, Ahkmou and Onewa would compete: for customers, for awards, for recognition, and if you asked those qualified to judge, most would tell you that Onewa could soar to far higher heights: his works were brilliant, often dramatic, but only rarely was he preferred in the public eye to Ahkmou, who had technical skills to rival him and tended to make things better tailored to the widest audience. It drove Onewa to frequent irritation, affronting his sense of justice: surely the “best” at anything should always be decided by skill, never by popular demand.

~*~*~*~

Of course Teridax would have suggested Ahkmou to the mind of Lhikan as the best Matoran to become Toa of Stone. If you wanted a rival to Onewa, there was no Po-Matoran better suited to stand against the brilliance—and the iconoclasm—of Onewa. Akhmou was solid where Onewa was daring, cunning where Onewa was hot-headed. Each of the six Matoran would have made a duller, less heroic hero than the Matoran Lhikan eventually chose, but it was easy to see how one might pick Ahkmou over Onewa: from a distance, he appeared less histrionic, more the solid presence a Toa of Stone should provide.

~*~*~*~

Betrayed. Left behind. Forgotten. Matoran look to their Turaga and Toa for guidance instinctively, and though he did not remember it, Ahkmou’s last thoughts, wondering where the Toa were, why they had not saved him, must have still lingered in his mind when the Makuta appeared and filled his mind with a twisted narrative of abandonment and betrayal: beneath those lies were a legitimate grievance: a Matoran left behind.

Ahkmou didn’t know this. Neither did Onewa, when he divined some of what the amnesiac Po-Matoran knew, but Onewa felt shame of his own that they had left Ahkmou behind—as though his personal history with Ahkmou had led to the inadvertent encounter. He couldn’t bring himself to let them return to their old ways: even though Po-Koro was to be as much the home of carvers and Po-Metru had been, he never gave Ahkmou the chisel or suggested that he was skilled with it. Ahkmou became a trading merchant, and Onewa tried to pretend that his feelings of guilt had nothing to do with their entwined history as rivals.

~*~*~*~

After the return to Metru Nui, Akhmou went to see the things he had carved, not fully believing he had spent so many years as a master sculptor. Few of the sculptures still stood in Po-Metru as they had before the Visorak attack, but there were still some monoliths to be found with small monograms deftly hidden: Onewa. Ahkmou. Hafu.

Of course he felt betrayed by the reveal of their history by the Turaga: he had felt betrayed by the Turaga since the Makuta had told him his distorted version of Metru Nui and its fall. Ahkmou had always had reservations about that tale, but none that had erased the clear lies of the Turaga. And now to learn that Onewa had been a rival of his? That he might have been just as good as him once? That but for a quick decision by Toa Lhikan, he, Ahkmou, might have been a Toa?

He felt cheated—cheated by the Turaga they called “the Referee!”

~*~*~*~

So when Teridax became the Great Spirit and made Akhmou the “Turaga” of Metru Nui, of course he was willing to try. This was not how they should have been tested, in the end, but Onewa had long since robbed him of his talent, robbed him of his place in the Po-Matoran community, robbed him of the Toa and Turaga he might have been, so this was only a small part of that being returned to him in recompense. He had no love for Teridax, who he knew full well had used him in his grand schemes, but if the Makuta could use him, he could use the opportunity the Makuta had given.

~*~*~*~

The Fall of the Makuta robot was the end of Ahkmou’s short reign. No one blamed him out loud—he hadn’t been able to do much as “Turaga” anyway: the Matoran had not obeyed him much and there were still plenty of living enemies of far greater powers and malice to be concerned about. Ahkmou was allowed to slink back into the general Matoran population yet again, as they trickled out into the reformed Spherus Magna. This was the third time—that he could remember—having to find a home in a new world. What would he be this time? A trader? A traitor?

Near the site where the Metru Nuian Matoran made their first temporary Koro, were great stone cliffs, not so different from Po-Wahi of his most distant memories, and Akhmou looked at them longingly their first morning, and he did not notice when Turaga Onewa approached, with a hammer and chisel.

“Time to get back to work,” said Onewa. “We have to do it all over again: build ourselves a home.”

Ahkmou turned his head just a little, side-eyeing the Turaga. Onewa held out the hammer and chisel.

“I think you should be a part of it, this time,” he said. “Your hands will find their way, once you have been. You’re a Po-Matoran; it’s in your soul.”

“What should I carve?” asked Ahkmou, completely stunned.

“Whatever you want,” said Onewa. “That’s what I always did. Although…”

The tall Turaga paused and stared away into memories.

“Although maybe, right now, what we really need is someone who can carve in the most traditional way possible. We need to hold onto our memories.”