#In general I like using a bit of all the colors but those are the ones I use the most and I don't use the heart emojis all that often

[remyunart]

I went back to writing last year and almost went deaf, the curse is still alive lmao but the price we pay for writing fanfiction is nowhere near the satisfaction of having told the story of your hearts desire.

Anyone who uses chat gpt is a fucking coward that doesn't deserve fandom because the whole point was to create content for us by us.

People have been getting used to consuming more than they create and that makes is real easy to just ask an AI to write things for you, but the best most complex stories and character analysis I've ever read I my life came from ao3 and it's laughable to think an AI will be able to understand the nuance some characters have. I feel like this is one of the reasons I've seen so many shit takes on social media lately where characters get so watered down to a single defining trait that they lose all meaning. Character ai is still AI. it's still bad. There are role play accounts with real people and if it's the cringe stopping people from reaching out c.ai is just as "embarrassing" as asking your rp acc to flirt a little bit.

Generative AI is not only bad for those to create content but to the ones who consume it because it's so shallow with everything explicitly said that media literacy is actively declining. Not everything needs to be explained by the author, the curtains weren't just fucking blue and all chat gpt can give you is the hex color instead of the analysis that the author conveyed even if unconsciously.

no way ppl are using ai to write ao3. what happened to being a tortured writer. what happened to blood on the page. what happened to the ao3 curse. people used to get run over, have their houses burned down, break their entire spines and they still put in the work to finish a chapter. fuck you, using ai. y’all are weak

[stllmnstr]

something old, something new

hello have a 2.3k drabble about Heeseung still having feelings for his ex heavily inspired by the above behind the scenes no doubt mv pics and based on this anon prompt sent to me:

this was supposed to be short but I got carried away and ended up writing 2.3k on my PHONE in an hour so please excuse any typos 😭

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung loves weddings.

When he admits this to people, which is in and of itself a fairly rare occasion, they assume it’s for all of the usual reasons.

The open bar, the well curated playlist, the free food... After all, those are the typical things men in their mid twenties tend to enjoy. And Heeseung always nods along. Forces a laugh whenever his conversation partner cracks another age old joke about getting a little too tipsy on the dance floor.

Besides, it’s not like he’s immune to baser pleasures. At twenty-five, Heeseung does genuinely enjoy eating well and getting drunk on someone else’s dime.

But if he digs a little deeper, is a little more honest with himself, the real reason he loves weddings so much is the romance of it all.

A white dress thats been agonized over and alternated to perfection. A cake thats been taste-tested and intentionally designed with the lucky couple in mind. A venue that likely cost an arm and a leg, but it’s worth it, because it’s the place where two people get to display the love they have for each other in front of everyone that’s important in their lives.

And Jay, he thinks, has outdone them all. The ballroom Heeseung steps into with perfectly shined shoes is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Crystal chandeliers bathe the high ceilinged room in soft, warm light that almost glows like candles at dusk.

The aisle separates two generously sized sections of seating from one another. Each table is laid with a crease less cream colored tablecloth and a bouquet of flowers that Heeseung doesn’t want to guess the price of. It’s stunning. It’s perfect.

And Jay, Heeseung’s best friend of thirteen years, deserves nothing less.

Jake seems to agree. Coming to stand next to Heeseung, he jerks his chin towards the door that leads to the neighboring room. “I just heard from a very trustworthy source that the open bar starts at 1 pm sharp,” he grins.

Heeseung has a sneaking suspicious that this trustworthy source is Sunghoon, which means it’s likely to be incorrect. Besides, booze isn’t what he’s here for.

“Hopefully not,” Heeseung nudges Jake’s shoulder, “since no one wants to watch you stumble down the aisle.”

“At least I’m just a groomsman.” Jake shrugs. “You, on the other hand, Mr. Best Man, have to be on your best behavior. Besides, I can handle my alcohol.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “I have several videos that prove otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake waves his palm. “I’ll be good. I promise. No shots until after the ceremony.”

Heeseung just rolls his eyes. His younger friend might be a little more lax when it comes to conducting himself in public, but Heeseung isn’t actually worried. This is Jay’s wedding, after all. And no matter how much Jake and Sunghoon enjoy a good party, they also know how to take things seriously when it matters.

For a moment, Jake just looks around the room, taking it in like Heeseung had a few minutes prior. Similar actions, different conclusions. Jake doesn’t comment on the lighting or the tablecloths or even the romance. Instead, he says, “I can’t believe Jay’s actually getting married.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first in their friend group to officially leave bachelor-hood, and it does feel a bit strange to bear witness to. “Me neither.”

Jake is still shaking his head. “And he’s the first one out of all of us. That’s almost weirder. You know, we always thought it would be –”

Remembering himself, Jake lets the sentiment die on his lips.

It doesn’t matter, though. Heeseung already knows what he was going to say.

We always thought it would be you.

