#i will be drawing these machines this is a threat

[carpsoup]

oughfhf i am so bad at ultrakill i am Not ultrakilling it man not at all

[foolsocracy]

i love your spidey robbie :3

thank you!! heres some more doodles of him :]

[oceantornadoo]

two lieutenants.

(simon riley x f!reader, all fluff)

two lieutenants🌪️masterlist

not supposed to happen, not really. but the higher ups are finding their morality (where was it all these years ago?) and want to pat themselves on the back for adding a woman to the team.

simon is prepared to hate you, someone taking his spot. this one thing he's done in his life well, the one family he can protect. it itches him in a place he can't shake, the thought of change, of a new person. someone who will stare at his skeleton ways and his gruff voice, someone who will judge but not understand.

but then he meets you, tinkling laugh with doe eyes. calculating in your military knowledge, respectful of the 141's history. never overstepping, never trying to take his place, simply wanting to learn. he tries to hate you, tries to dump sugar in your tea and hide your eye black, but you just laugh and make a face at the sweetness, drawing an extra makeup stick out of your cargoes.

he needs to hate you, but you wash his extra masks without asking on the days he can't touch them for the blood that's laced into the seams. you include his cigarettes on base grocery runs and pour over tactical maps with him until the wee hours, understanding his fundamental need to know everything, more than what's in the briefing papers.

you are prepared to be intimidated by the ghost, the killing machine without a name. you know you're the only woman on an all-male team, but even you can't work friendship miracles. then you meet him and he cocks his head and sizes you up, seeing you as a threat instead of a piece of meat. someone worth considering, not a sideshow, not eye candy.

you try to be scared of him, but how could you when he always leaves an extra tea bag in the almost-empty box? when he keeps hair ties in his front pocket because yours always seem to break in between missions. he listens to your stories and nods thoughtfully, not needing to preen and puff his status like men you've met before.

you need to stay away, but he takes off his gloves in front of you that first time and suddenly you can't. he tells you to call him simon and that he likes the way you say his name, your dissimilar accent coming through. he brushes stray hair from the nape of your neck during a desert mission, tucking it back into your bandana, and you can't remember why you ever intimidated by this man who makes you earn his comfort and care, but who gives it endlessly once you've got it. he's your simon and you're his partner in crime, and suddenly you two could never imagine a team without two lieutenants.

--

im not always into power/rank play i want to be RESPECTED

(don't get me wrong it still eats sometimes)

[satorusugurugurl]

may i request camping with kento plsss

The Wingman!

Summary: Marie’s Summer Fest prompt: Camping

Pairing: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: language, threats, confessions, fluff, dry humping

Word Count: 1,982

A/N: Thanks for the request, Nonnie! This was a fun super cute prompt! Ugh I love Nanami so much so precious!! 😩💚

You were going to kill the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Despite his six eyes and limitless technique, you would find a way to kill Gojo. The cocky bastard found out you had liked none of me after walking by Shoko’s office and overhearing you, gushing about the glorious blonde that has stolen your heart.

He made it a point to help you get together with the seven-to-three ratio sorcerer. Gojo often asked you to meet him at the vending machines, only to find Nanami waiting instead. He would have Ijichi pick you up after the mission while Nanami was in the back of the car; he even went as far as locking you in the teacher's lounge together

Gojo had dubbed himself your wingman, and his first attempts to help you had been very innocent. This time he had gone too far.

The bastard had somehow talked Yaga into setting up a camping weekend for students. His reasoning was to let the kids be kids, which could help with their survival skills and team-building—all of which your boss fell for. At first, you were excited. You loved teaching the next generation of sorcerers, and your students always had a way of brightening your day. You sadly realized another reason for this trip, the second not standing in the woods waiting for everyone.

You were seconds away from bolting back to Campus when Gojo grabbed you by the back of your shirt, dragging you back to the group. “Alright, so we’re gonna go over sleeping arrangements.” Gojo went through the list of students before pointing towards himself.

“And our talisman teacher will be bunking with office-worker-dropout sorcerer Nanami Kento. While I’ll be chilling with Suguru!”

“I’m going to kill you.” You harshly whisper while the students begin setting up their tents.

“How could you say that after all the effort I put into giving you some alone time with Nanami?”

“Sleep with one eye open, you stupid cocky, arrogant—”

“Ooh~ keep talking, I'm getting close.”

You embedded your fist with cursed energy and slammed it against Gojo’s infinity, drawing out of the bark of laughter from the blindfolded asshole. Since punching him was out of the question, you stormed off to set up your tent with Nanami close behind you. Like always, he was courteous, insisting that he could put the tent up, but you declined, telling him that you needed to do something with your hands because murdering Gojo was impossible. To which he did something you’ve never heard; he laughed out loud.

Nanami’s laugh was warm and rich, leaving your stomach swarming with butterflies. You found yourself blankly, staring at him. Unaware of your staring, he grinned, shaking his head, as he leaned against a tree near him. That smile had all murderous intentions, floating down the river as his laughter fueled your drive for the night. Did the kids need firewood? You were off skipping through the woods to collect it. Suguru forgot to get the marshmallows out of the car for s’mores? No worries! Thinking of Nanami’s little headshake, you zoomed back to campus alone!

Thinking about his smile had you in a daze all evening. Even when you lay in the tent, staring off into space, you fought the urge to kick your feet as you thought about Nanami earlier. Your thoughts allowed a silence to grow between, but not awkward in an awkward way. It was almost smooth and comforting until he cleared his throat, drawing your focus towards him. Nanami had propped himself up on his elbow, still in his sleeping bag. His gaze was glued to the side of the tent as the soft flush dusted the tips of his ears

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“What?”

“I just wanted to apologize.” You sat up, watching as the Nanami Kento flushed his eyes, avoiding yours. “You’ve been distant today; you went to get firewood by yourself and went back to Campus alone.” he ran a hand down his face. “Gojo had told me you wouldn’t mind staying in a tent with me, but that man was wrong.”

“No—god, Kento, I’m sorry.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck. “I’m not uncomfortable at all! I’ve been so giddy all day because of you, so I guess I just seemed distant because I was in my world.”

Nanami shifts in his sleeping bag, focusing his attention on you. “You’re giddy because of me?” There is no going back now; it is now or never.

“Yes, because of your laugh and your smile.”

Nanami just blinked momentarily before the same smile from earlier graced his lips as he lay down, shaking his head. “Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.” Your cheeks flushed down next to him. “So my smile, huh?” he cocked an eyebrow with a smirk.

“What can I say? I’m a simple woman.” Nanami chuckled softly, watching you closely. “You were really that worried I was uncomfortable?”

“Of course, you're the last person I’d ever want to make uncomfortable.”

“Oh, and why is that Kento?”

Honey brown eyes met yours as he inched closer. “Just like you, I get—“ he scoffed, “giddy around you.”

It felt hotter in the tent, so hot that you were kicking your sleeping bags down your legs, allowing you to inch yourself ever so closer to Nanami, freeing yourself from the confining blankets and, in a sense, the ropes that had metaphorically been holding you back. You moved closer. And you moved with the soft grind as you cut some of your hair behind your ear.

“Does the Nanami Kento like me?”

“If I said yes, what would you do?”

“Well, tell me, and you’ll find out.”

The sound of Nanami’s sleeping bag being unzipped and his smell invaded your space. “I like you.” You felt like the tension snapped in your shoulders as you jerked forward, cupping his face.

“I like you too.” Your lips pressed against his with a soft kiss. Ken didn’t flinch at the sudden intimate contact. Instead, he melted into it with his eyes shut. His hands slowly trailed up your arms, pulling you closer to him with a happy hum.

That small peck became more heated; Nanami’s teeth gently tugged at your bottom lip as he pulled you into his lap with a groan. You shifted your legs to straddle his hips, allowing you to grind against his. The taste of mint flooded the inside of your mouth, leaving you like putty in his arms while you ran your fingers through his soft, blonde hair, gently tugging at it by its roots.

“Haah~ shit.” Hearing a curse being breathed against your lips, you pulled away with a breathless laugh, leaving Nanami slightly frustrated at the sudden absence of your lips.

“Did you just curse?”

The man below you didn’t answer, and instead, he pushed you back against the sleeping bags, causing breath in your lungs to leave as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, allowing him to press himself directly against your crotch. “Yeah—“ he caught your lips with his and another heated kiss, “You’re going to be learning a lot more about me tonight, darling.” Almost all of Nanami’s weight presses down against you, and he begins rocking his hips against yours.

His erection pressed perfectly against your thin shorts; the seam in the middle of them hit your clit perfectly. Soft whimpers escaped your mouth and slipped into his as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down tighter against your body as you dry-humped each other like a couple of teenagers. The was flooded with soft grunts and moans along with the shuffling of clothes as you both pushed past the barrier of colleagues and friends into something more.

He couldn’t get over how good you smelled and how sweet you tasted against his lips, making him run faster, his hands gripping your hips and holding them down as he thrusts faster against your pussy. He wanted you, God, and he had wanted you for years! To finally have you underneath him was a dream come true. One that was, unfortunately, most likely going to end like the wet dreams he had had countless times before. Nanami couldn't help it, though, the feel of your body against his, the sweet sounds you were allowing to spill from your mouth into his, already him on the edge. He pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

“I’m sorry to admit this, but I’m not going to last very long.” He muttered, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a grunt.

