#i deleted some irrelevant questions

[ayara-resara]

.

[elikajinnie]

Shadowed Desires - S.J

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Jake X Survivor!Reader (recommended age 17+)

Warnings: Murder, Obsession, Touchy & Needy Behaviour, Blood/Injury, touch starved jake lol.

Synopsis: A new killer is made of darkness—and now he has his eyes set on you, and he wants to swallow you whole, pulling you to him. After all, darkness always consumes what it wants, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. And soon, you’ll be lost to it.

a/n: finally done with this series :3 i kinda dont like this? idk.. maybe ill delete it.

heeseungs vers sunghoon vers jay vers

--

Ever since the Entity dragged you into its twisted realm, you’d never really had the time—or the chance—to initiate much of anything with the other survivors. There wasn’t room for hugs, no moments for cuddling, and certainly no stolen kisses. Not that you had any romantic connections with any of them, but even something as simple as touch felt like a forgotten luxury.

And the killers? That was out of the question. They were designed to hurt you, to hunt you, to bring pain and death for the Entity’s satisfaction. Over and over, you’d all return to the camp after each trial, alive and unscathed. Unharmed physically, sure, but it all felt meaningless. Same routines. Same outcomes. Same exhausting loop.

Time didn’t matter here. Physical affection didn’t matter. Your feelings? They mattered least of all. Everything was irrelevant in this place. The same cycle, over and over and over again.

It was tiring, to be honest—so quiet yet so endlessly exhausting.

The only reprieve you ever got from the monotony was when a new survivor or killer arrived. For a fleeting moment, it felt like something had shifted, like maybe this new presence could disrupt the cycle. But it never lasted.

The new survivor always followed the same pattern. At first, they’d be terrified, trembling and frantic, trying to grasp the horror of what they’d been thrown into. You’d try to comfort them, maybe offer some kind words, but even that felt hollow. In time, they’d come to understand—just like you had—that there was no escape. Their fear would dull into resignation, their hope smothered by the truth of the Entity’s realm.

As for the killers, they brought a brief curiosity. The camp would buzz with whispered speculations about their abilities, their quirks, their story. But after a few trials, it was always the same. They were there for one purpose: to hunt, to kill, to please the Entity. The only “excitement” they brought was in figuring out how their power worked, what perks they wielded, and how best to survive their hunt. Once that was done, they became just another part of the endless cycle.

Even the killers, as terrifying as they were, eventually became predictable. A face you’d recognize in the fog. A pattern of movement. A strategy you’d seen a hundred times before.

And so, the moments of change you’d cling to at first inevitably folded back into the same unending routine. Nothing really changed here. Not the faces, not the feelings, not the futility of it all. It was a crushing realization every time: no matter who arrived, no matter what was added, this place was always the same.

So you could never expect it to actually change. Change wasn’t something the Entity offered much of. It wasn’t what it thrived on. Yet, on that trial, something did.

It started out the same as always. You were sitting by the fire, exchanging a conversation with Nancy. Then the fog crept in, curling at the edges of your vision, and you were called into a trial. Business as usual. You didn’t expect anything different. Why would you?

But as soon as you dropped into the trial, you knew something was off.

The air was cold, biting at your skin like needles. The ground beneath your feet was hard and uneven made of ancient stone and disturbed earth. The faint sound of whispers filled the air, just on the edge of hearing, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. You turned, scanning your surroundings, and realized you were in a catacomb.

But this wasn’t the Plague’s temple catacombs, with their decaying walls and pools of disease. This was something… different.

The walls were lined with endless rows of forgotten graves, the cracked stone engraved with faded names you couldn’t read. Shadowy tendrils slithered along the edges of the halls, moving unnaturally, almost as if they were alive. You froze as one of them stretched toward you, curling in the air like it was reaching, calling.

Yeah, no, this wasn’t just a new map—it was something entirely foreign.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you began to move, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the catacomb. The silence here wasn’t the usual quiet; it was alive, buzzing with whispers and the faint scraping of unseen movements. Every step you took echoed, the sound bouncing off the cracked walls around you.

You passed by what might have been burial chambers long ago, their occupants disturbed and forgotten. The floor was littered with debris—shattered stone, splintered wood, and dried remnants of things you didn’t want to name. You kept moving, your eyes darting for the faintest glimmer of light or safety, but all you found were more hallways, more graves, and the ever-present shadows, shifting as if they were watching your every move.

Something about this place felt wrong, even by the Entity’s standards.

You eventually found your way out of the endless labyrinth of tunnels and into a larger chamber. The ceiling loomed high above you, shrouded in darkness so thick it seemed to swallow the dim, flickering light of the torches lining the walls. At the center of the room was an altar, its surface cracked and weathered with age. Surrounding it were pools of… shadows?

They didn’t look like water or any other liquid you’d seen before. They rippled and shifted, alive with an unnatural energy that made your skin crawl. Occasionally, tendrils of darkness stretched out from the pools, writhing as if searching for something.

You approached cautiously, your footsteps hesitant and quiet, unwilling to draw attention to yourself. The shadows seemed to pulse in time with your movements, almost as if they were aware of you. You stopped a few feet away from the altar, your breath catching in your throat.

This map relied solely on shadows—that much was clear. The tendrils, the pools, even the way the hallways seemed to twist and shift in the dark—it all pointed to one thing.

If your theory was right, this possible new killer worked through these shadows.

Your heart pounded as you tried to piece it together. What could their power be? Could they travel through the shadows? Use them to attack from a distance? Or maybe they could manipulate the darkness to obscure your vision, making it impossible to see them coming.

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

A sudden movement to your left made you freeze. One of the shadowy tendrils shot out from a nearby pool, lashing toward the ground before retreating. You took a step back, your instincts screaming at you to run.

But just then you heard it—a low, guttural sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It wasn’t quite a growl, nor was it a voice. It was something in between, echoing from the shadows themselves.

You looked around, confused, your heart pounding in your chest as the low sound faded into the shadows. Suddenly, a scream tore through the silence, sharp and gut-wrenching, and it was close—too close. You barely had time to react before David bolted down the hallway in front of you, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

Your eyes widened as something sharp whizzed past him. Then another, and another. Shurikens? You blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. Shurikens weren’t part of any killer’s arsenal you’d ever faced.

Oh no.

Your stomach sank as a shadow suddenly surged down the hallway after David, swift and silent, like it was gliding through the air. Then, abruptly, the figure halted, the movement unnatural, as if the darkness itself commanded it to stop. And it did—right in front of you.

You froze.

The figure loomed in the dim light, draped in a tattered cloak that billowed as if caught in a phantom wind. The hood obscured its face, leaving you to stare at the faint, shifting tendrils of shadows that coiled around its form. It didn’t seem to touch the ground, its entire body hovering just slightly above it, giving it an almost otherworldly presence.

And then it turned.

The motion was smooth, almost too calm. The killer’s body shifted toward you, and with a deliberate motion, they raised their hands and pulled back the hood.

You gasped.

The killer was… handsome. Not in the way that made you feel safe—far from it. There was something dangerous to his features, the curve of his lips, the way his black, curly hair framed his face. His dark eyes seemed to bore into you, unreadable and endless, as if the shadows themselves were staring back at you.

And the shadows—they clung to him, crawling over his form like a living entity, their movements fluid. It was like he wasn’t just using the darkness; he was the darkness.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The way he tilted his head, the faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips—it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. His eyes burned with a confidence, as if he already knew how this chase would end.

You didn’t wait to find out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, adrenaline surging as you turned and sprinted down the nearest hallway. The air seemed heavier, as you weaved through the twisting corridors, the faint whispers around you rising to an almost deafening hum.

Behind you, you could hear him. His movements were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional sound of something cutting through the air—shurikens.

The first one hit the wall to your right, chipping the stone. Another whizzed past your shoulder, so close you could feel the sharp breeze as it sailed by.

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath, ducking as another one flew, this time grazing your arm. The sting was immediate, sharp and hot, but you couldn’t stop.

You rounded a corner, your heart pounding in your chest, only to find yourself in yet another dimly lit hallway. The shadows seemed to thicken here, almost as if they were conspiring with the killer to slow you down. You felt another shuriken hit, this one embedding itself into your side. Pain flared, and you stumbled, but you caught yourself against the wall and kept moving.

The whispers seemed to echo his movements, warning you of his approach—or maybe taunting you. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You spotted a doorway ahead, partially obscured by hanging tendrils of shadow. Without thinking, you dove through it, emerging into a larger chamber filled with more of those rippling pools of darkness. You hesitated for half a second, scanning the room for a way out, but the faint sound behind you pushed you forward.

Your breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps as you darted toward another hallway, the pain in your side making every movement harder. Still, you couldn’t stop—not with him so close.

And then, just as you thought you might have gained some distance, the whispers around you changed, their tone shifting to something more urgent. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him again, emerging from the shadows as if they had carried him forward.

Your chest heaved, each breath burning as you pushed your body. The pain in your side was relentless, but you couldn’t stop. Not with him so close. The whispers grew louder, their eerie tones twisting in your ears like warnings—or mockery.

Then, just ahead, you saw movement. Another survivor.

It was Meg. She was crouched near a wall, her eyes scanning the hallway with the practiced vigilance of someone who had done this a thousand times before. When she spotted you barreling toward her, her expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

You skidded to a stop beside her, clutching your side, and for a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other.

Then her gaze shifted behind you, and her eyes widened.

You didn’t need to turn around to know what she saw. You could feel him behind you. Slowly, you turned your head, eyes locking on the figure now standing at the end of the hallway.

The killer didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Instead, he tilted his head again, his eyes darted between the two of you. Shadows coiled at his feet, slithering across the ground like living things, eager to obey his command.

Meg let out a low, shaky breath. “Great. A new one.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, gripping your side as you tried to steady your breathing.

For a moment, the three of you stood there, the tension suffocating. The killer took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes narrowing as his hand dipped into the shadows, drawing out another shuriken.

“Run?” you suggested, your voice tight with fear.

Meg nodded. “Run.”

Without another word, you both bolted in opposite directions, hoping to split his attention. The sound of the whispers surged again, almost laughing as the chase began anew.

The sound of pounding footsteps faded, and the whispering shadows seemed to hold their breath, the air still for a moment. You paused, chest heaving, your mind racing as you took a quick glance over your shoulder. The hallway was empty now, the killer’s presence a lingering weight in the air.

You didn’t hear Meg’s scream, but you knew—he had gone after her. She’d made the right call, though, splitting the attention. That gave you a fleeting moment of silence.

You took a cautious step forward, listening intently for any sounds—footsteps, whispers, anything—but there was nothing. Not yet, at least. The only thing you could hear was your own breath, ragged and desperate.

You turned down another hallway and spotted it in the distance: the soft, flickering light of a generator.

You approached cautiously, glancing around, but there was no sign of the killer. The shadows were quiet, as though they were waiting for the next move, for the next victim.