Four long years ago, at twenty-one, Heeseung had felt far too young for marriage. But that didn’t stop him from imagining what you’d look like in a white dress. What flavor of wedding cake the two of you would select from the box of samples. What overpriced venue you would decide to officially intertwine your lives in.

It didn’t stop him from tucking away a small, velvet box in the back of his drawer for safekeeping. From fantasizing about kneeling in front of you and finally sliding a gorgeous, sparking ring right where he wanted it to belong.

It didn’t stop him from making promises and plans. Adjustments to his life just to make sure there was always space for you.

But one year later, the box and the ring inside were still tucked away. And the love Heeseung kept safe suddenly had no place to go.

He told his friends it was mutual, that you’d made the decision together. But Heeseung never wanted to let go. Even if a job opportunity meant you had to move across the country. Even if it made no logical sense for him to follow when he was still finishing his degree.

It was circumstances, he explained to his friends, to his family. Not anything either of you did wrong.

But alone, surrounded by the four walls of his bedroom and the overwhelming clamor of his own thoughts, Heeseung just cried. Sobbed. The kind of tears that left him gasping for air and with a throb behind his temple.

Because he knew that he never would have done that to you. He would have turned down the job, would have found a way to make long distance work, would have transferred to another university to be close to you even if it wasn’t logical.

He would have done it, the big romantic gesture that gives the rom-com a happy ending and signals to the production team that it’s time to roll the credits.

But you didn’t. When he suggested long distance, you just sighed. And there were tears in your eyes too, but there was no fight.

So Heeseung, despite every bone in his body screaming at him not to, let you go.

And now, three years later, he’s about to watch his best friend get married and pretend it doesn’t sting. He’s happy for Jay. He is. But the selfish parts of him will always wish he was the one waiting at the end of the aisle instead. For you.

The universe has never made a habit of bending to his desires, though, and he fulfills his role as best man well. The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and Jake is appropriately steady-footed in his role as a groomsman.

The white dress is gorgeous. The cake is delicious. The venue is perfect. Whatever romance is, Jay and his fiancée — no, his wife — have captured it well.

Despite his earlier words, Heeseung makes a home for himself at the aforementioned open bar the second the ceremony is over. Knocking back another swig of whiskey, he appreciates the slight burn. At least it’s in his throat this time, instead of his heart. And at least it’s induced by alcohol instead of misplaced jealousy.

But he must have had one too many drinks, because for a fleeting moment, he swears that the late arrival that makes a hesitant entrance into the reception room is—

No.

There’s no way.

You only knew Jay because you knew Heeseung, and those flowers withered three long years ago. You have no reason to be here now.

But then he hears it, and oh the lurch in his heart hurts just as bad as it did the first time. Because despite the improbability of it all, that’s your voice that floats above the music and exchanged pleasantries with another guest. Even after all the time that’s passed, Heeseung would know it anywhere. Could pick it out of any crowd.

He turns to you slowly, as if he can delay the inevitable just a little longer. As soon as his eyes land on you, he realizes his mistake. He shouldn’t have looked at you at all, should have just slid off the bar stool and ran in the other direction because it still hurts.

You’re three years older, and the time has been good to you. The evening dress you wear hangs from your body in a way that only reminds him of what you look like beneath it, of the way running his hands and his lips and his love over the skin you conceal used to feel like second nature. The way you used to play with his hair with his head in your lap, trading small moments of intimacy after a long day.

It hurts. It aches and it stings and it burns.

He has to get out of here. He has to leave. Now.

Not caring if he’s making a scene, Heeseung stands from the barstool. The only reason he tries to be somewhat discreet is to avoid the heat of your gaze.

All the way to the door on the opposite side of the room, he doesn’t turn back. Not once. On the other side of the door, he lets his body go limp against the solid surface beneath his spine, just for a moment. He exhales a long held breath.

But the air is still stifling, even as he loosens the tie at his neck. Straightening back to his full height, he turns down a short hallway until he arrives at the small outdoor balcony he noticed earlier.

The air outside is cold, at least. Fresh.

On the horizon, the sun spends its last few moments of the day painting the sky in gorgeous, golden hues. Heeseung squints, but he doesn’t look away. Hands wrapped around the bannister that lines the balcony, he sags into himself.

Shoulders hunched, he forces a long inhale into his lungs. And then he releases it. His breath is a pattern he can cling to, something steady that tethers him back to reality. Something to focus on that isn’t the war in his mind.

But peacetime is only an illusion. After a handful of quiet minutes, he hears the door open behind him.

“Oh,” you startle. He knows it’s you, even from just one syllable. “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was out here already. I’ll just…” Your words trail off into silence, but Heeseung doesn’t hear retreating footsteps, doesn’t hear the door close again. After another stilted moment, what he hears is, “Heeseung?”

Your voice is small. As if you can apologize just by being gentle. As if he’s a wounded animal you don’t want to startle.

And Heeseung, despite himself, does feel a bit like a kitten left out in the rain when he finds it in himself to turn and face you.

The only word he says is your name. His tone is steady, even. More so than he thought he was capable of. But he’s looking at you now too, and his eyes have never been good at hiding secrets.