“Me neither,” you whispered into his ear as your leg started to shake, “faster~ faster!”

Nanami obliged with a moan, rutting his hips faster against your teeth, clenched together, while you gasped, tilting your head back as the slow, steady grinding turned into a more feral, less synchronized pattern. It was turning into something that was more focused on the sweet relief of the building pressure that was going to burst. Sweat beaded on both you and Nanami’s forehead as his lips sucked and nipped at your sensitive neck, making you cry out softly.

Hearing your moans and feeling the way your clothed core twitched against his aching cock encouraged Nanami to grind his lips, moving harder, his fist digging into the blankets underneath as he threw his head back. The head of his cock rubbed frantically over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. It was when your legs were wrapped around him that Nanami let his whole body hunched over yours as he moaned out loud.

“Cum, oh fuck I’m gonna—!!”

The way his hips rolled expertly against your clit, r your back arching off the ground as your eyes went wide. Both of you came at the same time, his hips stilling against yours for just a second before he thrusts frantically against you, drawing out both of your orgasms until you both that he finally stopped. You kissed each other lazily as your hands fisted the fabric of his shirt. As you closed, separating your bodies from each other, fingers running through your hair until you both broke apart and panting heavily.

“Ooh, shit—” Nanami said, planting several kisses against your cheek. “I feel like a teenager again.”

“Me too—” you giggled as Kento pulled away to smile down at you, fingers gently caressing your cheek. “You wanna do something else like a couple of teenagers?”

“Oh, and what do you have in mind??”

You sit up, grinning mischievous as you toss him his shoes. “Let’s blow this camping trip and head to an amazing twenty-four-hour bakery I know.”

The following morning, when Gojo crawls out of the tent with his blindfold in disarray, he notices you and Nanami are absent while the students are rebuilding a fire. Out of curiosity, he checked his messages on his phone and saw an unopened text. On his screen is a picture of you and Nanami grinning with food in front of you. The message underneath it read. ‘Thanks Wingman.’ Leaving Gojo hooting as he smacks Suguru with his pillow. When the dark-haired man sat up with a groan, Gojo showed him the message.

“Get up! We’ll ditch the tents and take the kids to celebrate with pancakes!”

Suguru narrowed his eyes at Gojo, a vein in his forehead twitching as he shook his head. “It’s too early for your shit Satoru.” He purred before kicking his sleeping bag off.

“I wonder if they’ll name their firstborn after me!”

“I doubt it.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

Summer Fest Tag List:

@typicalife-101

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

I was thinking about Cybertronians freezing in the Arctic due to the ice that forms on them instead of just the cold & not knowing what humidity is again, and what if they weren’t instantly aware of all the abilities of their alt modes?

They’d have a warmup period after scanning them and have to gradually get used to/ discover all the things they can do. There’s little to no water on cybertron, no reason for them to know that ice forms in the cold, no reason for them to have de-icing. And when they come to earth and choose aircraft as their new vehicle modes, they have no idea those aircraft come with built in warmers on the wings.

I thought about how some flying decepticons would deal with it. Let’s go with Starscream first because I love him very much.

(Also because he complains about cold the most out of all the characters. I imagine everyone ices up the same amount, but the cold is an entirely different problem and one that affects him more because he’s all thin and lanky, not very good at retaining heat. It’s worth clarifying that the freezing is what’s dangerous to them. The cold bothers them but isn’t a threat in and of itself, seeing as they can walk around in space just fine. But I ramble on)

- If he had a human friend or partner, he’d be complaining about how cold it is in front of them and they’d be like “Wait, aren’t you a plane?” He’d ask what that has to do with anything and get very annoyed that he didn’t know he came with extra heating.

- He claims he totally knew about that all along and merely forgot about it in the moment. He also claims he totally knows how to turn it on, but…remind him again?

- The realization that he can just… make himself warmer at will is incredible. He’s still gonna complain about the cold though. Probably out of instinct, he complains to fill the silence. (Is it obvious I want him to be safe and warm. I think it’s obvious.)

- Cue a concerned human asking if he’s been flying through clouds and terrible weather and all the way into the stratosphere with ice building on his wings for all this time. How is he still flying? He just replies that he’s built different, and that he’s far superior to human machines yap yap yap blah blah.

- He doesn’t want to admit how great it is, but after the human shows him how to turn it on, he’d be waking around with the de-icing turned on all day, even when he doesn’t need it. I reckon it’d make the area between his wings an excellent nap spot. He could just put a human in there and squeeze them between his wings and it’d feel like being put in one of these bad boys, I dunno what they’re called in English

In any case, peak nap spot.

Up next is Megan:

- Megatron doesn’t actually have an earth based vehicle mode, leading me to believe he wouldn’t have any form of de-icing. My headcanon is that his bigger, bulkier frame would require and generate more heat, but look at him.

He got a lot of nooks and crannies that ice could build up in. Even spikier than Starscream. Much like Starscream he doesn’t have paint which may also have acted like an extra layer of heat insulation. Additionally, his joints on the arms and legs are visible.

(Actually unsure if Starscream is painted and just gray, but Megs definitely isn’t)

- My point is, I’m not an ice expert but Megatron is terrible for both heat insulation and icing prevention. Megatron is a tough bot, he can take a lot of punches, and as prideful as he is I doubt he’d ignore the fact that a snowstorm would be a genuine threat or hinderance to him.

- Not that he’d let anyone notice, of course. He has a reputation to maintain, and he can’t allow anyone to know his weakness. When he’s in private though, I find the image of evil dictator Megs snuggled up in a billion blankets drinking a hot cocoa hilarious. I’ll probably draw it.

- A human pal or partner may not be able to advise him to turn on de-icing that he doesn’t have, but they might be able to offer him another solution. A badass cloak or cape to protect himself from the snow, while also remaining intimidating. Anyone would think it was just for show, unaware that it’s actually to keep him from freezing.

Last but certainly not least, Soundwave!

-Oh, Soundwave totally knew about the de-icing without needing anyone to mention it. Soundwave knows a lot of things. He’d totally read his own altmode’s manual. I don’t think we’ve ever seen Soundwave in the Arctic though.

Trying to find a good gif for my own reference hang on-

- I’d argue that out of these three he’s probably best with the cold. Sure, he’s spiky too, but nowhere near the other two. His “elbows” are awfully small and exposed, but since his wings form the arms there’d be no issue once he turned on the de-icing. In the gif he easily covers his entire body with those huge arms, so he could easily curl up around himself and defrost if be needed to. Now here’s a good writing idea I probably will never use

- Laserbeak probably has its own de-icing, which makes Soundwave extra warm when he requires it. ADDITIONALLY Laserbeak could be deployed in order to warm up a human friend or partner from afar. Tactical warms.

- Not much to say about Soundwave. Maybe I’ll edit and add later.

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

[seat-safety-switch]

With forest fire season approaching, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. Last year, I was trapped inside, wondering why everything tasted like I was eating it at a mid-tier barbecue joint. This year, my plan was to invent some kind of machine that absorbs the forest fire smoke and turns it back into trees. I succeeded.

You might not think that such a thing is possible. Doing so is a waste of time that you could be spending inventing your own Teletreeporter. A couple cups of coffee later, and I was driving around an old International truck (watch your feet, the floors are gone) with a prototype stuck to the back of it.

As a test, I chose to start in the smokiest part of town, the old fan factory. Someone left the place running and then locked themselves out years ago, and now the autonomous assembly algorithms are tearing the building apart in order to have enough material to keep manufacturing fans. Nobody has told the robots to stop quality-testing those fans, either, so every single one they build goes out in the parking lot, and runs until destruction. It's a big draw on the local power station, and also kind of ruins the air quality in the area. I flipped the switch, and the Teletreeporter leapt to life, popping out a perfect, not even blackened, elm tree.

And then the switch jammed. In my defence, it was not my fault that I used a junky old switch I found in a cookie tin full of old switches that I got from some dude's estate sale. Sure, I could have tested it more, but who knows if it would have broken just the same? Either way, I was now driving around town, shitting out a constant, unbroken stream of tree sausage.

"Take cover," I shrieked as I drove recklessly past a public park, reforesting it the whole way. "I can't turn it off!" As I got on the throttle and headed towards Main Street, I noticed that the sky was beginning to get brighter and brighter. The damn thing had absorbed all the forest fire smoke and was getting a start on the atmospheric carbon. If I didn't do something soon, it was going to reverse climate change, and start pooping out bricks of solidified gasoline.

"Goddammit! Stop fixing the climate," shrieked a cop, fumbling for his gun. His threat came too late. He got creamed by a thick stream of authentic ground Brontosaurus meat, brought back to "life" by the reversion of the Jurassic period's extinction event.

[colorkatsue]

Starscream Predacon AU

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History:

10 million years ago before the events on Earth, Shockwave along with Megatron had found the corpse of a Predacon that they decided to use their Blood/Energon to turn one of the Decepticons into a killing machine, Starscream is the one who ends up being subjected to the Shockwave's experiment which has been tortured and torn into becoming someone he was forced to become

Currently when the Decepticons are arriving on Earth according to what Soundwave reported, Megatron sends Shockwave to use his killing machine 'Starscream' to destroy the Autobots, which Shockwave, when freeing Starscream from his cell attacks him leaving him wounded and escaping to earth with some shots to his body when the Decepticons tried to catch him

Upon arriving on earth, Starscream dedicates himself to hiding without have no contact with the seekers or with the humans so that they would not hunt him but as the months passed (in the Second Season) Jetfire and Bumblebee were looking for the Allspark somewhere on earth until they meet again with Starscream

Whom they decide to help in his situation with the condition that he controls his new predatory instincts due to the effects of being a Predacon in case he becomes a threat to the Autobots

In addition, Starscream, without realizing it, over time redeems himself as well as ending up having certain feelings. by the explorer, Bumblebee.