You kneeled beside the generator, fingers trembling as you placed them on the rusted panels. Slowly, you began to turn the wheel, starting the repair. Every sound felt amplified—the grinding of the metal, the slight whir of the mechanism turning on. You glanced up every few seconds, just in case, but the silence continued to stretch on.

You kept working, the dull hum of the generator filling the space. The weight of the shadows seemed to recede for now, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. You had to finish the repair.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you twisted the dials, forcing your hands to move quickly despite the sting of your injuries. You could feel the tension rising again, the unease gnawing at your gut. Would the killer come back for you next? Would Meg be okay?

The repair progress bar finally clicked, the generator sputtering to life with a low rumble. You breathed a small sigh of relief, your pulse still racing. One down.

But the moment of peace was fleeting. The whispers had started again—soft, but unmistakable. And then you heard it. A sound far too familiar.

The soft clink of a shuriken spinning through the air.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze by the sharp sound of something slicing through the air. You didn’t even need to turn around to know what it was.

The shuriken flew past you with a deadly precision, missing your side by mere inches, the breeze it created a chilling reminder of the danger.

Without wasting a second, you pushed yourself up, your body reacting instinctively. You didn’t wait to see if another one was coming—you ran.

You sprinted down the hallway, the shadows closing in around you as the whispers grew louder, more urgent. Every step echoed in the narrow, darkened corridor, and you swore you could almost hear him moving with you, just behind, just out of sight.

A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the faint silhouette of him slipping through the darkness, the shadows swarming around his feet like tendrils, moving in perfect unison with him.

You took a sharp turn, heading toward another corridor, hoping to throw him off. Another shuriken whizzed by, the sound sharp and deadly as it embedded itself in the wall just inches from your face.

You didn’t stop.

You could hear him now—closer, his breath, heavy and echoing in the quiet between the whispers, and the realization hit you hard: you had no choice but to outrun him. And somehow, you had to survive long enough to make it out.

But you couldn’t keep running. Not anymore.

The shurikens hit you, one after another, each strike sharp and unforgiving. Pain bloomed in your side, your leg, your shoulder—each wound adding to the weight of exhaustion dragging you down. You stumbled, your legs failing to keep up with your frantic pace, and then, with a sickening lurch, you fell to the ground.

You groaned, struggling to push yourself up, but the world spun and your vision blurred. The cold, dark floor beneath you felt unyielding as you fought to regain your bearings, only for a shadow to loom over you.

You turned your head, half expecting him to pick you up and toss you over his shoulder like you were nothing, to drag you away to whatever horrific fate awaited you.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, hovering, his dark eyes studying you as you laid on the cold floor. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, something shifted.

The shadowy tendrils that seemed to be an extension of him reached out, their touch as cold as ice. They wrapped around you with an unnatural strength, pulling you toward him with surprising force.

You gasped as your back collided with his chest, the sudden closeness making your heart race even faster.

His breath was warm against your neck, a wide contrast to the cold tendrils that still clung to you.

Then you heard it.

A sharp, quiet gasp from behind you.

You turned your head to see the killer, his gaze fixed on you with something… different. Shock? Confusion?

And then, almost to himself, he muttered, “How can I touch you?”

The words hung in the air, confusing you further. What was he talking about?

Before you could react, you felt his arms wrap around you—no, not his arms, but something else. Something... different. His arms seemed translucent, like they were made of smoke or mist, flickering in and out of existence as they moved around your body.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the realization sank in—his arms weren’t fully there. They looked see-through, like they didn’t belong to a solid, tangible person at all.

The killer, too, seemed shocked. His eyes widened, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite read. His arms—ghostly, ethereal—were now fully wrapped around you, but when his skin made contact with yours, it felt… strange.

His gasp was barely audible, but it was there, a breathless sound that caught in his throat. For a moment, neither of you moved.

You could feel the heat of his body against yours, yet his touch felt distant—disconnected, like he was struggling to truly reach you.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the killer suddenly moved with startling speed, twirling you around so that you were now facing him. Your breath caught in your throat as you found yourself pressed against his chest, his arms locking around you in a firm hold.

You tried to push against him, to break free, but his grip was unyielding, making it impossible to move. He held you there, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes wide with something that looked like desperation and something about it that made you feel uneasy, yet… compelled to stay. His gaze roamed over your face, his breath quick and shallow as he muttered to himself.

"How is this possible?" His voice was barely a whisper, thick with confusion and awe. His fingers gently traced along your arm, but the touch felt as though his skin were made of mist, like he couldn’t fully reach you. Still, he continued, more to himself than you, his words tumbling out in a frantic murmur.

"How are you… different?"

You couldn’t take it any longer. His behavior was maddening, and your own confusion and fear were bubbling over. You snapped, your voice cutting through the tense silence.

"What do you mean?"

The killer’s eyes flickered to yours, a brief flash of hesitation before he answered, the words tumbling out as if he hadn’t meant to speak them at all.

“I can’t touch any of the survivors,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were ashamed of the admission. “Or any of the other killers. I go right through them… like i’m nothing but air. But with you…” He trailed off, staring at you as if trying to make sense of the impossible.

With you… you felt a chill run down your spine as his words sank in. He could actually hold you. He wasn’t phasing through you like he had with everyone else.

"Why?" His voice was barely above a whisper, a tremor of disbelief in it. "Why can I touch you?"

The weight of the question hung in the air between you, leaving a profound silence in its wake. You wanted to say something, anything, but you found yourself at a loss for words. How could you even begin to understand what was happening? How could he be so confounded by his own existence?

Before you could process what he had just said, something shifted in his demeanor. His tense body seemed to perk up, a sudden awareness flashing in his eyes. You followed his gaze, confused, only to hear it—soft at first, then steadily growing louder—the hum of a completed generator in the distance.

The killer’s eyes flickered toward you for a brief moment, a look of determination flashing in his gaze. Then, without warning, he released you from his hold, but his hands didn’t leave you completely. He tugged you toward the shadows with surprising force, and before you could react, he whispered under his breath, barely audible over the whispering darkness.

“I’ll be back for you.”

His voice was intense, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend the gravity of the words himself. Then, in one swift motion, the shadows on the wall seemed to come to life, curling and twisting, reaching for you like a living entity.

And just like that, the shadows wrapped around you, pulling you in with terrifying force.

You gasped, trying to scream or fight back, but it was useless. The shadows enveloped you entirely, suffocating your every movement. You couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, and before you could make sense of what was happening you were no longer standing on solid ground. Your body was floating, suspended in the air. There was no floor beneath you, no walls to guide you. The space around you was entirely dark, a suffocating blackness that seemed to stretch on forever.

You could feel the cold tendrils of the shadows curling around you, clinging to your body, holding you in place as whispers and giggles echoed all around you. The voices were indistinct at first, but they grew clearer, their tones twisted, mocking, and strangely gleeful. It was as if the shadows themselves were alive, sentient, and they were toying with you.

You felt your heart race, your chest tightening as panic set in. You could move, but only slightly, your body caught in the strange limbo.

You struggled, trying to break free, but the shadows only tightened their hold, their tendrils wrapping around you like chains, keeping you suspended in this endless dark void. And all the while, you could sense it—the presence of the killer, somewhere in the distance, maybe watching, maybe waiting.

He’d said he’d be back for you. But what would happen when he returned?

Time seemed to stretch in the endless void, your body suspended and held by the unyielding shadows. The whispers and giggles continued to swirl around you, but the longer you hung there, the more you became accustomed to the presence, as unsettling as it was. Still, you couldn’t shake the sense of anticipation—the knowing that eventually, he would return.

And when he did, you felt it before you saw him.

The shadows that had once clung to you so tightly and suffocating suddenly slackened. You were no longer held by their chilling tendrils; instead, you felt a warm presence behind you. It was as if his body had materialized from the darkness itself, his form pressing against you, pulling you close.

His arms were solid now, no longer transparent like before, and his breath was shallow as he held you, his touch so much more real than anything you had felt in what seemed like an eternity. The weight of his body against yours, the heat from his chest, the steadiness of his breath as he looked at you…

For a moment, neither of you moved, just breathing, existing in that shared space. His eyes, dark and wide, locked onto yours with such intensity that it almost felt like he could see into you, as though he understood you in a way no one else ever had.

He caressed your skin gently, his fingers trailing along your arm and then your face, as if memorizing every inch of you. His touch was tender as if he were afraid to break something fragile—something precious.

You didn’t know if it was the long and lonely time you spent, the isolation and fear that had dulled your senses, or if it was simply him, but you didn’t resist. There was something about the way he looked at you, something about the way he touched you, that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in so long.

His fingers ghosted over your lips, brushing them softly before trailing down your neck, his gaze following every movement with rapt attention. His touch was unlike anything you had ever known—careful, intimate, as if you were something he couldn’t let slip away.

No one had ever looked at you like he did. No one had ever touched you with this kind of gentleness. And no one had ever whispered to you the way he was now, words so soft and soothing, it was almost as if he was trying to comfort you.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and something else you couldn’t quite place. His lips brushed your ear as he continued, “You’re not like them.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing your anxieties, even as they left you with more questions. You wanted to ask, to demand answers, but somehow, in that moment, all you could do was let him continue, to feel the care in his touch and the sincerity in his gaze.

For a fleeting moment, you were no longer a survivor, no longer someone just trying to escape. You were something else, something he was willing to hold, to cherish in this twisted, dark world that seemed to offer nothing but pain.

And it was terrifying. Because you didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t know what was happening, what was real anymore.

But none of that mattered. Because in his arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time—a connection.

The moment stretched in the strange, suffocating stillness of the shadowy realm, but soon enough, the air around you shifted. The shadows that had clung to you like a second skin began to stir, moving in ways that made the atmosphere feel thick.

The killer’s eyes snapped toward the shadows, his expression darkening. He muttered something under his breath, something sharp and frustrated. A curse, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was enough to snap him into action.

Without warning, he pulled you with him, his strong arms gripping you firmly as he yanked both of you out of the shadows. The darkness that had enveloped you receded as you were dragged back onto solid ground, the familiar, grounding feeling of the catacombs’ floors beneath your feet.

Even as your feet touched the ground, he didn’t let go of you. His hold on you tightened, his body pressed close to yours, as if he feared you might slip away again. You glanced up at him in confusion, but he said nothing, simply continuing to walk, his pace steady, the urgency in his movements palpable.

His grip never wavered, and the shadows around you seemed to retreat, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your footsteps echoing through the silence of the map. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but you didn’t dare question it. Not now, not with the strange bond that seemed to have formed between you.

As you walked, you spotted something familiar in front of you. The hatch. You couldn’t quite believe it, but there it was, just ahead of you. The familiar shape, the light flickering from within—the hatch.

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit you: You were somehow the last survivor left? How had that happened? When did that happen?

You looked at the hatch, then back at him, your mind racing with a thousand questions. The world seemed to freeze for a moment as your gazes locked. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all—he was waiting.