“I…” You trail off again. You’re at a loss too. “How are you?”

“Don’t do that,” Heeseung shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” you retreat immediately. But Heeseung remembers when you used to argue, when you used to fight back. When you valued the strength of your relationship over his wounded pride.

“Don’t be,” Heeseung shakes his head again. “You made your choice, so stick to it. You don’t get to…” He screws his eyes shut for a moment, fist clenching at his side. Opening his eyes again, he matches your gaze. “You don’t get to leave me and then apologize for it.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t miss a beat. “I meant for intruding,” you tell him. “I was apologizing for disturbing you.”

But you remember how he used to love making space for you in his life. How his plans were your plans and his time alone on a balcony would only be made better if you were there, too.

And you still remember the day you were inspired by a strong bout of spring fever, how you dedicated an entire afternoon to deep cleaning.

You still remember the small, velvet box you found.

You didn’t open it, but you didn’t have to. The small, nondescript container scared you enough. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Heeseung. You already had Pinterest boards full of white dresses and three-tier cakes and stunning venues. Suits that you thought would bring out his best features.

But you’d also just gotten the news of your promotion. Across the country. You didn’t know how to tell him, and you had less of an idea how to leave him.

But you knew you had to. He would follow you, if you let him. You were sure of it. But he was enrolled in the best university for his program, and you watched him fight tooth and nail to earn his spot there.

Heeseung was a bright light, a beacon of good things, and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like his commitment to you was something that only weighed him down.

He was an adult, too. A young one, yes, but a full, grown person all the same. Perfectly capable of making his own decisions, but you took that from him anyway.

And now, three years later, you can still read him like an open book. There’s hurt in his gaze, pain that lingers even now. There’s resentment, too, and you can’t blame him for it.

I still love you, you want to tell him. Because it’s true. Because you do. Because you can see it in his eyes, too.

But you’ve always been better at holding your tongue than him.

Instead, you turn on your heel, planning to exit the way you came.

Fingers around the door handle, the sound of your name stops you.

It sounds like he’s begging, like he’s pleading, and you can’t bear to turn and see the results of your devastation as surely as you hear them.

Instead, you remain motionless. You squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can.

And then, so faintly it’s almost lost to the wind, he says, “Stay. Please.”

.....

thanks for reading! send me a drabble prompt here if you'd like!

[bomber-grl]

Kusuo Saiki Dating Headcanons

Pairing(s): Kusuo Saiki x Gn!Reader

It takes a really long time to get to the point where the two of you are dating. Like 100,000,000 words, slow burn, they finally kiss at the end– sort of fanfic. Honestly, I think Saiki’s a bit hesitant about relationships in general because they seem like a hassle. Everyone else is on thin ice already, the thought of putting effort into a relationship is exhausting enough.

Like with everyone else, he’s pretty indifferent toward you at first, and you only move up to "mild annoyance" status if you stick around long enough. Especially since he’s probably hearing all your thoughts, so there’s that.

Now, onto the actual headcanons. Saiki isn’t exactly the affectionate type. You two probably started as friends, mostly with you bothering him. Even after he realizes he likes you (though he really tries to hide it), nothing changes much. The difference is, you’re the only person he seems to tolerate. Everyone else wonders why you even bother with him.

Sometimes, Saiki gets... freaked out? There’s really no other way to put it. He’s used to being around people who are idiots, so when someone like you comes along—someone who’s rather perceptive—that’s a bit much for him. It messes with his head. Despite being able to hear your every thought, he starts wondering if you’re psychic too.

You can tell what he’s feeling, what he wants, and even do things for him. Sure, he could do all those things tenfold in just under a minute, but for some reason, he finds himself smiling. He even starts thinking fondly of you.

If you were another Nendou, though? He’d probably avoid you, and your relationship would be a slow burn that takes another 100,000,000 words and even worse edging (Not like that). But I digress. Saiki shows affection in subtle ways. Like remembering offhand comments you’ve made about your favorite snack or color.

He’s the type of guy who’ll subtly push your chair out of the way when you’re about to trip or pick up a dropped pen without you asking. He might not say much, but he’ll do whatever he can to make your life a little easier, even if he doesn’t directly tell you that.

I know it might sound like I’m painting him as a deadbeat bf, but honestly? He’d probably be a great boyfriend. He can literally hear your thoughts. He knows what you want, even before you say it. He’s seen (and heard) men ruin their relationships because they thought they knew their partner. So, when you want to grab a treat or have been wanting something that relates to an interest, he’ll know.

He’ll also know (and hear) if you slightly even think he’s good looking on a particular day. He’ll never admit it, of course, but if you get embarrassed thinking about it (since you know he can hear your thoughts), he secretly enjoys that. Seeing you flustered is one of his guilty pleasures—even though he’d never show it.

And yeah, Saiki’s protective. He won’t say it, and he won’t make a big show of it like other people would, but he does care. If something’s bothering you, he’ll subtly step in. Like if someone’s making you uncomfortable, he’ll use his telekinesis to, throw something at them or trip them up—whatever works, as long as no one knows it was him.