(I don't plan to draw his alternate mode because I need something practical with drawing robotic animals or dragons)

It was time to make a drawing of Starscream as Predacon, because Starscream being the most popular character, it is very strange that he doesn't have a Predacon version, which makes me I miss it a little that's why I decided to draw my own version as Predacon

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Ok. It's pretty clear you are more welcoming of AI, and it does have enough merits to not be given a knee jerk reaction outright.

And how the current anti-ai stealing programs could be misused.

But isn't so much of the models built on stolen art? That is one of the big thing keeping me from freely enjoying it.

The stolen art is a thing that needs to be addressed.

Though i agree that the ways that such addressing are being done in are not ideal. Counterproductive even.

I could make a quip here and be like "stolen art??? But the art is all still there, and it looks fine to me!" And that would be a salient point about the silliness of digital theft as a concept, but I know that wouldn't actually address your point because what you're actually talking about is art appropriation by generative AI models.

But the thing is that generative AI models don't really do that, either. They train on publicly posted images and derive a sort of metadata - more specifically, they build a feature space mapping out different visual concepts together with text that refers to them. This is then used at the generative stage in order to produce new images based on the denoising predictions of that abstract feature model. No output is created that hasn't gone through that multi-stage level of abstraction from the training data, and none of the original training images are directly used at all.

Due to various flaws in the process, you can sometimes get a model to output images extremely similar to particular training images, and it is also possible to get a model to pastiche a particular artist's work or style, but this is something that humans can also do and is a problem with the individual image that has been created, rather than the process in general.

Training an AI model is pretty clearly fair use, because you're not even really re-using the training images - you're deriving metadata that describes them, and using them to build new images. This is far more comparable to the process by which human artists learn concepts than the weird sort of "theft collage" that people seem to be convinced is going on. In many cases, the much larger training corpus of generative AI models means that an output will be far more abstracted from any identifiable source data (source data in fact is usually not identifiable) than a human being drawing from a reference, something we all agree is perfectly fine!

The only difference is that the AI process is happening in a computer with tangible data, and is therefore quantifiable. This seems to convince people that it is in some way more ontologically derivative than any other artistic process, because computers are assumed to be copying whereas the human brain can impart its own mystical juju of originality.

I'm a materialist and think this is very silly. The valid concerns around AI are to do with how society is unprepared for increased automation, but that's an entirely different conversation from the art theft one, and the latter actively distracts from the former. The complete refusal from some people to even engage with AI's existence out of disgust also makes it harder to solve the real problem around its implementation.

This sucks, because for a lot of people it's not really about copyright or intellectual property anyway. It's about that automation threat, and a sort of human condition anxiety about being supplanted and replaced by automation. That's a whole mess of emotions and genuine labour concerns that we need to work through and break down and resolve, but reactionary egg-throwing at all things related to machine learning is counterproductive to that, as is reading out legal mantras paraphrasing megacorps looking to expand copyright law to over shit like "art style".

I've spoken about this more elsewhere if you look at my blog's AI tag.

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

I saw a news item on that "would you want to be alone in the woods with a bear or a man" idiocy, saying reports were coming back that it was breaking up relationships. Which seemed kinda silly to me, but then I saw an old friend post her support for it over on Fakebook, and I realized I never wanted to see or talk to her ever again.

A person who has allowed herself be brainwashed into truly believing every second human being she has ever seen is a greater threat to her than a wild animal designed by nature to rip her face off and eat her without a second thought is a person incapable of ever seeing me as even fully human, as even the same species as herself.

I've gotten very used to being tolerant of other people's differing positions on the road of life, and patient with their waking up or not waking up out of their societal conditioning, but I realize this really is a fairly clear line that I'm happy to draw, in terms of who I would allow close to me and who I wouldn't.

Any woman who would believe and promote such a thing could never be trusted as a friend or a lover, could never be relied upon to have your back or be there for you in hard times, to take your side when others speak ill of you or be willing to sacrifice her own comfort to help you in time of need: she literally thinks you are the most violent threat to her on the planet, simply because of the body you were born into. There is no greater bigotry amongst humans possible.

Feminism is a machine that removes women's ability to either reason or love.

[ltash]

Pretty Little Teacher

Simon Ghost Riley x female reader

Warning: 18 plus, dubcon and noncon theme, dark themed, dark ghost, s*x and erotica, forced sex.

He loves me like a monster, all teeth and talk and hiding in the dark. That's my speciality, Men with strong bodies and fragile hearts, and if you hold them too tightly they will crumble beneath you like an avalanche that is waiting."

●●○~ Lindsey Hobart ~○●●

Ghost sat in his dimly lit room, the blue glow from the laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his masked features. Laswell's voice echoed in his ears, calm yet commanding.

"You have to go undercover to gather some intel," she instructed, her face a picture of seriousness on the screen. Ghost's fists clenched, his eyes narrowing as deep creases appeared at the corners. He remained silent, absorbing the gravity of the assignment.

"You'll be posing as a high school student. We have made all the arrangements. The principal and teachers are informed. We need important intel about a person working there. I'm sending you a report. Read it," Laswell said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. She hung up the video call before Ghost could utter a word.

"Fuck!" Ghost cursed, his frustration evident. "Now I have to become a fucking high schooler," he spat, the absurdity of the situation gnawing at him.

As a highly trained SAS soldier and an elite killing machine, Ghost was used to the most dangerous and covert missions. But this? This was entirely different. How the hell was he supposed to blend in as a high schooler with his massive height and muscular build? He would look like a fish out of water, a grown man playing dress-up.

He opened the report Laswell had sent, scanning through the details of his new identity and the target he needed to surveil. The mission was critical, he reminded himself. He had faced worse odds and more dangerous situations. But even as he reassured himself, the thought of navigating the social labyrinth of a high school filled him with a unique dread.

"Guess it's time to go back to school," he muttered under his breath, already strategizing how he would tackle this bizarre new mission.

Ghost scanned the report, eyes moving quickly over the lines of text. Someone from the office staff was involved in terrorist activity, and the school's security was compromised. The specifics were still murky, but the mission was clear: infiltrate, gather intel, and neutralize the threat.

As he read, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Soap.

"Hey, high schooler! Need help picking out your backpack?" Soap's message read, followed by a string of laughing emojis.

Ghost growled in irritation. Soap had been making fun of him since he got the assignment. In truth, Ghost thought Soap was the one who was fit for this job. With his leaner build and younger appearance, Soap would blend in effortlessly. But orders were orders.

"You're just jealous you can't relive your glory days," Ghost shot back, though he knew Soap would get a kick out of his reply.

He closed the report and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This mission was unlike any he had faced before. It required a different kind of camouflage, a different kind of patience. He was about to step into a world of teenage drama, cliques, and homework. But he would adapt, as he always did. He had no choice.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. Ghost stood in his small apartment, the usual grey hoodie and sweatpants hanging off his frame. Soap had helped him gather the essential school supplies: notebooks, pens, and a new backpack that didn't look out of place for a high schooler. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and slipped on his skull-printed balaclava. His identity had to be hidden at all costs.

He climbed into his Range Rover and drove to the school, parking a distance away to avoid drawing attention. With a deep sigh, he exited the vehicle and made his way to the school entrance.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, the contrast of his presence was stark. Teenagers milled about, chatting and laughing, but Ghost felt like a fish out of water. His height and build made him stand out like a sore thumb, despite the hoodie and balaclava doing their best to conceal his identity.

He pushed forward, reminding himself of the mission's importance. He needed to find his way to the office, get his bearings, and begin gathering intel. The corridor seemed endless, each step echoing with the sounds of lockers slamming and indistinct chatter.

"Fucking Hell," he muttered under his breath, trying to blend in as much as a heavily-built, masked adult could in a sea of high schoolers.

Ghost made his way to the last classroom on the K-12 hallway, assigned as a senior posing as an 18-year-old. Despite being 29 with a muscular build, he hoped to blend in with the 12th graders.

He opened the door and walked in, immediately feeling the curious eyes of his new classmates on him. Ignoring the stares, he scanned the room for any signs of the person he was here to investigate. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, looked up from her desk.

"You must be the new student," she said, motioning him to an empty seat near the back. "Welcome."

Ghost nodded and made his way to the seat, keeping his head down. He dropped his backpack on the floor and settled in, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other students eventually lost interest, returning to their conversations and distractions.

As the teacher began the lesson, Ghost's mind raced. He knew he had to keep a low profile while also staying alert for any signs of suspicious activity. His eyes roved over the room, memorizing faces and noting behaviors. The target could be anyone-an unsuspecting office staff member, a seemingly innocent teacher, or even a fellow student.

The day had been a tedious blur for Ghost, each monotonous class blending into the next. Used to the adrenaline of combat and the precision of sniper shots, he found the slow pace of high school unbearable. But all that changed when you entered the room.