Slowly, his hand moved to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that was almost unbearable in its intensity. His face was close now, and you could feel his breath against your lips as he leaned in, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips in a way that made your breath hitch.

He didn’t say anything at first, but then, in a voice so low and desperate, it sent a shiver through you, he muttered, “Please... don’t run from me next time.” His words were a plea, a aching cry from someone who didn’t seem to know what to do with the feelings he was experiencing.

You could only nod, stunned, still trying to process everything that had happened. The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, everything seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you.

Without another word, he brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, as if reluctant to let go. Then, as though he had made up his mind, he gently lowered you toward the hatch.

You felt the soft, unexpected drop, and before you knew it, you were tumbling through the entrance.

A wave of warmth washed over you as you fell, as your wounds and the scratches healed. The pain, the exhaustion, everything vanished, leaving you feeling as though you had never been touched by the chaos of the trials at all.

You landed softly, the familiar sight of the survivor camp filling your vision. The flickering of the campfires, the distant chatter of the others, the comfortable hum of life returning to normal…

But something had changed.

You had returned to the camp, yes, but not in the same way as before. Something about your connection with the killer lingered, something that couldn’t be undone, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. The shadows were still there, somewhere within you, calling to you.

--

It took a total of five trials before you found yourself back on his map. This time, however, something was different.

The moment you dropped into the trial, the shadows on the walls didn’t feel suffocating. No, this time, they seemed to welcome you. The familiar whispers that usually chilled your spine were replaced with something… lighter. Almost playful. Giggles danced around you like echoes in the distance, as if the shadows themselves were delighted by your arrival.

You looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The environment felt different, more open. You weren’t in the catacombs this time. Instead, you were standing in the center of an open chapel. The stone floor beneath you was cracked, worn by time, but the space itself felt strangely sacred.

Above you, the remnants of a collapsed dome hung precariously, the shattered stained-glass windows glinting in the dim light. The shards of glass were scattered across the floor like fractured pieces of a long-lost memory, reflecting faint flashes of color from the soft light that filtered in from above. It was a beautiful sight, even in its ruin. The chapel was a hauntingly perfect contrast—so full of potential, yet broken, like everything else in this world.

But you couldn’t focus on the surroundings for long. The atmosphere felt… different. It was as if you were being watched, but not in the usual way. The giggles, the whispers—they didn’t hold the same weight of threat as before. Instead, they were more like a gentle invitation, teasing you, drawing you in. It felt like the shadows were beckoning you, urging you to stay, to explore.

You had a feeling—no, a certainty—that this trial would be unlike the others.

You glanced around the chapel, the giggles of the shadows still echoing faintly in your ears. It was strange—this quiet sense of calm that had settled over the place. The air felt thick, yet there was no immediate threat. For the first time since you’d entered, you allowed yourself a brief moment of focus, and that's when you spotted it.

In the corner, tucked away amidst the broken pews and cracked stone, was a generator. You couldn't believe it at first, but there it was, its faint hum calling you towards it. Without thinking, you made your way over to it, the sound of your footsteps reverberating softly against the chapel's walls.

When you reached it you didn’t hesitate. You kneeled beside the generator and got to work, fingers deftly turning the dials and adjusting the levers, your mind oddly focused. There was something almost peaceful in the process, a rhythm you’d become familiar with in the trials. As you worked, the air around you seemed to settle, and you couldn’t help but feel as though someone was watching you, encouraging you.

It wasn’t long before you heard it. The unmistakable sound of your heartbeat growing louder and a familiar shiver ran up your spine. The shadows seemed to grow darker, more pronounced, as the figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. His gaze, though unseen, was like a weight on your back, pulling your attention toward him, and you could feel it—his gaze—drawn to you, to the way you were moving, to the delicate process of repairing the generator.

For a moment, you thought you heard him chuckle softly, the sound of it lingering in the air like a haunting melody.

Eventually the generator clicked into place with a soft, satisfying hum, signaling that it was finally working. You stood up, brushing off your hands, only when you turned around you saw that the killer was standing far too close for comfort. His dark eyes seemed to be watching you with an intensity that made your heart race, and before you could react, he moved.

In a swift motion, he reached out and pulled you into him. His body was firm against yours, and yet strangely gentle. The suddenness of the contact took your breath away, and you found yourself trapped within the circle of his arms, the warmth of his body radiating through you, as if he was desperate to hold you, to keep you close.

His breath brushed against your ear as he nuzzled into your neck, his presence consuming you, the shadows around you seeming to swirl tighter, more alive, as though they, too, were eager to wrap around you. The giggles in the distance faded, replaced by the steady sound of his breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands as you tried to steady yourself.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. The way he held you felt oddly familiar, like a part of you that had been missing for far too long had finally found its place. And his touch, though a little colder than it should have been, was still comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.

The killer’s fingers gently threaded through your hair, his touch delicate, as if he were afraid of hurting you. He nuzzled closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” he murmured, his words almost like a confession, a desperate plea.

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable, and your heart stuttered in your chest. The shadows around you seemed to respond to his emotions, curling and shifting as if they were reflecting his mood.

You didn’t know what to say, or if you even could.

You tried to pull away, a desperate need for some breathing room overtaking you. The closeness of his body was overwhelming. His grip tightened in response, pulling you back against him with a sense of urgency, as though letting go wasn’t an option for him.

“No,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with something you couldn’t place, “don’t pull away.” The plea was buried in his tone leaving you with no choice but to stay close.

He clung to you desperately, his hands tracing the lines of your back, the shadows around you thickening, as though they, too, were unwilling to release you. His breath was warm against your ear as he spoke again, each word drenched in an almost reverent tone.

“You’re… you’re a blessing,” he murmured, his voice trembling with something you hadn’t heard from him before. “The Entity has blessed me with you, brought you to me.”

You froze, the words sinking into you like an anchor, pulling you deeper into his embrace. You wanted to ask him to explain, to make sense of it all, but the way he held you so tightly, so desperately, made it impossible to think clearly.

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you. You are too special for me now.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the confusion and disbelief clouding your thoughts. But the rawness in his voice, the way he clung to you as if you were the last thing that mattered in this twisted world, made you hesitate.

You couldn’t pull away, not with the way he held you, not with the whispers of the shadows wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a moment, you didn’t know if you were trapped or saved.

He eventually slowly pulled away, though his hands lingered on your arms for a moment, almost as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. You were left standing there, your breath shaky, your heart racing, as he took a step back.

His eyes were focused on you, softer than they’d ever been. You noticed a shift in them, something you hadn’t seen before—puppy eyes, as if he were pleading with you in the quietest way possible. The shadows around you seemed to quiet down, almost as if they were holding their breath, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

He traced your cheek with a finger, his touch light, like he was memorizing the feel of your skin, as if it was something he had dreamed about. His gaze followed his hand, and you could feel the heat of his stare, intense and tender all at once. You didn’t know what to do. It was all too much.

“I can’t stand it,” he whispered, his voice a soft plea, the words just for you. “I need you to stay... please.” His breath was warm against your skin, and before you could respond, before you could even find your voice, he leaned in.

Everything around you seemed to still, the whispers of the shadows fading into the background as his lips met yours. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if he were waiting for some sign, some permission from you. His lips were cool but soft, and for a moment, it was as if time had stopped.

You were frozen, caught in the unexpectedness of it all, caught in the moment. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as his kiss deepened, a quiet desperation in every movement, every touch. He kissed you as if he couldn’t stop, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go.

For a moment, you gave in to the sensation, the overwhelming mix of emotions, the sweetness and the tension. You couldn’t pull away, not even if you wanted to. The shadows seemed to curl around you both, their presence now almost comforting, like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in that fragile moment.

His kisses grew more desperate, each one heavier, more consuming than the last. His hands pressed firmly against your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, vibrating against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his fervor. No one had ever acted like this around you before—not before the Entity’s realm, not during. There was something almost intoxicating about the way he clung to you, his lips trailing from yours to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.

And, to your surprise, you realized... you kind of liked it.

His voice came in soft, muffled murmurs against your skin. “I need you,” he groaned, his tone laced with an almost painful desperation. “I need to hold you, to keep you close. You’re mine—you’re meant for me.”

The words hit you like a wave, leaving you breathless. His arms wrapped around you tighter, his fingers gripping as though he feared you might vanish if he let go. The shadows around you seemed to move in tandem with his emotions, curling closer, darker, as if they were an extension of his longing.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’ve waited... I’ve searched... and then you came.” He pulled you so close it felt like he was trying to meld you both together, his forehead pressed against yours as he panted softly, his lips brushing yours again.

There was no denying the intensity in his words and the way his entire being seemed to focus solely on you. The world around you faded away, all of it becoming irrelevant under the weight of his need.

And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself lean into it, into him.

--

You didn’t know how it worked. Honestly, you didn’t question much about the things that happened in the Entity’s realm—trying to make sense of it always felt like a losing battle. But being the only person that the killer—Jake, as you had learned—could touch and hold? That made the trials with him… special.

Special in a way that involved him finding you almost immediately when the trial started, his shadowy tendrils guiding him to you as though you were a beacon. Special in the way he would pull you into his arms without hesitation, holding you so close it felt like he was trying to merge your existence with his. And then came the kisses—hungry, fervent, and relentless. He didn’t seem to care about the trial or the Entity’s expectations, not unless another survivor got too close to where you both were. That was the only time he would let go, stepping between you and anyone else like a jealous guard dog.

You had learned early on that he truly couldn’t touch the other survivors. You’d seen him try—his hand passing right through them as though he was nothing but air. It made you wonder, why? Why were you the exception?

The Entity gave the killers their abilities. It had given Jake control over the shadows, molded him into one with the darkness itself. The Entity had made Jake a shadow—a specter that could haunt but never truly connect.

So why you? Did the Entity truly bless Jake with you, as he claimed? Was this some kind of twisted reward or cruel joke? You didn’t know.

And, honestly, when Jake held you so close, his arms wrapped around you like you were his entire world, you didn’t want to think about it. His touch was warm, his attention was unwavering, his affection intense.

A handsome, desperate man who seemed to make it his life’s purpose to hold you, kiss you, and pour all his emotions into you wasn’t something you regularly stumbled across—especially not here. The way he acted like you were his lifeline, the only thing tethering him to existence, wasn’t something you’d ever experienced before. He made you feel wanted, needed, cherished—things you hadn’t felt in longer than you could remember. And maybe that was why you let him.

It felt pretty good, honestly.

Good to be wanted. Good to be someone’s lifeline.

--

You did figure out one thing, though... well, two things.

For one, you enjoyed the feeling of Jake’s arms around your waist. How they would drape over you, his hands firm yet gentle as they gripped your hips, holding you as though you were the only solid thing in his shadowy world. It was strange, feeling safe in the arms of someone who was meant to kill. Ironic, even. But that’s how it felt—safe.