He doesn’t like people messing with you, and he won’t hesitate to shut them down, even if he keeps it minimal to avoid drawing attention to himself.

In this following scenario you're another Nendou. He hardly ever gets surprised. I mean, hearing everyone’s thoughts kind of ruins surprises, spoilers for a new tv show, honestly anything for him. But maybe—just maybe—the only way to startle or fluster him is by turning the tables on that. Maybe it’s the first time you show affection in your relationship.

Saiki’s not big on physical touch– we all know that much. If you want to hug him, go ahead, but he’ll probably just stand there like a statue. So, let’s say you somehow convince him to come over to your place, and then you, attempted subtly, suggest that you kiss him out of nowhere.

He’d choke on his drink and immediately try to cover it up. Forget not hearing your thoughts, he literally didn’t think you’d want to kiss him anytime soon. He won’t show it (obviously) but deep down, he’s definitely a little shaken.

Now, in the chance that you two do kiss, (which is chapters later– in fanfiction terms) he’s very hesitant? Like sure, he can destroy the entire Earth if he even wanted to but the idea is still startling. He thinks it over and once he agrees (which is the only kiss you’ll get until the next blue moon) he is admittedly worried.

He’s never kissed anyone, he never planned to so he tries to be collected like he always is. If a satellite suddenly went offline somewhere in space, well that’s nothing to do with him.

Also, an extra that isn’t a dating hc is that Saikis mom and dad love you so much, his dad literally asked if you were actually real which earned a side eye from Saiki. It does get annoying for Saiki, but he’s pretty glad you all get along.

[deepdreamnights]

Using Vidu to Make Character Turnarounds

Disclosure: I am in the Vidu Artist Program.

Having (at the very least) front and back reference greatly improves the quality of character image prompting. And very often, one finds that they were lazy and only got a couple of bits of character reference. Or they have tons of it in the wrong art style.

A character like Wally Manmoth requires some good reference to work right.

Now, it's not that hard to prompt up something that matches close enough and then modifying the stuff manually until it works, such as I did with TriceraBruce and DeinoSteve:

You can tell Steve's the bad boy because he's got a cool rip in the back of his jacket.

But for Wally, I decided to try out Vidu as a means of getting turnaround frames.

So I loaded Wally's front-view pic (above) into the image-to-video feature, and prompted with:

vintage traditional animation scene (1985) humanoid mammoth/furry elephant wearing a red hawaiian shirt and blue shorts, by filmation and sunbow productions, 90s colors, friendly on green background, streamlined black line art with cel shaded vintage cartoon color, official media, character design fullbody shot on green background. The mammoth-anthro starts facing the camera, turning around to face away from the viewer, providing a view of his back.

I gave it two shots at the 720x quality setting (12 points per, total of 24), and got:

Huh. Weird it happened twice, etc.

This demonstrates both that the tech is viable for this use, and the reason you'd want to have that multi-view reference. The robot clearly assumes that a luau shirt would have a large print on the back, whereas wally's is a more basic print. That's ultra easy to fix, though.

I started by exporting the last frame of each (or close to it, picking the one that looks cleanest)

While its image editing features and often touch-and-go, one thing the Midjourney edit feature has going for it is it's utility as an upscaler. You load the image in, make your tweaks (just a little bit of background if you're just upscaling) and then upscale and at the very least you have 2048x2048 worth of resolution.

I used the midjourney edit process, that got those two images to the following state, as a test.

The results are good, but getting the large trees to erase-and-replace out took several attempts, and just doing it in photoshop then using the editor to upscale would have been faster.

This is why we do tests.

I went with the slightly-at-an-angle one for the main reference sheet. I'll be keeping the straight-on-back-shot in case it winds up being useful for specific scenes down the line.

In photoshop, I touched up the shirt print, made sure the colors where consistent, and simplified the hair coloration to something more period-plausible.

No more giant trees on the back! On the other hand, I think the feet sprouting toes on the heel is going to be something I'll be fixing frame-by-frame until there's another revision.

Human characters will induce these issues less often. I just stick with my genre of choice.

Midjourney was not cooperating with TyrannoMax (it really doesn't like giving him the proportions I like, preferring to make him a weird big-head salamander), so I went the same direction, resulting in this stage 1 front/back:

Only Midjourney refused to work with it, at all. Declaring everything that came out of it too lewd for its internal censor. Apparently, this hunky relative of cheesasaurus rex is too sexy for general consumption. Nevermind that it's a cartoon lizard in a shade tangello orange.

The workaround is too dumb for words.

Slam the hue slider until it's off anything that could be perceived as a human skintone.

Then make the modifications. Here I had to rework the leg several times, and do a lot of tweaking to remove-overinking. Then I popped it back out, droped it back into lineart, re-colored it, and and composited it back together:

And voila, a front and back for Max. I shortened his tail, as the longer tails have been causing problems with confusing the image prompting systems. The armor skirt has scallops to accommodate the tail, which looked better more consistently than the flaps folding around the tail.