Your presence was electrifying, a stark contrast to the dull atmosphere. The click of your red Louboutin pumps echoed in the silent classroom as you made your way to the front. Your black dress pants, stylishly slit, and button-up shirt under a sleek black blazer highlighted your figure. Long, blonde hair cascaded down your back, framing your big blue eyes and perfectly pink lips.

Ghost felt a surge of desire course through him, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn't entertain. He imagined gripping your tiny waist, pulling you close, feeling your petite frame against his as he lost himself in you. The urge to take you, to dominate you, was almost overwhelming.

"Hey! Newbie, are you listening?" Your voice cut through his fantasies, pulling him back to reality.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his husky British accent barely masking his distraction.

"Your name?" you asked, standing near his desk, your eyes meeting his.

"Simon," he answered, using his real name to avoid any potential mistakes.

"Well, Simon, try to pay attention," you said with a faint smile before returning to the front of the class.

As you began the lesson, Ghost forced himself to focus, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, and the way your presence stirred something primal within him. He needed to remember his mission, but in that moment, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted you.

The period ended, and Ghost watched you leave the classroom, struggling to control his thoughts. You stood out among the middle-aged teachers, looking so young, no older than 25. How could someone like you be teaching 12th graders? The question burned in his mind, but it was more than just curiosity; he was captivated by you.

He barely remembered the rest of the day, his mind fixated on you. As soon as he could, he retreated to his apartment. The urge to release the tension was overwhelming. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his muscular frame. His cock was already hard, fueled by the image of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand wrapping around his shaft. He imagined you on your knees, your pink, plump lips taking the full length of his cock in, your big blue eyes looking up at him with a mix of innocence and desire. His strokes quickened, his other hand gripping the air as he fantasized about it tangled in your long, blonde hair.

His body tensed, muscles straining as he neared the edge. The thought of you sucking him off, your pretty little mouth taking him deeper, his cum all over your face pushed him over. He climaxed hard, a guttural groan escaping him as he came, the pearly liquid mixing with the warm water and flowing down his thick thighs.

Leaning against the shower wall, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. The intensity of his release did little to quell the longing he felt. As the water washed away the evidence of his fantasy, he knew he was in trouble. This mission was supposed to be about gathering intel, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He needed to stay focused, but the image of your gorgeous face and enticing body lingered in his mind, a distraction he couldn't afford yet couldn't resist.

The next day, Ghost found himself eagerly anticipating school, though for entirely different reasons than his usual missions. From the moment he had first seen you, you became his muse, eclipsing the seriousness of his undercover assignment. Dressed in blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a sleek black leather jacket that concealed his tattoo sleeve, he waited through all six periods just for a glimpse of you.

When you finally entered the classroom, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Students greeted you warmly, but Ghost's attention was solely on you. You wore high heels that accentuated your figure, a casual T-shirt, and form-fitting pencil jeans that emphasized your curves. It was undeniable-you were the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.

As you distributed MCQ papers among the students, you approached Ghost's desk. Your curiosity got the better of you as you inquired about his mask. "Why are you wearing a mask?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"I get sunburn," he replied smoothly, trying to maintain his cover.

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill down Ghost's spine. "Weirdo," you whispered teasingly, but your words were loud enough for him to hear. The image of dominating you right there, bending you over the desk, fucking you from behind and hearing you begging to stop, flashed vividly in his mind, your body arched in his hands, pussy clenched around his length as he rails his full length till the hilt into you, ruin your pretty little cunt for everyone while you screaming out his name.

"Concentrate on your paper, weirdo," you mocked again as you moved away.

His jaw clenched with frustration, anger simmering beneath the surface. Despite the rush of desire coursing through him, he remained stoic and silent, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He knew indulging in these fantasies could compromise his mission, yet resisting the pull of attraction toward you seemed almost impossible. Ghost was torn between duty and desire, unsure how much longer he could keep his composure around you.

He had finished his paper along with the other students as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. One by one, they handed their work to you, you seated at your desk. Ghost lingered, the last student to leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Remaining seated, he watched you intently.

Stealth was his forte, and he approached you silently. You were small compared to him, your back elegantly arched as you organized the papers into a neat pile. Standing right behind you, he suppressed the urge to touch you. Suddenly, you moved back, inadvertently brushing against the bulge in his pants. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled like a bunny, and turned around.

Leaning heavily against the table, you panted, eyeing the behemoth of a man standing before you at his full height for the first time. A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation of his arousal against you. He stood there with a menacing look in his eyes, extending his paper to you. With shaky hands, you took it, feeling a jolt as his gloved hand brushed against you.

Without a word, he turned and left the classroom.

Throughout the drive to his apartment, he couldn't shake the image of you, how your inadvertent touch had stirred a primal urge within him. How you bumped into his erect cock ready to sprung out. The urgency of his mission weighed heavily on his mind, but thoughts of you kept intruding.

Later that day, consumed by desire, he found himself jerking off imagining you once more. He couldn't help but picture your round ass, the sensation of you against him, his cock stretching your gummy walls as he fucks you doggy style, the fantasies growing more vivid with each passing moment. It was a distraction he couldn't afford, yet couldn't ignore.

The next day, he arrived at the school as usual, anticipation swirling within him. Your period had become his favorite, and he waited patiently until you appeared, as usual, with an air of cautious awareness. As the lesson progressed, you couldn't help but notice his chocolate brown eyes fixed on you through his balaclava.

He was no ordinary teenager - tall, dark, and undeniably handsome even with a balaclava on his face, with a presence that set him apart. You felt the weight of his gaze, the tilt of his head to the side like a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the distraction, you continued with your class routine, distributing checked papers to the students, your focus unwavering on your mission.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, as if he had something more than mere curiosity driving his attention. You knew you couldn't afford to be distracted, not with what was at stake.

As you hurriedly left the classroom, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, you reached for your cellphone and stepped into the quiet solitude of the bathroom. With a hushed voice, you spoke into the receiver, "Yes! Tomorrow is the day. We will hunt another doe tomorrow."

Across the line, a voice crackled with excitement, "Perfect. After school, then?"

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding to yourself. "After school." With that, you hung up, slipping the phone back into your pocket.

Unbeknownst to you, Ghost known as Simon, the new student who had been quietly observing the dynamics of his new environment, had overheard your conversation.

From the first day of his undercover assignment, Ghost had sensed something amiss. How could a 25-year-old teacher be instructing seniors when others with more experience were available? It gnawed at him, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into place. As he stood in the hallway, a vicious smirk spread across his face.

"So you are the one," he whispered to himself, the realization sinking in. "And now, there's nobody that can save you from me. Not even yourself." His mission had taken a dark turn. You are the one involved in human trafficking.

Tomorrow was the day Ghost knew he had to act swiftly. He slipped on his skull mask, adjusted his gear-blue jeans, black hoodie, and vest. His Beretta rested against his chest while his sniper rifle was ready on the passenger seat of his car.

He parked in the nearly deserted school lot, waiting patiently. It was nearly two hours past school hours when he spotted you approaching from the back of the building. You met with another person near a car.

"The girl is in the bathroom, I've hidden her there. Wait here, let me take her out," you said.

Without hesitation, Ghost aimed his sniper rifle at the man's head and took the shot. Skull fragments and brain matter scattered as the bullet found its mark. A scream tore from your lips as chaos erupted.

Ghost calmly placed the sniper rifle on the seat and stepped out of his car. You saw him approaching and instinctively ran. Darkness was descending, the winter chill settling in.

You ran for your life, heart pounding with fear, but Ghost closed the distance quickly. Desperation set in as you realized you had no weapon. You took out a pocket knife and attempted to attack, but Ghost deftly seized your wrist, disarming you.

You screamed and struggled, but he immobilized you, securing your wrists with a zip tie. With a forceful push, he slammed your back against a car, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Fear and confusion engulfed you as Ghost stood before you, his identity finally revealed, and his intentions chillingly clear.

"Let me go," you tried to scream as he pinned you against the car, looming over you. His 6'4" frame towered over you, casting a dark shadow. The edge of his knife pressed against your throat qnd his hand on your chest kept you pinned against the car.

"Just got you. Now I can't let you go, won't let you go," he whispered in your ear with his husky voice. "How can I waste this pretty little cunt of yours, princess?"

You whimpered and squirmed, fear coursing through your veins. His hand traveled to your neck, his grip so firm that you could barely breathe. You struggled to breath. Your vision blurred as darkness enveloped you, and you melted into his arms like putty.

You went limp in his arms like a rag doll, a pretty little thing for him to play with. He strapped you into the passenger in his car seat and drove off, his mind racing with twisted excitement.

He stroked your hairs with his fingers while he drove. He just had got his little plaything.

Upon reaching his apartment, he carried you inside, laying you gently on the soft sheets of his bed. Even in your unconscious state, you looked so beautiful and irresistible. His excitement grew, his cock twitched from the anticipation building as he stood over you, lost in the dark allure of the moment.

You whimpered as you slowly opened your eyes. Ghost was perched on a couch in front of you. Sitting up slowly, you noticed your hands were still tied in your lap. Your tiny body shivered at the sight of him as he rose to his full height. The room seemed small, his eyes behind the skull mask full of menace, looking straight through you. Your lips quivered with fear as he approached.

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," he taunted, stepping out of the shadows. His blue jeans were tight around his thick thighs, and his black hoodie strained to contain his muscular physique. The skull mask shone dimly in the light. The tattoo peeked through the space between his sleeve and his gloved hand.