The second thing you figured out was that you loved the feeling of Jake’s lips. It didn’t matter where they landed—your neck, your throat, your shoulder, your cheek, your forehead. Each kiss sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. But the best? The best was when his lips met yours. Jake’s kisses weren’t just kisses. They were declarations. They were desperate, wanting, filled with the kind of need that made your head spin and your heart race.

Your favorite moments, though, were the times when it had been too long since you last saw him. When he’d finally appear, the shadows curling and shifting to reveal him, he would drop every pretense of being a killer. The mask would slip away, and there he was—clingy, needy, and entirely fixated on you.

“I missed you,” he’d murmur into your hair as he held you close. “I kept thinking about you. I can’t stand being away from you. I need you.”

He would rant softly, his words spilling out like a dam had broken. His voice would tremble, and he’d clutch you tighter, burying his face into your shoulder, his shadowy figure melting into something softer—something vulnerable.

In those moments, he didn’t feel like the Entity’s chosen killer. He felt like a lovesick puppy, desperate for your attention, your touch, your reassurance.

And it was cute. At least, you thought so.

a/n: i basically had peggy from ceechynaa on replay during this. reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

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[astonmartinii]

ballad of lovebirds and puppy dogs | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem actress!reader

face claim: rachel zegler

everyone is a hunger games fan, even if you say you're not a hunger games fan you are. this includes lando norris.

based on this request: could you please do a lando norris smau with rachel zegler as the fc!! where the ballad of songbirds and snakes recently came out, twitter could be freaking out over it, and then someone spots her with lando or something!! take it from there queen that’s just my like base plot‼️‼️ - @inejghafawifesblog

MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KO-FI?

yourusername

liked by tomblyth, landonorris and 1,231,866 others

tagged: tomblyth

yourusername: kinda have a movie coming out, have yall seen it?

view all comments

user1: ANNOUNCE RELATIONSHIP NOW

user2: friendships can exist between men and women you know?

user3: look at her holding his arm though that shit ain't platonic

hunterschafer: my favourite girl in the whole world

yourusername: that's crazy because you're my favourite girl in the whole world too

hunterschafer: crazy when that happens huh

tomblyth: does that mean i'm your favourite man in the whole world

yourusername: my lawyer said i can't answer this question

tomblyth: god you get a boyfriend and all of a sudden i don't mean shit

this comment has been deleted

tomblyth: does our frolicks in the woods mean nothing to you?

user4: WE SAW THAT GRANDPA

user5: sooooo. there is a man.

user6: and it's not tom :( so disappointing their chemistry was insane

user7: babe that's called acting

user8: lando norris in the likes i knew my man had TASTE

user9: i knew there was a reason i liked that man

f1gossipandtea

liked by user13, user14 and 12,309 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris

f1gossipandtea: lando norris was spotted multiple times out in monaco with y/n y/ln !! this comes after his appearance at the premiere of her new film the ballad of songbirds and snakes. do you think they're a cute couple?

view all comments

user15: try not to say parents challenge (impossible)

user16: has someone looked into my brain and pulled out my dream threesome and made them a couple

user17: i need them to give me a chance for real

user18: i am defo anti-paparazzi but thank you for these absolute gems xx

user19: those motherfuckers must've been camped out cause literally got the whole itinerary

user20: this feels like such a random couple but after watching the BTS of tbosas they defo have very similar personalities

user21: i did a lil bit of sleuthing and tom has posts of him at races? so do we think he suggested lando? or showed him to y/n?

user22: i also had a wee look and y/n follows basically all of the grid and a couple of the retired drivers so that tells me she likes the sport? like if she just liked lando surely she'd only follow him and maybe some of his friends?

user23: so like my vision is y/n y/ln either performing or singing the national anthem at one of the american races

user24: someone get this gal in the fia stat

user25: who is this girl? she's too irrelevant for lando ...

user26: and who are YOU? he's not going to pick you girly

user27: she's in the top film in the world for weeks now ... let's not be silly

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,833,209 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: what the paps didn't get ...

view all comments

user28: screaming, crying, throwing up i did not know i needed this so much

user29: i am so unwell this is so cute

user30: i was so on the y/n and tom train but i am happy to say it has been hijacked by lando

yourusername: paps didn't get our good angles :(

landonorris: i'd like to keep the best angles to ourselves

yourusername: no for real, for MY eyes only

maxfewtrell: god you people are obnoxious...

landonorris: you literally told me to stop complaining about being lonely and now i'm being attacked 🤨

maxfewtrell: NOT LIKE THIS THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE

yourusername: fuck them kids

landonorris: what y/n said

danielricciardo: free enchante promotion, y/n you're invited to my wedding

yourusername: the girlfriend effect x enchante goes crazy tbf

landonorris: are you saying i didn't dress well?

yourusername: you either didn't dress well or can't pack for shit you came to GEORGIA IN THE SUMMER WITH A SUITCASE FULL OF HOODIES

landonorris: but that's my brand :(

georgerussell63: the twitch quartet formally announce our disappointment about finding out about this relationship via @f1gossipandtea, we expect a big apology and perhaps and visit from tom

tomblyth: i am THERE

yourusername: eh i think that's on lando .... but real question is who follows @f1gossipandtea

georgerussell63: me duh, i need to check for potential GDPA incidents

alexalbon: i also follow it 👍 no real reason i just like the drama thanks @charles_leclerc and @carlossainz55

yourusername: LMAO

charles_leclerc: i am disappointed in you lando. ALEX WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN

carlossainz55: ???

landonorris: lol would you have even believed me ?

georgerussell63: no

alexalbon: no

charles_leclerc: no

yourusername

liked by hunterschafer, landonorris and 1,339,309 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: some cheeky behind the scenes pics, including lando demanding to be pampered while i was in hair and make up

view all comments

user31: i hope lando can fight (i have brass knuckles on, sorry not sorry)

landonorris: UMMMM ???

yourusername: soz babe they're just passionate

user32: HE WAS ON SET? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING?

landonorris: how dare you !! the makeup girlies LOVE ME

yourusername: sure, if that's what you wanna believe

landonorris: they liked me better than you they said so :p

yourusername: they were just being nice i told them you're fragile

landonorris: i am NOT FRAGILE I AM SOFT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE

user33: okay now i get them 100%

maxverstappen1: so this is why you didn't play fifa with me 🤨

oscarpiastri: so this is why you abandoned me at the airport 🤨

danielricciardo: so this is why you blocked me after i called you seven times in a row it was an emergency you ASSHOLE 🤨

carlossainz55: so this is why you've ditched golf dates the last couple months 🤨

alexalbon: so this is why you didn't come to watch tbosas with me and lily 🤨

georgerussell63: so this is why the GDPA chat was muted on your phone 🤨

yourusername: i ain't reading alla that, i'm happy for you or i'm sorry that happened, i'll see you all in the parking lot at the vegas gp

landonorris: ...sorry?

user34: Y/N IS GOING TO THE VEGAS GP?

maxfewtrell: actually could you have him more often?

landonorris: AHAHAHAA :(

yourusername: gladly :)

landonorris: :)

f1

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,441,723 others

tagged: landonorris

f1: lando's new helmet for vegas... we wonder where this inspiration came from?

view all comments

user38: IS THAT A BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES HELMET

user39: maybe men do deserve rights

landonorris: the ballad of songbirds and snakes is out in cinemas everywhere now !!

yourusername: i knew they should've given you a cameo

landonorris: THERE WAS A CHANCE OF THAT?

yourusername: no, but it would've been funny tho

landonorris: don't get me excited like that :(

danielricciardo: maybe you could have a cameo in snow white, you are what the kids call a short king... sorry

yourusername: LMAO

landonorris: can we stop bullying me on my special post :(

yourusername: sorry babe, i love you and i love your helmet, thank you xxx

landonorris: THANK YOU :)))))

maxverstappen1: so you're telling me i sat through whatever the fuck that opening ceremony was when you could've had y/n perform the whole time?

yourusername: new agent incoming?

landonorris: I KNEW YOU WATCHED THE FILM

maxverstappen1: i am a supportive friend?

landonorris: you didn't even know her?

maxverstappen1: i saw you at the premiere, went through your instagram, saw you only followed her, put two and two together, went to see the film because we're friends by proxy now 👍

yourusername: i am scared and impressed

landonorris: fine... that's kinda cute

user40: okay soz i love this relationship and all the friendships starting

user41: okay but @yourusername who is winning the games

yourusername: fernando or valterri they scare me

fernandoalo_oficial: compliment!

valterribottas: i'll take it

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell, yourusername and 1,723,990 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: i wanted to impress her :( she's a lot better at her day job

view all comments

user46: (i'm glad he's okay) lando really was the 'this one is for you babe' and misses meme this weekend

landonorris: not wrong

yourusername: GET OFF YOUR PHONE AND STOP TALKING DOWN TO YOURSELF

user47: currently picturing y/n whisper yelling positive affirmations at lando

yourusername: yes !! baby boy is way too hard on himself and NOT on my watch

landonorris: :)))

yourusername: you did so well this weekend, i loved watching you do what you love - don't be too hard on yourself !!

landonorris: i just wanted to do your helmet proud :(

yourusername: i am more than proud

landonorris: can you sing to me in your country accent again?

yourusername: of course

maxverstappen1: is this a kink?

landonorris: 1. no it's not a kink 2. ASK ME IF I'M OKAY BEFORE YOU TRY TO KINK SHAME ME

maxverstappen1: you're actually spelling even better maybe a concussion was what you needed

yourusername: TOO SOON MAX

maxverstappen1: did you just send me a picture of lando pouting

yourusername: yes ! say sorry now !!!!!

maxverstappen1: fine. i'm sorry lando. i'm glad you aren't hurt and that you don't have a country accent fetish

user48: are these the new terror trio?

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 1,552,589 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: don't listen to this bozo, he's the most talented boy in the world

view all comments

user49: THEY HAVE A CHILD?

user50: that's a dog...

yourusername: just because i didn't birth him, doesn't mean mr. fluffy isn't my biological child

landonorris: i'm not a step dad i'm the dad who stepped up 🆙

tomblyth: tom blyth erasure

yourusername: boo you whore

tomblyth: ermmm EXCUSE ME?

yourusername: lando appreciation post must be mean to all other men, sorry !!

tomblyth: understandable, continue.

landonorris: the most talented??? coming from you??? this is high praise

yourusername: and you BETTER take it

landonorris: yes ma'am

maxverstappen1: is this another kink?

landonorris: MAX?

maxverstappen1: it's winter break i'm bored and you have a GIRLFRIEND so i can't terrorise you in person :(

yourusername: attempt to kink shame us one more time and i'm sending mr fluffy at your ankles

yourusername: fuck it i'll send ankle biter yuki in as well

yukitsunoda0511: i'll do it

yourusername: @landonorris i see why he's your favourite now

landonorris: yuki-san!! can we give mr. fluffy a brother?

yukitsunoda0511: i love you guys but i see you way too much as it is

yourusername: harsh crowd

landonorris: at least you have me?

yourusername: TRUE

user51: my life pre and post y/nxlando was so vastly different - i love them

note: thank you for the request !! i have been swamped with work... and recovering from my birthday weekend. i hope you enjoyed it!! i love the hunger games and i can't wait to see tbosas !!