The results are, thus far, encouraging.

Of course, if the back of your character has any unexpected details, you're going to have to add those in after the fact or include them in the prompting, and you're going to be making a lot of edits regardless (as you should).

Oh, and Max has a sword now.

A blade of amber crystal with a fossilized femur grip and a faceted dino-eye that should be far enough away from the Eye of Thundera for safety. A roleplay-toy friendly trademark weapon, usually a sword, was a must-have for 80s action-adventure lines despite the fact that you'd never see it used on anything that wasn't a robot, living statue, or skeleton.

Thus the sword's gimmick is it cleaves through non-living matter with ease but anything BS&P doesn't want subjected to a stabbin's is encased in amber crystal: locked in place if partially encased, put into suspended animation if fully encased. A nice, nonlethal use for a magic sword.

It's proportioned like a gladius, but is generally interpreted as larger, approaching a broadsword, in keeping with the generally ridiculous blade sizes of kidvid fantasy. They're just more fun when they're stupidly huge.

Is "Sword of Eons" too on the nose?

[youzicha]

In addition to this take, that art is communication and what matters is what the sender meant, not the bits of the message, there were also some replies to this post saying that what matters is whether the art itself if good, not how it was made. I think this disagreement shows that it's a tricky question...

Anyway, I wanted to expand a bit more on what I had in mind about a computer rediscovering Impressionism.

Actually this is inspired by a quote I read (I unfortunately can't locate it now) by some Chinese calligrapher, who had a kind of deflationary view of a past master. Something like, while the work had previously been said to "reveal the soul" of the characters, he said that they were made by exaggerating the variations to make the thin parts even thinner and the thick parts thicker. I think this analysis makes the calligraphy seem more "shallow". The effect can be obtained through operations directly on the pixels, without an understanding of the deep meaning of the writing

Maybe this is obvious because characters don't have any souls in the first place. So let's instead consider people. There's a classic paper from 1985, where somebody made a program to generate caricature drawings by comparing the facial landmarks to an average face, and then increasing the distance:

(Indeed, this is similar to what caricature tutorials say you should do, so I think it may be a realistic model of what's going on.)

But this could be worrisome! When we look at a caricature of JFK, we might feel that the artist really captured his soul. We look into his eyes and feel his wit, intelligence and arrogance shine through, which tells that the artist well those passions read. But if we did think that, then this computer program reveals that we were deceiving ourself, because caricature can be done by just computing a basis for a vector space of images of faces without any understanding of the passions at all.

Now what about Impressionism? It too might involve deep understanding: "people must first of all learn to look at nature, and only then may they see and understand what we are trying to do" —Monet.

Or, it may mostly be a matter of changing the color palette (get rid of black, add mauve) and using coarser brush work ("try to forget what objects you have before you, a tree, a house, a field, or whatever. Merely think, here is a little square of blue, here an oblong of pink, here a streak of yellow"—also Monet). In the latter case, maybe you could take a random photo, project it down to a basis of limited brush strokes, and achieve the same results that won the Impressionists fame without learning to look at nature at all, without even having a semantic notion of house, tree, or field?

This would reveal impressionism, too, to be more shallow than we might have hoped. It might be something which is not tied to human emotion, or even human visual perception, but could be done by random aliens based only on computing a latent space of variations from a collection of images.

Thinking about that that "slop accelerationism" post, and also Scott's AI art Turing test.

I also hope AI text- and image-generation will help shake us loose from cheap bad art. For example, the fact that you can now generate perfectly rendered anime girls at the click of button kindof suggests that there was never much content in those drawings. Though maybe we didn't really need AI for that insight? It feels very similar to that shift in fashion that rejected Bouguereau-style laboriously-rendered pretty girls in favor of more sketchy brush work.

But will we really be so lucky that only things that we already suspected was slop will prove valueless?

As usual with AI, Douglas Hofstadter already thought about this a long time ago, in an essay from 2001. Back in 1979 he had written

Will a computer program ever write beautiful music? Speculation: Yes, but not soon. Music is a language of emotions, and until programs have emotions as complex as ours, there is no way a program will write anything beautiful. There can be "forgeries"—shallow imitations of the syntax of earlier music—but despite what one might think at first, there is much more to musical expression than can be captured in syntactical rules. There will be no new kinds of beauty turned up for a long time by computer music-composing programs. Let me carry this thought a little further. To think—and I have heard this suggested—that we might soon be able to command a preprogrammed mass-produced mail-order twenty-dollar desk-model "music box" to bring forth from its sterile [sic!] circuitry pieces which Chopin or Bach might have written had they lived longer is a grotesque and shameful misestimation of the depth of the human spirit. A "program" which could produce music as they did would have to wander around the world on its own, fighting its way through the maze of life and feeling every moment of it. It would have to understand the joy and loneliness of a chilly night wind, the longing for a cherished hand, the inaccessibility of a distant town, the heartbreak and regeneration after a human death. It would have to have known resignation and world-weariness, grief and despair, determination and victory, piety and awe. In it would have had to commingle such opposites as hope and fear, anguish and jubilation, serenity and suspense. Part and parcel of it would have to be a sense of grace, humor, rhythm, a sense of the unexpected and of course an exquisite awareness of the magic of fresh creation. Therein, and therein only, lie the sources of meaning in music.