You gulped, "Who are you?" you asked in a small voice.

"Ghost. Heard the name before?" He tilted his head to the side, and realization hit you hard-it was Simon.

"What do you want?" you barely whispered.

"You," was his only reply as he stepped closer.

A whimper escaped your lips as you pulled yourself to the other side of the bed and stood up.

"Don't make this hard for yourself, Princess."

Panting, you frantically ran towards the door, but his hands were around your waist in no time. He slammed you against the wall, the impact sending pain throbbing through your back.

His hand smacked the wall beside your head. The barrel of his gun made contact with your chin.

"Look at me!" he shouted, his voice an order. You squeaked in response, your eyes meeting his.

"Good girl," he praised, his hot breath fanning against your face. "I'm a lieutenant, not your average student, and you have to comply-or else." The barrel of his Beretta poked under your ribs. "Choices have consequences," he said softly this time.

"I've been thinking about your body since the day I saw you." He stroked the soft skin of your chest with his gun, trailing it down the valley between your breasts. Your skin quivered under the touch of the cold metal.

"So irresistible, Princess." His husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped as he snapped your ziptie with a strength so brute it took only a second to come off. Your buttoned blouse came next as he snapped it apart. All the buttons came crashing down on thefloor. Your pearly necklace was snatched from your neck. The pearls came rolling down on the floor.

You gasped as he snapped your bra from the front. Your perky breasts liberated from the confines of the lacy material.

He pulled his mask upto his nose and his lips grazed your neck as his thumb met your nipples squeezing your breasts so hard it was almost painful. A painful moan mixed with pleasure escaped through your lips.

He held you close by your waist and he chuckled as your small waist fitted so easily in both his hands all while kissing your neck while his hands played with the soft skin of your back.

"So soft like plush in my hands." He said as he rubbed your nipples with his rough thumb. A sexy hiss escaped your lips as you threw your head back biting your lips.

"You gave in so easily princess." He whispered. His sexy voice made you moan.

He tossed you over the bed, with a squeak you fell, soft sheets cushioning your back as you landed with a gasp.

His eyes, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, locked onto yours. "Been waiting to bend you over that goddamn desk in that class and fuck your needy little cunt, princess," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire.

As he removed his hoodie, revealing a canvas of scars that gleamed against his muscular frame, you couldn't help but gasp. Each scar told a story of battles fought and survived, adding to the allure of his rugged demeanor. His predatory approach, intensified by the skull mask he wore, sent a thrill through your veins. He moved closer with a confident stride, his presence filling the room with a primal intensity that both thrilled and unnerved you.

You gasped as he closed the distance. His hands reached for the strap of your jeans, deftly unbuttoning them with a deliberate touch. With a smooth motion, he slid the denim down your legs, revealing your bare skin in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. You laid exposed before him, feeling both vulnerable and empowered by his gaze.

You knew you were powerless infront of him and he will have his way with you one way or another. Wetness had already pooled between your legs and you were trying hard to hide it by closing them.

He traced the barrel of his gun along the soft skin of your inner thighs. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt the cold metal against your sensitive skin.

"Open your legs Princess." He ordered slowly parting your thighs.

"So sensitive, aye?" he said with a mocking tone.

You hissed at the sensation. He slowly pressed the barrel against your clothed folds, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Please! I beg you, don't do this," you pleaded, my voice trembling.

"Look at you! A wet, hot mess for me," he sneered.

He knelt before you, his hands reaching for your panties. With one tug, he tore the strap, leaving you completely exposed.

"You should thank me, princess, that I'm gentle with you. I'm not very gentle with women. They run from me after what I do to them," he laughed.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He opened your legs slowly, his fingers parting your folds as he gently touched your swollen clit. Your body quivered with the sensation.

"So soft, so sensitive," he said, as he slid his rough fingers inside you.

A slow scream escaped your lips as your pussy clenched around his fingers. Your back arched, moans spilling from your mouth. He watched your face contort with pleasure as he leaned down, his tongue making circles around the buds of your nipples.

You clutched the sheets, your eyes shut tight as his fingers curled up, hitting just the right spot.

"You sound so pretty, love," he teased, his tongue continuing to play with your nipple. The sensation was heavenly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He adjusted himself between your thighs, kissing your entire body as he moved down toward your stomach and then your most sensitive part.

He gently kissed the inside of your thighs before his tongue met your folds. Screams of pleasure spilled from your pretty mouth as he nipped and sucked at your already swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!" you moaned.

He kept teasing your folds with his tongue, sucking your wetness as he held your hips tightly in place.

He kept torturing you with his tongue until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I can't take it anymore," you begged.

"Ssh!" he whispered, placing a finger on your lips. "You're going to take it, just a little longer."

Your body trembled as he continued his relentless assault with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. He moved his finger from your lips to your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles while his tongue continued its work.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice cracking with desperation.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg me," he commanded softly.

"Please, please, I need more," you cried out, your body aching for release.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Good girl," he said, his voice low and husky. He increased the pressure of his tongue and finger, driving you closer to the edge. "Now, let go for me."

With his words, you felt the dam break, and waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your back arched, and a guttural moan escaped your lips as you finally reached your climax. He continued his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, he gently kissed your inner thighs before moving up to your face.

You were still high when he unzipped his pants.

"Been waiting for this ever since I laid my eyes on you," he said, taking his cock and positioning himself on top of you.

You looked at him with dazed eyes.

"Like what you see, princess?" he asked with a smirk.

"I-I can't do this," you pleaded.

"You can do this, and you will," he replied firmly.

He pressed his cock against your entrance, bending you down. Without warning, he pushed his entire length inside, pinning your wrists against the bed. You screamed as your walls wrapped around him, your body struggling to adjust to his size while he fucked you deeply, not giving you any time to acclimate.

You were completely at his mercy, a plaything for his desires.

"Fuck! Princess, you feel so tight around me," he growled, thrusting in deeply.

You were breathless, disoriented by the intensity of it all. He drove into you with unrelenting force, hitting inside you to the extreme. Your back arched under him as waves of pain and pleasure coursed through you. His cock was so big it made an impression inside your belly where it hit.

"How does it feel, me ruining your pretty pussy, love?" he growled, sitting back on his knees and gripping your waist tightly.

Your eyes rolled back as he railed into you with brute force, the sensations overwhelming and consuming.

Whimpers escaped your lips as his hips thrusted against your pelvis. Skin to skin, the intense connection between you sparked a fire that threatened to consume you both. You hid your face in the soft pillow, the tears mingling with your whimpers, your cries echoing in the room like a haunting melody.

He chuckled at the sight before him, the raw vulnerability and passion in your every movement only adding to the intoxicating air surrounding them. "Look at you, eh," he murmured, his voice a low growl filled with satisfaction. "Taking me so well."

With a sudden move, he lifted you up by your waist, your heart racing a mile a minute, your vision blurred with the overwhelming sensation of being completely lost in him. "Oh my god, I am gonna die," you whined, the words a mix of fear and ecstasy that only served to fuel the flames of desire burning between you both.

But he just chuckled, his hold on you firm and reassuring. "Not on my watch, luv," he whispered, his voice a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions and pleasure that threatened to consume you.

He pulled out abruptly, spinning you around and delivering a stinging slap to your ass.

You clutched the sheets as he seized your hips, pulling you towards him and plunging deep inside once more. A primal groan escaped his lips as he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back and driving himself deeper with each thrust.

Your impassioned cries only fueled his intensity. With a firm grip on your waist, he pounded into you relentlessly, embodying the raw, primal desire of a man possessed. Your body arched and trembled on the bed as he pinned you down by your head, pressing your face into the bed.

"I can't do this anymore," you begged him.

He pulled you up onto your knees, his free hand gently gripping your neck while his other arm rested between the valley of your breasts. His hold on your neck was firm but not painful, asserting his control. With a strong grip on your waist, he thrust deep into you.

You leaned against his chest, your face turning towards him as you neared your release. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, swallowing your moans.

His cock twitched and pulsed as he reached his climax. His movements grew erratic as he poured himself into you, filling you with his essence.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto the bed, eyes shutting tight as the waves of ecstasy washed over you.

He settled beside you, carefully tucking you under the sheets while you lay on your stomach, peacefully asleep.

"Sleep well, princess," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing your hair.

The next morning, you woke to find him already seated on the couch, wearing the same skull-printed balaclava, his eyes still filled with menace. Your whole body ached and marked with hickeys. Last nights encounter spiralled in your mind.

"Good morning, princess. I hope you're feeling well," he greeted you, tossing an oversized t-shirt in your direction.

Confusion and fear gripped you. "Who are you? Why did you do this to me? What were you even doing in my class?"

"I'm Lieutenant Simon Riley, also known as Ghost," he replied coolly. "I was in your class because we've been keeping an eye on you. Now, get dressed. You have visitors."

You rose silently and headed to the bathroom to change. As you finished, there came a knock at the door.

He opened it, and police officers entered the room.

"She's all yours," he stated with a smirk beneath his balaclava.

"You'll regret this! I'll make you pay for this!" you screamed as they cuffed you and led you away.

"Fuck you!" You screamed.

He chuckled darkly, watching as you were taken into custody.

"I just did." He winked as you were taken away.

[kate-komics]

Scars of the Protector

A (very) short story about how Wrecker got his scars.