[walkingstackofbooks]

Frankly, there should have been some sort of required explanatory paperwork and consent forms in DBIP - besides Zimmerman contacting Julian's parents, it always bothers me that everything else Julian has to do seems to just come up as they're going, and honestly, I'm not sure Julian would have agreed if he'd been given any forewarning on what it would all include.

(I mean quite honestly he's barely enthusiastic about any of it, and I kind of feel that if he hadn't felt that he *had* to given Zimmerman had already showed up on the station and launched into the "chance of a lifetime" spiel, he might well have declined even if he could have opted out of the parents thing.)

But I digress. The point is, what if Dr Zimmermann did email Julian the forms to sign off on - just, while Julian was in the Dominion Camp. And the changeling impersonator simply deleted the email (well, emails plural) because it was irrelevant.

So then you've got Zimmerman getting impatient to start his project (it's bad enough he has to model it on someone else, let alone waiting for them to even grace him with a reply) until eventually he decides oh fuck it, I'll just forge his signature to send to my superiors, it's not like he's going to refuse once I've explained in person.

And then it just... never comes up. No-one asks and he certainly doesn't feel the need to ask why Bashir had ignored him (and maybe he does overhear something about camp 371, which means he's definitely not going to bring the missing email up) and then by time anyone might have thought to question his ethics, if Julian ever did mention that he'd explicitly asked for Zimmerman to avoid his parents or what have you, the whole enhancements thing will have come out and it would probably just seem like Julian was being, idk, petty, if he ever tried to bring it up to the powers-that-be. Not that I think he would. But you know, even if a friend did try to persuade him, I can't see that approach bearing fruit.

And ugh, I'm just so angry on his behalf, because while the way it worked out was probably actually better in the long run than him keeping his secret forever/it coming out in some way where that plea deal wasn't able to be made, I'd really like Zimmerman to have faced SOME repercussions more than just, y'know, not getting with Leeta. (Not to downplay the that Rom, my hero, made to this episode of course. Thanks, Rom, for your service. You had the greatest of timings)

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

Okay I need honesty, do I sound fucking insane. like do I sound crazy. like do I sound cookoo dumb stupid crazy ass who should delete this and stop wasting their time on this or like am I making some snse

‘The pedophile’ is a scapegoat and boogeyman. It is an individualist, carceral, and fascist framing of childhood and adolescent sexual abuse. The individualist nature of this widely-accepted phenomenon functions to provide cover to the material basis that allows and creates such abuse, and is beloved by fascists for its malleability and galvanizing effect. Individual and carceral solutions are fundamentally incapable of stopping sexual abuse; if we truly care about the issue, we must abandon these frameworks altogether.

What is ‘the pedophile’ as a framework?

‘The pedophile’ is an attempt to provide anatomy of the problem. In this view, the cause is simple: for whatever reason, there exist a number of intrinsically sick, or more likely, evil individuals who lust after children and adolescents and make it their life’s goal to rape and defile them. With this framework, the solution is just as simple–dispose of the problemed people. If something about them is incurably evil, then what else is there to be done?

I understand the appeal of this framing to the majority that buy into it; a few years ago, I was caught up in the fervor myself. It’s a fairy tale; there exists a possibility of a ‘happily ever after.’ Evil is singular, and discreet from the world around it. The question of ‘why did they do it’ is conveniently irrelevant and inexplicable–evil is evil because it is evil; we must only know that it is evil and we (who could never be evil) must expel it. 

Unfortunately, evil does not exist. But harm does, and harm is necessarily based in the material, not the moral, or spiritual, or metaphysical. Material results have material causes–that is to say, there are ‘whats,’ ‘whys,’ and ‘hows’ to every meaningful harm.

First, the ‘what’: What happened, and what detrimental material impact did it have?

Second, the ‘why’: Why might the person who did the harm have done so?

Third, the ‘how’: How was the harm made possible?

To view sexual abuse in terms of ‘bad people do bad things,’ we shut down the second question with the thought-terminating idea of evil, and entirely ignore the third question. By doing this, we fully close ourselves off from any ideas that could meaningfully deal with the issue outside of individual instances of it. If we don’t know how harm comes to pass, we are utterly powerless to stop its furtherance. 

Childhood sexual abuse, like all forms of abuse, is made possible through unequal relationships to power. To understand this, we must understand ‘the family,’ the role of children within it, and the way capitalist society uses the family as an economic unit.

What is ‘the family’?

‘The family’ is capitalist society’s primary organizational method through which individuals meet their material needs. No matter a society’s methods of distribution, it is labor that is the animating essence of survival. Food must be cooked, children must be raised, waste must be taken out, and in a capitalist society, labor power must be sold so that the rent gets paid and the cabinets stay stocked. 

Ignoring the production chains that produce the commodities that are foundational to our lives, it is exceedingly difficult to run a household single-handedly. If someone is not able to leave a situation because they would lack the financial means to subsist otherwise, the person providing those financial means holds power over them. This is a neutral

[insert-something-funy-here]

PHIGHT OR PHLIGHT

CHAT, IT'S DONE!!! CHAPTER 3 IS HERE!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIO!!! YOUR PRESENT??? THE BIG SAD!!!! YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA!!!!!!

ANYWAY, chat I think this chapter genuinely has some of my best writing so uh, praying this gets popular lol- CLICK ON THE IMAGES FOR BETTER QUALITY 🙏

AND WITH THAT, ENJOY!!! >:D!!!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

"I did what was right."

"You did what benefited you and only you."

Could the warden have been right?

Medkit sits there, staring at Biograft as he recovers from overheating and attempts at saving battery for the rest of the trip. The two are on their way to the Church of the True Eye, Medkit has to report back about what happened no matter what. However, the pair are currently resting at Sword's. Biograft lays in Sword's hammock, "sleeping," though he can't actually recharge without Subspace’s crystal.

I can't do anything.

I can't do anything but watch as his newly grooved existence runs along the iron rails laid before him by my own. There’s no lever, no other track, and I could close my eyes, but watching is the least I owe him. From the rifled frozen heart of the mountains to the ineludible sand of the desert he now erringly rushes forward. He’s smart; but there’s intelligence which lies with woe or that which lies with insanity. In some souls are the wings of the swords who hegemonize this world which allows them to dive into the darkest gorges, soar out of them again and again, and become impervious to the wills of many. Such that even if they were to fly forever in those georges, they’re in the mountains, making even their lowest swoop higher than that of any plain bird’s soar. He’s just now growing, with so much potential and light. Do I have it in me to watch if he falls the same as I?

Biograft’s awakening quickly stole Medkit’s attention from his thoughts. “I am no longer overheating and believe I have deleted a sufficient amount of data, my remaining battery should now last a week."

“The church isn’t that far, which should leave us most of that time to figure out a battery for you,” he’s cut off by Sword entering the room.

“Hey Med, how’s Bio- Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He stepped forward and rested his arm on Medkit’s shoulder. He wasn’t all that sure about hosting a murderous robot, but Medkit’s adamance, and offering to charge him less from then on, ment this was important. Medkit didn’t give many details of what happened, but he did mention this Biograft being sentient and that the two just escaped from Subspace.

He met Sword with silence. He’s never felt before, how would he even be able to describe it? He has the vocabulary, but words are too subjective and feelings don’t always follow their denotation. It’s too complex. That’s without the added burden of asking if it’s even real. All experiences of life are different, but is his even valid? He can’t even articulate how he’s doing in this present moment. This is a train of thought best saved for later. He won’t lie, but he doesn’t know the truth. He simply says, “That is an overwhelming question,” and leaves it there.

“I should’ve thought about that, hah! Sorry, let me ask something different then, hmm,” Biograft wanted to interrupt and say the apology was unnecessary, but Sword spoke before he got the chance. “Still think my techniques are outdated?”

Biograft stares at him for a moment before speaking, “Incredibly so.” He pauses, “However, there is merit to it, age often brings either value or irrelevance. I believe you’re making a good attempt at having it be the first option of the two.” His words surprise Sword, but it seems to convince him that this Biograft is different from the ones he’s fought before.

Sword smiles at Biograft, it confuses him, but at least Sword seems pleased with his response. Medkit speaks up, “We should get going.”

“Leaving already? Dang! You sure you two are good to leave?” He knows they have to leave for the cult eventually, but he wouldn’t mind their company for a bit longer.

“As ready as we can be.”

“So not at all?”

“Correct.”

As Medkit had predicted, it did not take them long to arrive at the church. The two are greeted by Scythe, “Aw there ya are ‘Kit! Why if I didn't know any better I woulda thought you were tryna run,” she steps forward, looking Biograft up and down, “I see you brought a new toy with ya.”

“I can explain.” Biograft notices a new hesitancy in Medkit’s voice.

“Well of course ya are! Let’s go find some place else to talk.” There’s been some sort of underlying threat lacing itself in her words, but Biograft can’t grasp what. Medkit, however, knows it all too well. Scythe begins to walk and motions for the pair to follow behind. Medkit’s hands tense, something makes Biografts shake.

The two stick close as they follow Scythe, eventually making it to an office like room with a large round table. She motions for them to sit at one end while she walks to the other. “Now then! Explain before I disassemble yer lil friend here.” The way her tone didn’t match her words reminded Biograft of Subspace, but this felt different. This felt different. He should be used to violence aimed his way, being in phights, having been part of Blackrock’s security force, being close to his creator, but this wasn’t the same. There are stakes, this existence is now the only one he has, there’s no coming back now if he’s killed. He won’t claim to be alive, but he will fight for this life with every part of himself.

Medkit knew she would probably rip Biograft apart regardless, “This Biograft, he’s sentient, we got away from Subspace-”

“Hold your horses there Doc, ain’t we supposed to be keepin’ ya safe from that scientist?”

“That is the deal we have but-”

“Now how exactly are we gonna keep ya safe from him if yer actively bringin’ his lil experiments ‘round the place, mm?

“He’s different!”

“Ya say that but all I see here is a security risk.”

Biograft stood up, “I can prove it.” he pauses for a moment to rephrase his words, “let me prove myself.” Medkit looks at him, clearly shocked, wanting to stop him.

Surprise managed to slip through Scythe’s expression. Oh, this was gonna be fun, “Well, well, well~ it can speak fer itself. Hmmm, you know what, yeah, I’ll give ya one shot,” she walks to the door and holds it open, “Come along now~” Medkit goes to follow behind Biograft, but Scythe raises her hand and shoots him a look, “You’re stayin’ here, Broker will be here to talk to ya in a bit. You can give him yer full report.” Medkit goes to say something, but flinches back, a pain shooting through his eye as Scythe’s glass one temporarily gains a teal tint. He sits back down and crosses his arms, refusing to look at her.

Her smirk grows as she turns to Biograft, “Now then, shall we?