I think this is helpful in pinning down what we would have liked to be true. Because in 1995, somebody wrote a program that generates music by applying simple syntactic rules to combine patterns from existing pieces, and it sounded really good! (In fact, it passed a kind of AI turing test.) Oops!

The worry, then, is that we just found out that the computer has as complex emotions as us, and they aren't complex at all. It would be like adversarial examples for humans: the noise-like pattern added to the panda doesn't "represent" a gibbon, it's an artifact of the particular weights and topology of the image recognizer, and the resulting classification doesn't "mean" anything. Similarly, Arnulf Rainer wrote that when he reworked Wine-Crucifix, "the quality and truth of the picture only grew as it became darker and darker"—doesn't this sound a bit like gradient descent? Did he stumble on a pattern that triggers our "truth" detector, even though the pattern is merely a shallow stimulus made of copies of religious iconography that we imprinted on as kids?

One attempt to recover is to say Chopin really did write music based on the experience of fighting through the maze of life, and it's just that philistine consumers can't tell the difference between the real and the counterfeit. But this is not very helpful, it means that we were fooling ourselves, and the meaning that we imagined never existed.

More promising, maybe the program is a "plagiarism machine", which just copies the hard-won grief, despair, world-weariness &c that Chopin recorded? On it's own it's not impressive that a program can output an image indistinguishable from Gauguin's, I can write such a program in a single line:

print("https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gauguin,Paul-Still_Life_with_Profile_of_Laval-_Google_Art_Project.jpg")

I think this is the conclusion that Hofstadter leans towards: the value of Chopin and the other composers was to discover the "template" that can then be instantiated to make many beautiful music pieces. Kind of ironically, this seems to push us back to some very turn-of-the-20th-century notion of avant-garde art. Each particular painting that (say) Monet executed is of low value, and the actual valuable thing is the novel art style...

That view isn't falsified yet, but it feels precarious. You could have said that AlphaGo was merely a plagiarism machine that selected good moves from historical human games, except then AlphaGo Zero proved that the humans were superfluous after all. Surely a couple of years from now somebody might train an image model on a set of photographs and movies excluding paintings, and it might reinvent impressionism from first principles, and then where will we be? Better start prepare a fallback-philosophy now.

[stxrsniolo]

⠀⠀ ⠀✦ ⠀ :⠀⠀somnium⠀ ⠀💭 ⠀ . . .

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : dreambound!matt x lucid dream!reader

Chapter 03: the unseen bond

matt awoke with a jolt, his heart thudding against his chest like a frantic drum. the image of heist falling on the ice from his last dream haunted him, leaving him with a cocktail of worry, anxiety, and an inexplicable attachment to this dream girl.

despite the sun shining brightly outside, his mood was overcast by concern for heist's well-being, even if it was within the confines of his subconscious. today was supposed to be a day of errands, but for matt, it felt like anything but routine.

he dragged himself down to the kitchen on the second floor, where nick and chris were already seated at the table, a mess of shopping lists and pens scattered before them. they were planning their assault on walmart, but matt's mind was adrift, anchored only by thoughts of the brunette girl and her laughter amidst fear.

"matt, you here with us, or are ya still dreamin'?" chris asked, his voice breaking through matt's reverie as he waved a pen in front of his face.

"yeah, yeah, sorry, just got a lot on my mind," matt replied, his accent thick with distraction. he contributed half-heartedly to the list, suggesting, "we need more of those protein bars, and maybe some new towels?"

the drive to walmart was filled with the usual banter, but matt's responses were mechanical, his attention firmly on the dream he left behind. he drove with the steering wheel in a death grip, his mind replaying the moment heist fell, wishing he could have done more.

once in the store, the aisles seemed endless, a maze of colors and products. chris was in a heated debate with nick over cereal brands, his disdain for the generic ones palpable.

"this is like eating cardboard," nick declared, holding up a box with a grimace.

"it's not that bad, and it saves us money," matt countered, though his heart wasn't in the argument. his eyes scanned shelves, but he wasn't seeing; he was picturing her, her expression, wondering if she was okay.

the ride back was quieter, his brothers discussing some new video game, but matt was silent, lost in thought.

at home, in their three-story house where the ground floor housed the garage, chris's room, and his bathroom, and the second floor had the kitchen, matt's room, his bathroom, and the living area, they unpacked. the third floor, where nick's room, his bathroom, and the now-dormant podcast studio 'Cut The Cameras' resided, was out of sight, out of mind for now.

matt skipped dinner, his hunger overshadowed by his urgency to return to sleep, to see heist again. he went straight to bed, hoping to find her in his dreams.

in his sleep, he was transported to the parking lot of a mcdonald's, the familiar van from his early boston days parked there, a symbol of their humble beginnings in youtube.

inside the van, heist was waiting, her smile illuminating the dim space, but there was a subtle tiredness in her eyes, a weariness she tried to mask with her usual cheer.