This started as a warm up drawing then morphed into this. I'm just in a very Bad Batch mood lately. I've always been curious about Wrecker's scars. I had a dialogue going on in my head what drawing so I thought I'd practice a little writing too! Let me know what you think! I'm always very nervous to share my writing because I have no idea if it's any good 😅 so any constructive criticism is welcome!

Star Wars- The Bad Batch

Word Count: 660

Warnings: Angsty as hell, vague descriptions of battle, vague descriptions of panicking

Scars of the Protector

His hulking form was barely contained in the Bacta tank. The medics seemed doubtful he’d even fit. For the first time in his life, he looked small. Over a day now he floated in the salty healing water, motionless. His brothers watched on in suspense as the hours sluggishly rolled on. If they got him here sooner he’d already be healed and there wouldn’t be scarring like the medics predicted. He’d still have two working eyes and hearing in his left ear. If they actually worked as a team this wouldn’t have happened.

Hunter was always their unquestioned leader, but Wrecker was the protector. Despite his gentle nature, he knew how the regs saw him. A threat. A brute. He took on the role with great pride, always willing to step up. Always willing to fight the battles for his brothers. 

This is our fault.

The unspoken words made the air in the small sterile room heavy. There was no point in saying it out loud, they all knew. The guilt was so evident on their faces. They all panicked and now their brother was paying the price.

From the moment they were born, they were told they were special. Different in a good way. It made them better than the rest. The perfect soldiers. Out there, it made them cocky.

It was their first mission. A battlefield they’d trained for and dreamed about their entire lives. Finally fighting the war they existed for. It should have been second nature, and in a way it was. In the beginning, they flowed with the action flawlessly. The commands and formations drilled into their heads. Was it really this easy? It was, until their numbers started to dwindle. They were forced into a corner in the heat of battle.

After gurgling hours of fighting they were the only ones in the squadron left, surrounded in the rubble with no way out. How could it have gotten this bad? They were better than this, weren’t they? Instead, the prodigy Bad Batch had been reduced to cowering children in the bodies of men. They’d ceased firing. The march of the remaining droids was deafening. They’d all froze, fear gripping their quivering limbs. All of them, except for him. 

Their strongest brother. The explosives expert still had something left to save them. He gathered his final handful of thermal detonators and armed them all quickly. It was more than enough to take care of what clankers were left. He removes his helmet to get a better aim before tossing the charges over their rubble barricade.  

He turned to smile down at his brothers, as he had so many times before, to assure them it was going to be okay now. He’d protected them like he always had. They were safe again. Before he could speak, a single detonator was returned, Wrecker taking nearly all of the blow.  

The battle was won. Medics took hours to arrive.

Most men would be dead, but then again he wasn’t most men. A bred killing machine. A freak. Their brother. And now the only one to wear the evidence of the horrors they’d seen on his face. Something to remind them how they failed him that day, and a quiet promise they’d never let it happen again. They’d all make sure of it. 

They knew he wouldn’t be angry when he woke up. He was never angry. Still, they were afraid of what had changed in him. Would this be the same brother they knew? Would he still smile and laugh the way he always did? Could he even still do that?

Only time and healing will tell, and they stay by his side for all of it.

They all drift in and out of sleep in the medical bay, but none of them ever notice the small eyes peering around the corner. A vigilante gaze, like theirs, that also makes sure her brother would be okay.

[soraviie]

they told you to go and you did.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: heavy angst ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ c/w: mention of mental illness, implied emotional cheating, falling out of love, smoking

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: If you'd still talk, you'd ask him if "disappointment" is the right word. It's not pain. It's actually hard to describe what is this familiar pang, the stab that almost feels like a bruise made yesterday. It's not pain. It's the sad realization in your heart of hearts that this would happen eventually. It's a disappointment because once, just this once you allowed yourself to believe it'd be different. And you were wrong. Or rather you were right all along. He's just like that and you're you and the rest is a story that writes itself.

Picking yourself up is hard work, hence perhaps why they call it falling for someone. Falling is not a threat, people fall all day long but a fall from the last step of stairs no matter how scary is not lethal but falling in love, unlike a blunder through the dark, is getting up into a skyscraper and then placing all the trust that the other person will provide a mat big enough to cushion the fall. But he had pulled your safety net away. You'll rebuild yourself, from scratch if needed but some part of your trust in all people will forever be cracked. If a forever person becomes temporary...it's a bizarre, ungainly feeling that unevens your footing and makes for many, many quiet afternoons spend in the company of your lonesome, staring out through the windows and thinking was it always meant to end like this.

"You were supposed to be there," you breathed out, shaking. Out of anger, out of cold, who knows.

"And I said I'm sorry," he growls back, shoving the laying laundry into the washing machine.

"Sorry? "Sorry" is not going to cut it! For weeks - weeks! - I've asked you, I begged you to be there! It was one of the most important events in my life!"

"What do you want me to do here?" Namjoon asks, exasperated and the wrinkle between his eyebrows mars his features into someone...unrecognizable. A stranger almost. Since when have you had to beg to be heard?

"I don't know," you reply truthfully but slowly something in your gut begins to work. Why are you feeling like the villain? You shouldn't be.

You shouldn't be is the chief thought.

"Do you even care about me?"

"What?"

The look in his eyes...you know, you just know, he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand this profound feeling of being tired. Being proven right that, in the end, you will always have this - begging to be heard and understood and it's tiring. It's draining the soul right in front of his eyes, ones which do not see the obvious.

"Do you even care about me?"

He scoffs.

"Take a walk so you clear your head and don't ask stupid questions."

In hindsight, a very small part of you is grateful. The comment was cruel and cut like the end of a sharpened knife but it gave you a leeway. It gave you the thought that if you had to go, you didn't have to come back.

And it's like a bit of fresh air after that. Dizzying, confusing, the feeling of being lost in a way never leaving but you're finding your legs so to speak. You didn't owe him anything, there is no legal law that would force you to explain. You walked right out. A walk to never return, a walk to self re-discovery. You eat what you like, you go where you like and when you feel like dying because there your lover is not on the other side of the bed, you turn around and pretend he was never there.

He was after all rarely there, to begin with.

Right or wrong, who cares, you could just leave and while you're alone, at least you don't have to beg. At least, you understand even if it's yourself.

YOONGI: Lillies, as Yoongi finds out, are not long-lived flowers. They fall most often in clumps of petals. Not elegant and refined like those in drawings but dropping almost half of themselves in one swift move. In one second, losing nearly all they had, remaining then barren and partly lifeless. He didn't know enough about flowers to know when exactly are they pronounced dead. But he'll be here. He'll be here because he's done nothing else but watch them shed, clump by clump.

"I told you," he'd said with a smile of all things. A cold, mirthless smile but still. "I told you it'd be hard, that you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"That's...that's not it all," you deny and maybe you hadn't been lying. All he knows is that the fear had gripped him so hard he couldn't even breathe then.

"No, it is what it is," he'd cut back sharply, decisive, leaving no room to argue because if you'd argue you'd do the same magic you'd done when he first fell in love, he'd listen and do everything exactly how you want it. He didn't want to listen at that moment, he'd just wanted to be angry.

"Then go, just go. Go back 'cause I know you want to."

Tears rose on your waterline and suddenly he felt like a bad guy which in turn, of course, made him more vicious.

"You're being cruel," you breathed faintly. "You're just being cruel."

He scoffed harshly.

"I'm just being honest. Face it, you can't handle being with me," a pause. Critical hit. Cruelty for cruelty's sake. "You can't handle much at all."

And if he had even a little bit of a brain left he'd see the change. The exact moment where you fell out of love with him and it happened just then.

You took a step back, breathed in exactly once, calmly, sombre even.

"Okay," is all you said and unbeknownst to him, that would end up as the last thing you'd say to him. "Okay" is what could kill love - a supposedly unkillable thing.

The flowers are what he brought to ask for forgiveness which would not be granted. There was no next time, no do over, no apology. You'd been long gone when he wisened up to his own words and now he has a vase of old Lillies, wilting on his desk. He reaches to straighten one of the last petals but in its frailty, it just falls. It falls down, down, down and lands on his desk. He puts his hand away. The clock ticks away.

"Okay," he mutters to himself and then sinks into silence.

JIN: "They're my parents," he says for the thousandth time, driving half-blind through the dark.

"So what?!" you exclaimed. "They don't get to say all those things about my family. About me!"

"And I already told you, I warned you that they...they would be like that! They're old! Different."

"That's not being different! That's being a dick."

His eyes glinted and you flinched. You'd never fought with Jin before. Not like this certainly. But whenever you thought of forgiving him, it all came back even clearer. How he just stood there, silent, staring at his plate like a small boy would when they called you a gold digger, your family nothing but mud-trodden scammers. The spoilt rotten apple of the bad seeds. And your lover, your boyfriend, your one true fairytale prince had bowed his head in compliance.

"Careful," he growls, hands tightening around the wheel. "Mind your tongue."

He could slap you and it'd be less bitter.

"Did your mother mind your tongue?" you asked sharply, suddenly yanked harshly forth as he drove a foot through the brakes.

"I'll give you this one last opportunity," he spits and it awakens a heinous part of yourself. Or rather it extends. It extends from the scenery of not even an hour into the past, when you'd sat by the dining table listening to one hurled insult after the next. His father had been "the others", his mother and now he himself. It's him vs you. And that's...