Scythe led him to one one of the canyons near the church, as the two walked she asked, “I assume yer lookin to stay here? With him?”

“Yes.” For the first time since all of this had started, he could answer without hesitation. Staying by Medkit’s side, he wasn’t sure what made him seek such a thing so desperately, but he knew he had to do whatever it took.

“And how exactly ya think this’ll work hm?” Scythe stopped and turned to look at him.

Confused, he asked, “In what regard?”

“Well I need some,” She paused, “Reassurance. I could put in a good word for you to the Father, but how do we know this ain’t a long con for you and yer creator?” She began to step closer, “Or that yer any different from the tons of you I’ve dismantled before?” Standing face to face, inches apart, “How do we know yer a good fit for the family?”

“I’ve abandoned all of my connection to Blackrock-”

She puts her hand up to cut him off, “I don’t mean for you to tell me," She yanks him forward, "I want you to show me.”

The two exchange blows for a while. After, Scythe takes a seat on a nearby cliff edge and motions for him to sit next to her, “A’ight, that’s good enough, I get the point yer different, but I still got some things I wanna ask.” He sits next to her, “Why did you leave?”

He immediately goes to excuse his actions, “I had to-”

“No. Listen kid, I’ve fought…” she vaguely gestures at him, “you, before. I know you do insane amounts of calculatin’ and figurin’ out the ‘most optimal actions’ to take for yer directives n all that. So out of every choice you coulda made in that moment, what made leavin’ the best?” She observed him, even if he wasn’t a demon, there’s something in him. Something that can be used.

He froze. He didn’t know? No, he did know, he just didn’t want to admit it. He could’ve just gotten Medkit out of there and returned to Blackrock. He could have returned to Subspace’s side and just held him back until Medkit got away. He didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to be here, but something inside him needed him to. Needed Medkit. Medkit’s absence hurt him, and now he had a chance to be by his side again. This is one shot at it. Biograft gave up every part of his previous identity for this. It won’t be like what it was before Medkit left, far from it, but that didn’t matter. Whether he was sentient, or not, didn’t matter. Medkit would be here, and that’s all he needed. “He did.”

Scythe smiles, seeming more than pleased with his answer. “Say, you need a battery right? Er, well, some way of chagrin? I hear ‘Kits crystal aint work for you, I might have somethin’ that will.”

He looks at her surprised, “Really?”

She nods, “It comes with conditions of course, but you’ll join the family, I’ll vouch for ya, and you’ll get to work alongside our dear medic. You gotta … earn the power you’ll be using from the father, but I think you’ll make a fine vessel for it.” She reaches into a pocket and pulls out a glass eye, “Here, it’s even the one ‘Kit was s’ppossed to have! His eye was sewn shut before he joined, which is why he’s allowed to have an eyepatch.”

He takes the glass eye, “I assume you’ll want me to change my display?”

She nods, “You’ll be required to yeah, I know you don’t have proper eyes, so something to show only one ‘ll work fine,” she thinks for a moment, “Maybe you change one to a flower!”

The three meet again in the workshop. It was nowhere near what he used to have in Blackrock, but it was functional, and Subspace was nowhere to be seen. Medkit steps up to Biograft, putting his hands on his shoulders, before giving him a tight embrace. Biograft was quick to reciprocate. Medkit whispered to him, “You’re still a weapon in everyone else's eyes, just in someone else's hands now, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

The two pull apart and Biograft lays on the rooms center workbench, "I didn't leave for freedom, I left for you."

[writingquestionsanswered]

Bad Writing Advice/"Forcing" Story

Anonymous asked: Do you have any generic advice for forming questions better? Whenever I post a question for writing advice (on reddit, twitter, tumblr, other writing spaces) I often get something like "don't force your story to where you think it should be" I don't get why. If I say something like "I'm changing my main character from a male pirate to a female siren because it fits the plot better - but I don't understand the mythology of sirens. Any tips on where to start?" Often I'll get "advice" like "You shouldn't force your story, let it form naturally..." and usually that's their only advice or something they feel like they have to add before answering the actual question. It's starting to feel snobby. I'm so confused. Am I not supposed to make make decisions/changes if something in my story isn't working? Is that "forcing" or "pushing" it in a way I "shouldn't"? Is making decisions on a story just "force"? This is why I prefer to just come to this blog. Even if I've poorly written my problem, you still somehow manage to find the heart of the question and offer real advice that actually helps. Your answers stay relevant and isn't just copy-paste of something I've seen on the internet a hundred times.

[Ask edited for length]

Every writing group/forum is different, and everyone's experience within them is different, but in my own experience I've found that writing groups/forums tend to be better for advice that isn't story-specific. That's because story-specific advice is tricky. Most people struggle with separating their own preferences or style from the needs of the person asking the question. And when asking a question to a broad group, you're also going to get a lot of people who have nothing helpful to impart but want to be part of the conversation, so they throw out tried-and-true irrelevant gems like "don't force it."

Am I not supposed to make make decisions/changes if something in my story isn't working? Is that "forcing" or "pushing" it in a way I "shouldn't"? Is making decisions on a story just "force"?

As I'm sure you suspect, of course you're supposed to be able to make decisions and changes when something in your story isn't working. And no, that's not forcing it.

Again, I think people are mostly saying that (or things like it) because they have nothing relevant or helpful to say but still want to feel like they're helping. But also, I think some people could just be confused about the actual meaning of "force" vs "natural." They may assume that something you planned is "natural" whereas the change you want to make is "forcing it," but of course the opposite is often true. Sometimes the things we plan make sense before we start writing, but as we start to write and get a feel for the characters, story, or world, we see that what we had planned wouldn't work as well as something else. Using your example, if you had planned to make your MC a male pirate, but as you get into the story it makes more sense for the character to be a female siren, if you made yourself stick to the plan and kept the MC a male pirate--even though the female siren would work better--that would actually be "forcing it." Following your gut instinct that the story works better with a female siren MC is letting it develop naturally.

So, I hope that reassures you! The advice was bad, and groups/forums (with few exceptions) tend to better for advice that isn't story specific. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[y3esy]

Addressing Flipline Central

For reference, the original post calling me out is here

Full post below the cut

Claim 1: the owner endangers children and posts nsfw

Here, the user posts a screenshot of multiple things such as a Twitter account. To clarify, that account DOES belong to me. It is NOT affiliated at all with Flipline Central. That account has no posts on it and only has one follower, myself. I am not 18 yet so I haven’t begun to use it because I don’t feel comfortable posting nsfw while I am still a minor. How this has anything to do with me endangering children, I have no clue, it is completely irrelevant to whatever they are trying to talk about.

As for those drawings, I still stand by my rule that suggestive/anatomical art is allowed. All art that was screenshotted and used as proof in this post were anatomical studies made by me and many other people, all of whom are minors. NSFW is not allowed in my server and never will be, and I am well aware that my server has many children in it, as I am one myself. I do not consider any of the drawings posted as proof to be pornographic, but if someone would like to explain to me otherwise I am happy to hear about it.

That one screenshot of the dude with the plant dick I genuinely didn’t register that was supposed to be a penis which is why I didn’t say anything about it. I realized several days later after the image was already buried under tons and tons of other talk, so I didn’t think to go back and delete it. Maybe that’s a mistake on my part but I don’t know.

Claim 2: People in Flipline Central are racist and promote harassment

I honest to god have NO clue how this one came about. I do not at all promote harassment and I especially, as a person of color, do not promote racism. In the past I have made jokes to my friends of “wow did you just call me *racist term*”, but I am a person of color so I have no problem making racial jokes pertaining to my own race. Some people may view this differently though, which I understand. However, I have no idea where they got the idea any of our server members are racist. Anybody who has ever shown racial bias or made insensitive jokes has been dealt with quickly.

Overall, I’ve honestly have no clue what this person is talking about and all of these claims fall apart very easily, and literally none of them are true. If anyone has questions or would like me to address/elaborate on anything, my discord is cylinderlightyaoi

This feels like a deliberate attempt to pull my image down, not a callout post that is made in good faith, and I will treat it as such. None of the claims in this doc are true, and I am disappointed that someone would bring such claims against me and my server without any proper evidence.

[the-other-art-blog]

This news about Jeremy Renner and how Marvel wanted to pay him HALF his s1 salary has reignited my anger towards the show.

If you loved the show, good for you. To me, it was a huge waste of potential even if I loved some scenes. Jeremy Renner said he was excited to make a six-hour movie, but that's not what happened. His screentime was reduced, and his backstory was completely ignored. I still remember that bts photo that showed a fortune wheel and getting excited cause they were gonna show the circus...fuck them. There was no mention of his childhood, family, training, involvement with SHIELD, relationship with Laura, fatherhood, NOTHING.

The deleted scenes showed Clint's mother as a morally questionable character, which could have been refreshing in the MCU, where almost all mothers are saints. She was young and lived in her car with Clint. Did she flee her abusive husband? Did she leave Barney behind? WE DON'T KNOW! She and Clint had dreams of a house. Hey, what a great idea to explain why Clint and Laura live on a farm just like the one her mother talked about? If only Marvel had deemed it worth exploring. I guess the background of an OG Avenger is not important.

She taught Clint to steal and took advantage of his perfect aim to rob people. But Clint didn't want to hurt people cause he was only a child and knew it was wrong, so he shot elsewhere, causing her arrest. She wasn't a sweet woman telling her child everything was going to be ok, she resented him! Imagine the guilt Clint had. Did his mother manipulate him more? How long did it take her to forgive him? Did she ever forgive him? I have only my headcanons to know what happened next, cause the show didn't care to explore this part of Clint's life!

(BTW, my headcanon is that Clint's mother continued to blame him and caused him much distress. Have you seen the show Dead to Me? Remember Judy and her mother? Like that.)

Don't you think this would have paralleled beautifully with Kate and her mom?

And then what happened to him? His mother went to jail, did he go with child services? Did he go to an orphanage? Or to the circus? They took Jack from his story to give it to Kate, so did the circus storyline ever happen? Plus, they turned Jack into a joke, so they didn't even used him well.

Now, Laura. Oh boy, I'm so mad about this. Laura and Linda Cardellini deserved so much better. The actress is always so gracious, but the truth is she was treated like shit. They created an entire subplot surrounding her identity and didn't care to explore it deeply. When did she quit SHIELD? How did she adjust to life on the farm after years of working as an agent? What the hell happened between her and Kingpin? You would think the main character's wife would have a decent role, right? A poster?

I guess the story of an OG Avenger is not worth telling. I mean, after all, why would you give screentime to a man who went through abusive parents and homelessness? A man who overcame his difficult childhood to become a loyal husband, able to maintain one of the healthiest relationships in the MCU. Why would you care about a male character who broke the cycle of violence? That story is irrelevant, right?

They didn't even explore his time as Ronin! 😭

This show killed my interest in the MCU because he was my fav character, and they did him so dirty. I never expected a movie about him, I know his limits (although wtf did Ant-Man got a 3rd movie is beyond me). This show was his only chance to have the spotlight.