"hey, sorry about last night," matt said, his voice gentle, his tone a comforting, familiar sound.

"it's okay, you tried to catch me, even if it didn't happen," heist replied, her brooklyn accent sharp, but her words lacked their usual energy. she tried to hide it with a laugh, but matt noticed the slight droop in her shoulders, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"ya know, i was worried sick about ya," matt confessed.

heist laughed, a sound that felt like sunlight in the confined space, but it was lighter, more fragile. "i appreciate the concern, really. and hey, you're not so bad at this dream stuff."

they shared fast food in the back of the van, but matt noticed heist's movements were slower, less animated. he gently probed, "you look tired. everything okay?"

she shrugged it off with another smile, "just one of those days, you know? but this," she gestured around, "this makes it worth it."

they flirted, the air between them charged with a playful tension. matt learned about her love for Bad Omens, a band he'd never given much thought to until now.

"what's your favorite song by them?" matt leaned in, genuinely curious.

heist's eyes lit up momentarily, giving matt a glimpse of her usual spark before it dimmed with fatigue. "it's—..."

before she could elaborate, the dream shattered as he woke up because chris, with a mischievous grin, hit matt with a pillow at noon, announcing, "bro, it's cleaning day!"

matt took on his chores with a mechanical rhythm, cleaning his room and bathroom on the second floor, and handling the laundry for all three. as he folded clothes, his mind wandered back to heist, her tired eyes, and on a whim, he played Bad Omens on his phone.

the music filled the room, each track a bridge to her, a way to feel closer to the girl from his dreams. he found himself nodding along, the lyrics resonating with him in a new way.

that night, sleep came quickly, and he found heist again, this time in what felt like a cozy, dream-version of his bedroom on the second floor.

"i listened to them," matt said, his excitement palpable, his accent thick with enthusiasm.

heist's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight, but the fatigue was still there, lurking. "you did? no one's ever done that for me before, just because i mentioned it."

they sat on the edge of the bed, the dream world around them shifting to accommodate their conversation. heist shared stories of why she loved the band, how their music had been a soundtrack to her life's pivotal moments, but her voice was tired, her enthusiasm dimmed by exhaustion.

"you know, i've never felt like someone really cared about what i love until now," she confessed, her voice soft, vulnerable, a hint of sadness in the weariness.

matt felt a surge of protectiveness, of affection. "well, i do care, and i wanna know more. what's your favorite song? tell me everything."

they talked about the band, about music in general, their conversation a dance of give and take, of discovery. heist was animated when she could muster the energy, her hands moving as she described the emotions each song evoked in her, but her movements were slower, her laughter less frequent. matt was captivated, watching her, feeling like he was seeing a part of her soul, but also seeing through the facade of her tiredness.

as the night deepened in the dream, they shared more than just words; they shared laughter, fears of being misunderstood, dreams of what they wanted their lives to be. the connection felt profound, real, something that transcended the dream state.

matt, moved by the moment, pulled heist into a gentle embrace, her head resting against his chest. the warmth of her presence in this dream world felt like a promise of something more, a moment of respite from whatever was wearing her down.

"just so you know, i'll always pay attention to what you love," matt whispered, kissing her forehead, a pledge sealed with the softest of touches, hoping to bring some comfort to her tired soul.

but as dreams do, it began to fade, the edges blurring, the sound of heist's laughter the last thing to echo in his mind as he woke up.

the daylight brought back his loneliness, but now, it was tinged with a new warmth, an unseen bond that made the harshness of reality just a little bit softer.

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢 | 🏷 my little starfish: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

[villanious-gay-ghost]

I think I've figured out how to let go

(originally posted on Reddit by me, but I thought I'd share it here as well)

Doesn't apply to everyone!!! We all have different journeys and different things that work for us! These are just some thoughts, take them with a grain of salt. If it doesn't resonate with you, then it's not for you.

I've been thinking a lot about this recently because I felt like I'm trying to control too much of my DR to the point that it has become an obsession. For almost three years, I've been doing the same thing over and over again. I create myself a DR with the perfect life, perfect backstory, perfect S/O, perfect family, etc. It's all so perfect and planned out that it has no room for growth. When you have everything, that's just not fun.

Then when all the planning and scripting is done, I lose interest, and it's not getting me anywhere. No matter how perfect these DRs are, they feel distant, unrealistic, and unreachable. They're just too good to be true. I'm sure that such realities exist, but for me, it's not a realistic goal YET because I'm clearly struggling to get there. And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way and I'm trying to come up with a solution for that.