...that's just not someone you could ever touch without shuddering in hate.

"One last chance to stop throwing a fuss. To stop disrespecting my family and myself."

"I can't disrespect it," you open your mouth, weirdly proud. It's cathartic to hate at times. "It would imply I've held any this evening."

His jaw makes an audible sound when it clamps shut. You'd hurt deep, you'd cut it where it hurts. Good, so had he.

"Get out," he hisses, clearly fighting hard to reign in his temper. "Get out of my car now!"

You do and afterwards, he speeds off, tires screeching against the cement road, fumes, in time, evaporating into the atmosphere. You touch the necklace, his gift, on your neck. Feels more like a chain now. You take it away, frown and allow yourself to think.

Gold diggers, scammers, evildoers and nothing but lowlier of the low they had said into your face. You remember your own mother's face, proud and happy, then tired after working long hours just to put food on the table. She'd be heartbroken about this, she'd cry.

And no one could ever make your mother cry. Guided by a sudden impulse you throw the necklace away and it glistens once under the streetlights.

Jin's car disappears over the horizon and despite lingering, you see no point in going after it. You could go home.

The thought fills you with comfort.

You could just go home.

Your mother picks up after one ring.

"Hey, I'm just letting you know, I'll sleep over, is that okay?"

Your mother's voice comes frazzled but she attempts to make it soothing. No, she should never meet those people. Those people who would hate her without a reason, who raised a son you fell in love with. Past tense.

"Of, course, it's okay," then, softly, cautious. "Did it go awry? What about your boyfriend?"

You glimpse over your shoulder. JIn is long gone. There's nothing but the dark so you turn and walk the opposite way.

"There's no boyfriend anymore," you reply, cooly but even so few, traitor tears rush into your eyes and it gets hard to breathe. "But I still got you."

"The porch lights will be on," after a moment she explains kindly and you nod. "I'll be waiting."

HOSEOK: "I just think...this will be the best of us."

That's really all you remember. At the time, the words fell distant like coming from another room. His damn present, a simple present you'd saved over the course of the summer was burning against your leg, distracting you, maybe saving you in a way. If you'd heard a flaw he had named as to why would you deserve to suddenly be broken up with, you didn't remember it. He'd been doing so well, being so good, practising and making history and you loved him so much you just wanted to make him smile. He'd been so stressed. So empty and removed. And when you heard his call, his tentative invitation to a restaurant you thought must be destiny, he must be thinking it too, you needed to be closer together. Reality... the reality was as always much different than you imagined in your head.

You'd sat politely, being really good, not quite listening due to the bracelet sitting in your pocket like a carcass, but you hadn't made a fuss. Should you have? Or did you do the right thing?

Whatever should or should not have happened will take place in the multiverse, in the infinitude of other more pleasant realities, this one was yours.

"You should cry," your friend suggests, with a frown of worry. But you can't hear her also. Flinging the pillows left and right, you try to find the damn thing. The receipt is nowhere. You couldn't have just flung it into the trash, right?

"Honestly, fuck this guy."

Right, fuck Hoseok. But when you remember him, you don't suddenly learn how to hate him. That was...that went against everything you knew.

"Just please go," he pleaded, you'd open your mouth to at least give him the bracelet. It was after all a present. Why had you been so hyper-focused about it? You can't remember that also.

"Just go. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

But what it did have to be? What did you do? Or not do? What was so wrong with you that he kicked you away?

"He left you for his career," your friend scoffed. Her pride was your pride and vice versa but at the moment you couldn't even appreciate her indignance. The receipt was gone. You did not have it. And as such the bracelet, his bracelet, the one you worked so had to buy for your own money, could not be ridden of.

"Plain and simple. You were distracting him, whatever that means. What a prick."

You had not thought the same then and you didn't think it now. Coming to a stand you wonder how long will it take to unlearn someone. Hoseok must have learned it quite quickly. He'd not even spared you a glimpse as you stood there, with the bracelet in hand, suddenly turned into a parting gift not one of gratitude. If he saw it, he hadn't cared. And so you went, as he asked, clutching the bracelet in your palm. Hoseok must be a quick learner, you reckoned, leaving the bracelet to lay on your nightstand table.

JIMIN: "Already back?" a neighbour, a smarmy twenty-something who thinks he's just the thing because he has a couple of tattoos on his arm, asks. You light up the cigarette already put between your lips and scoff in his direction.

"Yeah. Now quit hanging around in the stairway, you look like a predator," with that you enter your apartment. It's disgusting to smoke indoors, that you admit, but right now it was time to think and smoking for some reason made your head clearer. Navigating through the dark, you stumbled out into the balcony, breathing out a sigh of relief. Flicking the ash into the makeshift ashtray you thought and thought and thought.

"When?! When will you be ready?!" he'd practically screamed. You hated when people raised their voice and he knew that but he still did it. A fact you wouldn't forgive anyone but this was...Jimin and he'd been the exception for a long time. Longer than he should have.

"I don't know! When we got together, I told you I'd be difficult! I'm...ill!" recalling how your lip had wobbled, you sneered to yourself. One cigarette down but you bought a new pack so there was plenty.

"Stop using that as an excuse!" he'd snarled, fists curling out of anger. You had thought then that if he truly wanted to marry you, he'd stay true to his word to be understanding. Of understanding that your mind did not always work the same way most people were used to, it did things, often ones you couldn't grasp full control of, like fear, fearing everything and most of all being yelled at for this very same fear.

"It's not an excuse!" you shrieked. "It's the answer! When someone has a cold, do you reprimand them for coughing? Why is this illness any different?!"

You were objectively hard to love if mental illness was easy it wouldn't be an illness. You required work, work done by yourself and by your partner and you had told him that, you'd told him fair and square, come clean with all that you were and Jimin had promised to love you all the same. He was, it seems, a beautiful kind of liar.

"You won't ever be ready," he'd continued, a hard scowl warping his features. "You know why? Because you hate yourself so much you can't even wrap your head around the idea of not self-sabotaging yourself for once."

And it was the truth. Objectively speaking. But you didn't mind the truth. It could be harsh and unapologetic but you could swallow it down, just not cruelty. Anything but cruelty. Coming from the one man on earth you thought could not be cruel. See what you meant by beautiful? Beautiful, convincing, angel of a liar.

"And I can't handle it anymore. I can't handle your..." he raised his hands out of frustration, letting the fists rise to his own chest and shake there before it happened.

"You're just too much. So just go away because you're just too much for me."

Pushing the bud of the cigarette against the glass jar, you put out the last light on the balcony. It's dark now and you sit, arms crossed, still thinking. You know what to do, you'd done it plenty of times before but...you just thought, you assumed, had the delusion that..he'd be the one, you know. That he'd be...different. But the nature of liars is to lie, you suppose.

TAEHYUNG: It is sad and horrifying to realize that you're becoming one of those couples. Those couples that do not talk, that sit on the bed silently and sullenly, waiting for it to be over, couples who did not touch each other, who forgot each other's bodies, voices and minds. Those couples who you always looked on with pity, wondering to yourself why didn't they just break it off. What was the point?

But the point was that, of course, once upon a time you loved Taehyung and you think he loved you too. You almost saw him, the younger him, the one that charmed you with the promise of timeless romance only to let the very same time deteriorate it away. As you walked up to the cafe, you saw him there, laughing with a friend you did not know he had. They're both laughing in fact, clearly enjoying their time and you can't help but feel like a creep, like an onlooker peeking into the lives of a happy couple even if it's your boyfriend sitting there. He'd brought them flowers. You don't remember when was the last time he'd given your flowers. The promise was every Wednesday, the reality was sometimes after the first six months, anniversaries after two years, never after five.

He pulls the chair closer to the friend. You saw the other person's blush in the candlelight and then with even more horrifying realization, you grasp that you're the other person. The one brushed to the side when they're of no other use.

"Those are pretty flowers," you reckoned, mostly just to start a conversation. An ice breaker for a lover, strange isn't it?

"I guess," he offers a non-committal grunt.

"Should I meet you after work? We could go somewhere?" you almost sounded hopeful then. How naive.

"Don't bother," he says, not quite even looking at you, more so focused on the mirror to fix the tie the other other person was twirling between their fingers. "I'll be busy and late tonight. Just go home."

Standing on the street and passively watching your love slip away, you figure you'll do just that. You won't be one of those people, you thought, standing straighter and leaving the window side, you won't cry yourself to sleep, you won't find someone else's scent on his shirt, you won't have your heart any more broken. You'll just go home.

And Taehyung was not home anymore.

But it's okay, you tell yourself, stumbling unsteadily through the neon-lit streets, you'll find a new one. You'll be okay.

JUNGKOOK: You used to love his jokes, his confidence, his assuredness that you were meant to be. But after some time, you don't quite know when, it stopped being funny the way he brushed off your worries, always so assured that in the end, it'll work out. That no matter what you'll forgive him anything.

You stopped loving his jokes.

And you stopped loving his confidence.

And you stopped loving him.

You just wanted for him to listen but he was so smug, so assured that you wouldn't leave. You just wanted for him to listen just once.

But he never did.

"If I'm so horrible, then just leave," he tossed over his shoulder, tugging harshly on Bam's leash. "Just leave!"

But he did it first, slamming the door behind and dragging Bam with him.