My delulu mind hoped he and Laura would be in Daredevil because of Laura's watch, or in a season 2 of Hawkeye. Maybe MAYBE then we would have seen more of his backstory and Laura's. Now I know that won't happen and it's disappointing, but realistically, they were just going to sideline him AGAIN. I mean, the salary reduction would only make sense if his role was small and not as Renner implies is due to his accident. A company would never do that *sarcasm*.

I'll forever mourn Clint's potential. That Winter Soldier scene was already too painful to lose, but to have his own show deleting his scenes?!

Ok, rant over.

[historicity-was-already-taken]

Do you have any advice for vetting sources on I/P? I just got a book at a local bookstore and was wondering how I should go about determining any biases?

Great question. I addressed this in my I/P Reading List. I'm pasting below my section on the methodology and source vetting process I followed while compiling this list:

In compiling this list, my process and methodology were as follows: I first wrote down all the relevant works I could think of off the top of my head, all hailing from my fields of Biblical Studies and Modern Jewish History. I then reached out to my friends in Modern Middle Eastern History, Conflict Studies, Jewish History, etc for recommendations, lists, and insight; one of my friends, an ABD PhD candidate in Modern Middle Eastern History, was particularly helpful in helping me understand Israeli historiography, and pointing me towards the best works in the field of Arab Nationalism. After taking their recommendations, I conducted a series of google searches using “‘relevant search term’ site:.edu” to ensure that I received results from only academic domains. From there, I read syllabi for university courses, and examined comprehensive exam reading lists. After that, I searched the catalog of the New York Public Library using any and all relevant search terms, and I also conducted targeted searches on Amazon. By the time I finished, I had a 50 pages filled with book titles. My next step was to divide the list into categories, deleting irrelevant titles and repeats as I went along. After dividing the books into categories, I put each title through a rigorous fact checking process. I checked the publication material for each book to ensure that it was either a. published by an academic press with a built in peer review process, and/or b. written by an academic historian—either a faculty member, or someone with an MA or PhD in history. If I was still unsure after that step, I searched the title in the University of Maryland’s database system, and read the academic (meaning, peer reviewed) book reviews of the title. From there I either kept it on the list or removed it. As I approached the late-Ottoman period, I became extra-critical of relevant titles. At this point, I made sure to read book reviews from at least two academic journals in different fields/subfields to ensure not only the text’s legitimacy, but its ability to hold firm against the scrutiny of scholars in multiple fields. I tended to remove a work if the word “polemic” appeared in the reviews. This said, many of the works on this list, particularly, but not exclusively, in the Post-1948, Arab Nationalism and the Modern Middle East, Conflict Overviews, and Historiography Narratives, Memory and Theory categories will be slanted, or biased. Considering the topic at hand, this reality is both inevitable and perhaps necessary. I do advise you, however, to read any books you select from these categories critically. The vast majority of these books are academic histories (simply put, I don’t trust popular historians with this topic), so if you are not accustomed to that type of writing, be sure to read the Introduction of whichever books you select very carefully, and understand that you are reading to learn—not necessarily to enjoy. In terms of my categorization…it is imperfect and becomes admittedly fuzzy once we get into the late Ottoman Period. I’m not even 100% comfortable with some of these categories, but alas, if there is one thing I learned from Library Science it is that categories are both terrible and inevitable in the organization of information.

[polyhexian]

How do you manage to make people interested in your long fic??? I noticed how an anon asked you about updates, but I never get any excitement or questions about my fic? I've asked this questions so many times, but I don't think I ever get a good answer to it. Is it luck? Do you have to be good in other factors that how you also animate? What makes people care about what you do? Do you need to know the right people and be in the right friend groups? With my writing, I never feel as though I'm doing enough and question if what I'm making is just stupid and hollow

I wrote a really long answer to this but I deleted it because I thought of something more important to say because like. I could talk about fandom specific culture and stuff but instead like. I'm gonna swing the meager clout I have to try and add some weight to my words

I have 150,000 YouTube subscribers and the reality is: it has nothing to do with your ability.

There are artist who are better than I am that are less successful than me. There are artists I am better than who are more successful than me. Ability itself is irrelevant when it comes to encouraging consumption based growth in content-art spaces. It's more than that. A lot of it is marketing, presentation, personality. A lot of it is luck.

If art or writing is your hobby? Keep it a hobby. Write whatever niche ass shit you want to read and publish it with the expectation that no one but you will read it.

If you want an audience, you have to please the audience. You have to make decisions that account for what an audience wants and responds positively to. It's not a bad thing to make art intended for an audience. But you need to understand that you are writing for an audience in that case, and you might have to choose between what you want to do and losing that audience. If you don't have that reality in mind, if you don't understand that is a concession, then you start mixing up in your head why you are even making stuff. You forget how to make art that isn't for an audience. Just makes sure that you know when you are creating for an audience and when you are creating not for an audience. And also accept that if you are not writing for an audience you might not get one

People like my owl house oc! I'm really happy! But it's not the only oc I've ever written about. Or the only long fics I've posted. I've written like 2 million words on AO3. Most of it no one cares about but me. So I don't regret any of it because I didn't write it for an audience, even if I'm happy the audience likes it.

The only real advice I can offer is just like. Play in your sandbox and people might want to play with you. But if you're writing fanfiction, you're not attracting fans, youre attracting friends and acquaintances. It's different from content creation.

I just make shit

[matrixbearer2024]

I just want to clarify things, mostly in light of what happened yesterday and because I feel like I'm being vastly misunderstood in my position. I would just like to reiterate that this is my opinion of things and how I currently see the gravity of my actions as I've sat and reflected. On the advice of some friends, I was encouraged to make this post to clear up any misunderstanding that may remain from my end.

I don't hold it against anyone for disagreeing with me as this is a very nuanced topic with many grey zones. I hope eventually all parties related to this incident can all get along as well, as I do still prefer to be civil and friendly with everybody as much as possible.

I've placed the whole conversation here for people to interpret themselves, and as much as I want to let sleeping dogs lie— I can't help but also feel like the vitriol was misplaced. I don't want this to be a justification of my actions or even a place where opinions conflict, I'm just expressing my thoughts on the matter as I've had a while to mull it over. Again, this is a nuanced topic so please bear with me.

The "generative AI" in question at the time was a jk Simmons voice bank that I had gathered/created and trained myself for my own private and personal use. The model is entirely local to my computer and runs on my GPU. If there was one thing I had to closely even relate it to is a vocaloid or vocoder. I had even asked close people around what they had thought of it and they called it the same thing.

I created a Stanford Vocaloid as I experimented with this kind of thing as a programmer who wanted to mess around with deep learning algorithms or Q-learning AI. By now this whole thing should be irrelevant as I'd actually deleted all of the files related to the voicebank in light of this conversation when I decided to take down the project in it's entirety.

I never shared the model anywhere, Not online or through personal file sharing. I've never even made the move to even advocate for it's use in the game. I will repeat, I wanted to keep the voicebank out of the game and I only use it for private reasons which are for my own personal benefit.

I recognize ethically I am in the wrong, JK Simmons never consented to having his voice used in models such as this one and I recognize that as my fault. Most VAs don't like having their voices used in such a thing and the reasoning can matter from person to person. As much as I loved to have a personal Stanford greeting me in my mornings or lecturing me in physics after long days, it's not right to spoof somebody's voice as that is genuinely what can set them apart from everybody else. It's in the same realm of danger as deepfaking, and for this I deeply apologize that I hadn't recognized this fault prior to the conversation I had with orxa.

But I would clearly like to reiterate that I had never advocated for the use of this voicebank or any AI in the game. That I was adamantly clear on calling the voicebank an AI(which I think orxa and some others might have missed during the conversation) which is what even modern vocaloids are classified under. And that I don't at all share the files openly or even the model because I don't preach for people to do this.

I would very much rather a VA but because money is tight(med school you are going to put me in DEBT) and the resources available to me, I instead turned to this as a tool rather than a weapon to use against others. I don't make a profit, I don't commercialize, I even recognize that the voicebank fails in most cases because it sounds so robotic or it just dies trying to say a certain thing a certain way.

Coming from the standpoint of somebody who genuinely dabbles in robotics and had a robotic hand as my thesis, I can honestly say how impressive software and hardware is developing. But I will also firmly believe that I don't think AI will be good enough to ever replace humans within my lifetime and I am 19. Nineteen.

The amount of resources it takes to run a true generative AI like GPT for example is a lot heavier than a locally run vocaloid which just essentially lives in your GPU. As well as the fact AI don't have any nuance that humans have, they're computers— binary to the core. I also stand by the point that they cannot and will not surpass their creators because we are fundamentally flawed. A flawed creature cannot create a perfect being no matter how hard we try.

I don't want to classify vocaloids as generative AI as they're more similar to synthesizers and autotune(which is what my Ford voicebank was as well when I still had it) but to some degree they are. They generate a song for you or an audio from a file that you give as input. They synthesize notes and audio according to the file fed to them. Like a computer, input and output, same thing. There's nothing new generated, it's like a voice changer on an existing mp3.

I'm not saying this to justify my actions or to come off as stand-offish. I just want to clarify things that didn't really sit right with me or that seemed to completely blow over in the exchange I shared with orxa on discord.

To anybody who's finished reading this, thank you for your time and patience. I'll be going back to just working on myself for the time being. Thank you.

[ride-thedragon]

A MILD GLIMPSE AT LAENOR AND RHAENYRA.

I do find their dynamic in episode 6 and 7 very interesting, but the first time I watched the show, I did not get what was being communicated between them. Her words to him felt wrong and different with every conversation, and I didn't know why I didn't believe it when the events of episode 7 happened, but I think I do now.

A few things, Laenor does do his duty. They both hold up their end of the bargain it's just unwillingly on his end by the end.

From the start, Laenor is mourning Joffrey in their marriage. That's how it happens. Shortly after, based on age, Jace is conceived with Harwin.

A lot of assumptions seem to be that Laenor and Rhaenyra weren't trying, but I don't think that's it. It seems more likely that they did, and Rhaenyra went after Ser Harwin either way. Because Laenor is being forced to do his duty, I can't imagine him disregarding it. Especially if the deleted scenes are being taken into consideration, but another thing is that Harwin isn't some politically correct decision.

People act as though in the first year of their marriage Rhaenyra needed to be pregnant, but that's not true. It just happened, and I don't see the pregnancy carrying out without some possibility of Jace being Laenor’s, with all eyes on them. The issue was never Laenor not doing his duty. It was that there was no joy in it. Rhaenyra found that with Ser Harwin. That's actual show dialogue.

Laenor in the show doesn't go to Driftmark. In no conversation does it seem as though he has that break from court life. The strength of being a Velayron is taken from him with no noble house Velayron men at the Keep or him being able to go back and prepare himself for his role as heir. This is a world building issue. But also isolated him to the Red Keep unwillingly, it seems.

Then we consider that he cares for Rhaenyra. Ten years later, and he's telling her, "Let's go back, stop making the show of Alicent commands, this is dangerous you're in pain." She disregards him, which is the first of many times we see.

After he's called a cuckold by Alicent, Rhaenyra makes sure he's aware of her dislike of the name Joffrey or him choosing it. I think that scene perfectly analyses their dynamic.

Rhaenyra doesn't like it, Laenor defends it, and she disregards it with something else that's irrelevant in that context. He's playing his role, naming their child, being there at the birth like a happy father would be waiting to meet him, walking with his wife to the king, publicly but quietly doting on her health and taking everything said against him because that is his son but that's not enough for her because in this moment she's upset with him for nsming Joffrey and Alicent.

We see this play out with the "our sons," "are they insinuations" dialogue, and reinforced.

Laenor wants to go to the Stepstones, unaware of the fighting taking place. She says rumours follow their sons, and he asks if they are rumours. This shows his disconnect from the situation at hand. Even a small joke, she discredits from him rightfully but is still isolating for him from their reality. Then, the worst lines from Rhaenyra come out. And I don't know why these are often ignored, but they're based on the characterization of her in her adult years of wanting everything at the cost of nothing because of her position.

She blames Laenor for not being there for them, uses his sexuality and the agreement they had to do so and then makes him stay at her side when he doesn't want to because she thinks it's good for appearances not taking anything he's saying into consideration.

Then we find out that Laenor writes to Laena all the time, it seems because Daemon doesn't want to go back, and Rhaenyra doesn't let Laenor leave. Laenor being restless has been his way, but she kept him at her side. And then Laena dies, and he's crushed.

This is after Rhaenyra finally decides that they can leave for Dragonstone, which is away from all the questions of court, tells him he can bring Quarl and doesn't let him make the decision. We see how upset he is before she tells him of that. Laenor seems to find out about losing Laena on Dragonstone.

Laena is gone, and he's reeling from her loss. He's in the water trying to be near her, grieving. He's getting drunk and can't perform his role, being accosted by Corlys (I know it's Quarl but context clues) for it and is in no position to do anything. He's lost the one person who would be happy for him with this change, the person who he keeps in contact with ten years later. He's distraught.

And Rhaenyra’s conclusion, although based on the fact that she's lost Ser Harwin, is to say he'll be useless to her now.

She sleeps with Daemon, which I won't get into because it doesn't matter right now, but two conversations happen. We see Laenor get drunk, and in Quarl's attempt to go fix his spirits, be completely unaware of the whole Driftmark fight, Rhaenyra sleeping with Daemon or what has occurred with Vhagar and Aemond.

Laenors words to her are I should've been there. I didn't protect Laena, I did not protect you, and there is no comfort. She tells him to sit. They have this conversation, which is his apologies while grieving for his failing and her saying he's a good man with a good heart.

The condition of Laenor in this scene is heartbreaking because of what happens next. He's lost Laena. He's trying to do right by his family, recommiting himself to them, and she suggests he fake kill himself and escape with Quarl. He's confronting their past mistake of thinking that love and marriage are mutually exclusive and knowing his lover is being sent away and that Harwin is dead dedicates himself to Rhaenyra and their boys, wanting to be a family.

But because of Daemon, that's a long gone possibility for her. It's not for him. We don't get to see her, or Daemon or Quarl suggest Laenor leaving, but based on their relationship in the last episodes, he'd simply agree if she said it, reluctantly so.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mary L. Trump at The Good in Us Substack:

Normally, my issue with the corporate media is their failure to shine a light on stories that matter. But in this case, it seems some segments of the corporate media, primarily Fox, is hellbent on helping Donald interfere with his trial through jury intimidation. It’s a disturbing reality that we must confront. Last night, Donald Trump posted the following on social media: “They are catching undercover liberal activists lying to the judge,” Jesse Watters.

Lawyers and legal analysts like Ryan Goodman and Andrew Weissman made it clear that this was a serious breach, the most serious to date, of Judge Merchan’s gag order – one that should be dressed immediately.  The fact that Donald was quoting somebody else is irrelevant. This seemed to be a blatant case of jury tampering, especially since, at the time of this was posted, five jurors and all six alternates remained to be chosen. I fully expected today’s proceedings to begin with the judge announcing that the so-called Sandoval hearing, which he originally scheduled, would be held today before any other court business. This seemed to be a reasonable assumption considering the purpose of that hearing was so the judge can rule on the prosecution’s contention that Donald should be held in contempt and sanctioned accordingly.

Juror Number 2 dismissed

It’s not uncommon for a juror to be chosen and subsequently let go during the selection process. That was the case with Juror Four after the prosecution discovered the man may have been untruthful in some of his answers. Juror Two’s circumstances were different. She was excused after telling the court that she’d become concerned that her identity might be discovered after her family and  friends questioned her about her possible involvement in the trial following media coverage. The fact that the judge felt the need to keep the identities of jurors anonymous is a damning indictment of the criminal defendant. And clearly the jurors understand the inherent danger of being seated on this jury. 

To put this in perspective, my friend and former U.S. Attorney, Joyce White Vance explained, “Typically, you would only see that happen in a case involving violent organized crime.” Following the juror’s feedback, Judge Merchan reprimanded the press for reporting far too much information about the jurors. [Out of an abundance of caution, I deleted the section about the jurors from last night’s post.]

[...] In a disturbing display of media influence, Fox host Jesse Watters went through the list of jurors, with identifying characteristics like employment, gender, place of residence, and commented on each one. 

Watters then singled out any jurors who didn’t align with his idea of what a juror should be (pro-Donald) and cast doubt on their ability to be fair and impartial. This is not just unethical, it’s dangerous. Fox, on Donald’s behalf, is actively helping Donald create an atmosphere of fear among the jurors. In a just world, Watters would be fired for his irresponsible behavior, but Fox has no interest in justice. Consider what Josh Kovensky of Talking Points Memo, pointed out: “Instead of operating within the process of jury selection, which assumes that people are capable of setting aside whatever political beliefs or biases they may have in order to render a good faith judgment on the evidence, it casts the assumptions underlying that process as Trump’s enemy to be defeated, implying that the jurors themselves are incapable of both being impartial in their judgment of him and participating in a political system in which he is a main actor.”

[...]

Donald amplifies Fox, scares a juror, and breaks his gag order

So far, here’s the pattern: A Fox personality attacks the judge or jury, and then Donald shares it on Truth Social as a way to give himself plausible deniability: He can distance himself from the quote by saying it doesn’t represent what he actually believes. This is exactly what he did last night when he quoted Jesse Watters. Regardless of Donald’s attempts to pretend otherwise, this is a clear violation of his gag order and shows a blatant disregard for the legal process. He needs to be punished or this will spiral out of control quickly. We’re already seeing that his disrespectful behavior in the courtroom and flouting of norms — like refusing to stand when the prospective jurors enter the room or using his phone when nobody else is —has already gone too far. The gag order was imposed to prevent Donald from publicly speaking about witnesses, jurors, court staff and their families outside of the courtroom. Donald has run out of chances and his downfall will be of his own making.

[...]

Judge Merchan must lay the smackdown on Donald

Prosecutors have accused Donald of violating the court-imposed gag order SEVEN times since the commencement of the trial. And they will have a chance to make the case for Donald to be held accountable during a hearing next week. They have pointed to public statements and social media posts made by Donald over the past few days as evidence of these violations. They have described the situation as “ridiculous” and have called for it to stop, expressing frustration over Donald’s repeated breaches of the order. Former federal prosecutor Shannon Wu has now called on Merchan to strengthen the gag order to any communication about the trial beyond Donald saying he’s innocent and plans to defend himself. At the very least, Judge Merchan needs to be unequivocal in telling Donald and defense counsel that enough is enough. The repeated violations of the gag order and Donald’s attempts to interfere with the trial warrant serious repercussions. He cannot keep getting away with it.

Mary L. Trump writes in her Substack on how right-wing media outlets (esp. Fox's Jesse Watters) and Donald Trump are conducting witness tampering on the jury for the Trump falsification of business records trial. Trump Trial

[ryunumber]

Two Years of Ryu Numbers (on tumblr dot com)

Hi!

July 14th marked two years of running this novelty blog. As with last time, I'll be taking a week off (that I would have taken around the 14th if I could keep my dates straight) for a bit of a breather. I'll still be around to answer questions that don't require that much research, but regular posting will resume on August 7.

Thank you for two years of Ryu Numbers (on tumblr dot com)!

(more below)

I don't particularly have much to add besides that everything I said last year still holds. It's still true that the only reason I've been making posts near daily for two years is that people keep sending in requests, correcting my mistakes, and Engaging with the Content™, so whether you've been sticking around or just getting a small kick out of seeing this blog's posts every now and then: hey, I think that's neat of you to do. For your sake, I hope this blog continues to be a bit amusing in some shape and/or form.

I did open up submissions in the past year, and while I'm fairly certain about 50% of the time people are using that as a second request form (it's not, and those get deleted), a few people were nice enough to go through the effort of making the diagrams themselves. So to that end, I'd like to thank @nico-robin-official, @catgirldragon, @torka914, @sorrybutiforgotmyusername, @blasteg, @jurrasicoresposts, @hbmmaster, @throw-your-boat, and @hymnsoffuel for contributing to the blog and seeking out Ryu Numbers themselves.

And of course, a big thanks to @kchasm, for maintaining this colossal diagram of Ryu Numbers and responding to my irrelevant natter, and @skapokon, for keeping me honest by sending in corrections, both right after a post goes live and months after the fact. Lord knows otherwise I'd never look back at the 1400+ posts I've somehow accrued.

...Well, circumstances allowing, here's to a third year of trifles and technicalities, then.

[pythoness94]

Heyyyyyy my main dawg (this maybe an unanswerable question since it’s quite irrelevant to the story— so you may delete if it is, and ty)

This picture I’ve always thought it was probably to be drawn by Will but in another picture

It’s signed and it doesn’t look like Wills. So that’s my question where did this picture come from? why is it here. In Els s3 room we see she has the bird tapestry that once lived in the exact space__ so obviously this picture was important enough to be replaced by a statement piece from s1-s2.

Um, As far as I can tell it looks like a Leroy Neimon or someone similar. It looks close to his 1977 painting "the stock market" but it's very clearly not due to the person so that's why I said something similar. Also while the signature matches the name being signed does not so a copy cat maybe? If I could get a clearer picture of the signature or something then I would now. But I do not think this is will has for his painting? Will doesn't sign his name, he prints it. He doesn't use cursive. I'm not sure if I can find a photo but I'm pretty sure he also signs it "WB" for will Byers, not his whole name. So I'm pretty sure this is a printing of some famous artist, maybe something Joyce put down there to look nice?. But im pretty sure it's not Wills since you can see an example of his art right next to it and the painting is clearly not to this caliber. Even in season 4, his painting he gives to Mike is not has good as this. I'll be sure to look into it more though!!