Maybe it's selfish, really childish, quite unhealthy but in a way also victorious. You drag your clumsily arranged suitcase, stubborn. You miss him. But a him that's not even here. Can a person die while still living?

But even if it's selfish, childish and unhealthy, it becomes easier with the next step. You're just leaving, just going. You still miss him, you miss Bam and others, and all the funny toys on his shelves, and his kitchen towels and the laughter on Fridays and movies on Mondays but even more you miss yourself. The street is long and you wonder where you'll end up next, once upon a time, it brought you to Jungkook and now it'll take you away from him. You can find plenty of sadness about it but not enough regret to turn around. Whoever's fault it was, even if it truly was a fault, it doesn't matter now. It's over, it was good for a while and now it's over. You're free to go where you want and so is Jungkook and when enough time passes you know you'll wish him nothing but the best.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[spheciform]

Sad she only got one album out before everything went to shit, but what's a girl to do?

This is a fake album cover for my dnd character, Helvia, and her fake band THREAT DISPLAY!!! Context for this piece and Helvia as a whole under the cut because once I start I can't stop talking about her <3

SO the campaign hasn't started yet, but Helvia is my character for a science fiction campaign. She's robot!!! Well I guess that's obvious now. BUT the basic gist: Helvia was manufactured as an industry-controlled and maintained electronic "punk" singer. When the project ended up making no money, everything related to it (including her), was abandoned. Three years later, she wakes up out of stasis with no clue what happened, an insane debt, and a failing memory. You will look at her !! Her full name is Helvia Cardinalis. This is just a genus of mantis it doesn't have any special meaning I just like bugs <3

-she has generated "background" memories of an entire life, but there's no telling which of those are real. I don't actually know which of them are real. My dm does!!! We'll be finding out together!!

-sometimes she uh. Doesn't know basic information. Whenever something she should reasonably know gets brought up I get to roll a flat d20 to do a "memory check", the checks getting harder the older the memory is. When she fails, she gets to lie or change the topic etc because she would rather DIE than admit anything is wrong with her.

-the album cover is kind of an intentionally really poor introduction of her character. She's more silly than anything? The entire project was meticulously micromanaged by the company that made her. The "novelty" and aesthetic of having a construct as their lead took forefront in its advertisement. There were two other members of THREAT DISPLAY!!! But she has no memory of them because they were considered comparatively SO unimportant to advertising and to her that they have gone... forgotten.

-Helvia herself is. A real character alright!!! Based entirely in what a corporation thinks a "cool alternative girl" is, she's impulsive, selfish, and just. So fucking stupid. She's firmly a "might makes right" type of person who was designed to appear counterculture but still ultimately serve and be fine with the status quo as long as it benefits her. She's going to do anything that grants her immediate satisfaction, and is obsessed with maintaining her image as "cool and above it all", even as her body is actively breaking down. She easily falls for flattery.

Notes about the piece: yeah I downloaded and used splatoon fonts for the nonsense text. I think I typed gay sex like twice I'll be real none of it translates to relevant information. I think there's something in there about how I hope it came across as an adequate parody of machine girl album covers (my main inspiration). The composition of the piece itself is meant to feel kind of skeevy and exploitative because well. It is!! It's drawing the fine line between 'wow this is so cool and counterculture of us wow!!!' and fetishistic? Etc etc missing the chestpiece as an analog for putting a woman topless on the cover. There's actually a separate sketch I did as a canonical "mock up" for the design that originally included the other members, treating them like props because they're so unimportant, before they were scrapped from the final design because they were That Unimportant.

Notes on Helvia's design: I pulled from a few sources for this!! Notably I looked at so many pictures of that band Tramp Stamps. Remember Tramp Stamps? I don't. They're like the direct analog I think to her. I also pulled from vocaloid designs!! Impractical, cool, kind of "anime" feel. This comes across most in her hair I think which is just so beautifully impractical. The yellow gloves are so stupid important to me actually they're kind of ugly but it's the only way her name ended up being important: helvia cardinalis (mantis) is Bright Yellow and raises its 'arms' in its threat display, which I wanted to pull from for potential posing of her!! So. Bright stupid yellow gloves <3 they're an easy way to tell her character apart too & mean I don't have to worry about drawing all the nonsense on her arms. The translucent skirt also comes from the mantis, sort of pulled from its wings!! Original concepts for her included synthetic skin rotting away but her design was already more complicated than I normally go for and we ultimately ended up realizing her being openly and visibly a construct was important for her image in her music career so it worked out well! She is at least missing an eyeball :] doesn't affect vision since the mechanics are still in place but I guess she just gets that fun sans glow socket <3 her outfit is meant to look simultaneously cool, vaguely expensive, but also super super cheap?? Overall I'm happy with the fact that she looks both cool and really stupidly impractical in that classic 2000s deviantart oc way <3 it's important to me! Ultimately:

[fanartka]

can you tag your mid ass AI art so nobody gotta look at that crap thanks 🌹

My answer is "No."

And this is the line beyond which my patience finally ceases to be patient.

@docty-strange If you can't see beauty, then maybe you shouldn't force your radical opinion on those who don't need it.

AI is a tool with which a person can translate his ideas, his thoughts from words into an image, a way for an artist to create something in a style different from his own and sometimes adopt an idea, a well-generated fold of a patterned garment or something similar to use already in what he draws with his own hands.

This is not an enemy, not a devil, it is not even intelligence, it is a tool, like Photoshop and other programs, including programs that people use to improve the quality of screenshots and photos, by the way.

I am old enough to remember heated discussions about the idea that digital artists are not real artists, but just hacks. And although I'm not old enough to remember the Luddites, I'm sure they had very similar rhetoric when they broke machines that only improved people's lives.

Every time something new appears, most people perceive it as a threat. There are still people who blame smartphones and computers for all human ills, just as a few centuries ago fanatics believed that the devil sat in the clock and turned the mechanism. I think our ancestors, who first began to use sharpened stones instead of fists, were also perceived as something strange and threatening. But this is just progress.

The world is changing. AI isn't perfect, it has a problem with human fingers and there are some legal issues that need to be ironed out, but this thing allows people to create beauty that wouldn't otherwise exist. AI helps in scientific calculations, including medical calculations, and much more.

Oh, and thank god I don't have to buy marble, hire a sculptor, and figure out where to find space for a Strange statue in my apartment, because I can see what such a statue would look like with the help of AI.

But pestering other people with all sorts of nasty things and demanding that they do as you would like is unacceptable. Seriously, when haters come to my inbox, most of them are homophobes who claim that Stephen would never love a guy and demand that I stop disgracing him, or with statements like that.

AI can make beauty, but you can only produce hatred and bother people with your demands. If you don't like it, don't watch it. That's how the Internet works.

Take it back 🌹 You know what to do with it.

[wolfsetfree-if]

I have some questions about omegas when they go feral so please bear with me.

-how much control over it does the omega have? Both in triggering it and during it.

-is it only triggered when pups are endangered? Can it be triggered if a pack in general or the wolf themselves are in danger no matter the presence of pups?

-can it be triggered by perceived danger like a panic attack or ptsd?

-how dangerous exactly is a feral omega? Like obviously it makes them more aggressive but does it make them stronger or tougher in any way? Is it comparable to adrenaline, allowing the omega to push their body to their true limits?

-with the adrenaline comparison does it suppress pain in the same way? When it ends does it have the same sort of crash, leaving the omega tired, sore, and in pain, etc?

-when does it end? Is it a matter of time? So even if a battle is quickly won you still have a pissed-off omega that needs to run through the woods for a while? Or does it end when the omega feels the danger has passed?

-can anything calm down an omega early?

-are there any other instincts that are triggered by it? Like feeling extra protective or clingy of any pups soon after or other behavioral changes?

-and more of a general question about omegas. Besides being generally more submissive but able to fight and protect if need be, what else about omegas makes them particularly well-suited to pup care? Like obviously they have a particular draw to them but are they especially tuned on to the needs of pups? Perhaps they have some herding instinct for rounding up excited pups? Maybe their larger size allows them to carry multiple pups on their back?

Thank you for taking a look at my questions! I hope it's not to much but the worldbuilding in this game is utterly fascinating to me!

Hello, thank you so much for this ask! It is very interesting and it was a delight to answer.

So, Omegas basically go into rage mode only to defend pack members, weaker/injured ones or pups. It may be triggered by life or death situation for the omega, too. (Omega MC did go into rage when they were captured and decimated the djinns that eventually managed to capture them. But MC at that time was malnourished and suffering from loneliness and overall sick).

It may, theoretically, be triggered by a very vivid and intense panic attack, though it is a rare occurance- mainly because not many werewolves end up as traumatised as MC is.

The situation must be incredibly stressful for it to be triggered, and it isn't something that happens at will. The wolf might feel their ears ring, their body heat up or tingle, and they might shake, and then their minds kind of go blank as they rage.

The rage makes them stronger, faster, overall a killing machine. Like adrenaline but tenfold in effect. And yes, most of the time the rage doesn't end until the Omega is absolutely exhausted and cannot even stand. It does help with pain, but as you theorised the pain later comes back (though mostly the omega is barely coherent after a rage). Just if the omega was injured - which is difficult to do with a feral one.

The rage ends when the threat ends, but since those are triggered by very severe threats, oftentimes as I said the wolf is injured or barely able to stand after the rage. If they are not, they experience a 'crash' that leaves them dizzy, confused, aggressive but very weak.

(More in part 2!)