So if my DR is already perfect, then what else is left to do? Nothing. It's not an authentic experience anymore. Perhaps the hardest part is admitting to myself that I don't want the perfect DR or an ideal version of myself because that's what I've been chasing the entire time. The easy way, where I have everything, but it's just not what I want.

I want the human experience where I can find true immersion, where I have no knowledge of the outcome. I want to live, to exist.

Shifting is life. You're not an actor trying to act out a script. It's not just some fantasy, we're talking about reality. But life isn't something that you can plan, is it? There's always something that we can't predict because that's just how it is.

So what is letting go?

Letting go is when you specify only the basics in order to create a grounded reality. You define who you are, where you want to go, create a general idea of your life, maybe who your parents and siblings are, but you let the rest naturally unfold. You don't stress about the little details, you don't make a 20 pages long script.

Put that script aside for a bit. You don't plan your younger brother's personality, you don't plan your neighbor's eyebrow color, you don't plan how many bathrooms your house has, the types of plants your high school biology teacher kept in her classroom, you don't plan your number of friends, or the brand of your first car. You don't plan. You absolutely can do all those things, and having a script doesn't necessarily mean that you're obsessed with control. But if you're like me and that's not working for you, then maybe try considering going back to basics. You don't need specifics to connect to your DR.

It's hard, I know, because we want to be in control and all that. But you're letting go by not trying to control every aspect of your DR. Trust yourself, trust the universe, trust shifting, trust whatever you believe in and let go of your limitations. Create a reality for yourself, a place where you genuinely want to live.

But if you only have the basics, then how do you shift? That doesn't seem enough, but, in theory, it should be. True, you don't have specifics, but you still have the key, the most important thing that you need in order to shift: yourself.

Just lay down, relax, focus on your breathing if that helps. Let go of the details, don't think about them because they're only holding you back. Focus on the idea, the concept of a better reality where you're safe, cared for, and happy. You don't need a method, you don't need to visualize. Just feel and trust that it's happening. Feel the peace and feel the shift pulling you in.

Hope this helps someone. Start open and go living!

[icewindandboringhorror]

A little costume with eyebrow whiskers again.. making their return lol..

[psychoana16]

It's been AGES since I last posted a drawing here o Tumblr, but since it's trending, I'll give it a try!

Here's Biolizard I drew yesterday, our big boi who's finally coming back!! We missed you!

[marinerainbow]

A while ago, when I got into the NiGHTS fandom, I offered my own take on Selph- or as I called them, Mirrage. However, that was while I was still new to posting about my own headcannons, storytelling and character design (not that I'm an expert now). Looking back, I don't like how I made the post or described Mirrage's design too much. So here is my reprised post about;

Selph Mirrage the Forgotten

Story

As we all know, Wizeman was not from the world of dreams. A human with an evil heart trapped in a world where creation is life, it was only inevitable what he'd choose to do. However, as a human who didn't hold any one of the ideya, Wizeman needed to find a way to gain more power. Enough to overthrow the guardians and the firsts and create his own empire. The only thing he could do was to use his own black heart to create a whole new entity. One that would obey his command alone, and could deliver him the essence of the people of the night dimension.

That was the cycle that Mirrage was born. The first false nightmaren.

Mirrage was as cunning and cruel as Wizeman himself was. Perhaps even more so. Being created from greed for power and an insatiable lust, the porcelain nightmaren used their power of reflection and their various abilities to destroy all that were obstacles in their masters path. They had to start little by little, feasting on little pixies and beasts before they were strong enough to destroy a guardian. Every defeat, they would give Wizeman the essence of the fallen, and he would grow more unrecognizable and twisted. Though it never seemed to bother Mirrage, and they continued to do as they were told. Until, one fateful cycle, Wizeman became the tyrant we all know, and was able to take control of half of the night dimension; Nightmare.

Mirrage was meant to be his right and left hand. His sword and shield. When Wizeman took the throne, he made Mirrage his second in command, and even general to his growing army, giving Mirrage the luxury of a true first-class nightmaren. Though not out of respect. He knew Mirrage had to have the same desires he held, being born from his own heart. So this was meant to placate the mirror 'maren, until he could find a way to either break Mirrage down or destroy them.

His suspicions were correct, as Mirrage had never been truly loyal to the tyrant. Not even at the beginning. Every celestial and lunar they killed, they took some of the guardians' power for themselves, which prompted them to believe that not only Wizeman wasn't as powerful as he thought, but they could overthrow him themselves and take what they believed was rightfully theirs. After so long of playing the thankless servant, they were ready to face their creator.

However, they had vastly underestimated Wizeman. Not only had he beat them down, but he had prepared their prison for them by now, too; trapping them in the very mirror labyrinth they had created to lure in and confuse their victims- visitor and dream being alike. Stripped of their status and slowly being forgotten in the night dimension, Wizeman believed that Mirrage would never be an issue for him again... Though there was one thing that Mirrage never told him about their little nightmare.

They had found a way to connect their labyrinth with the reflection realm. They were able to travel throughout all of the night dimension, but only through looking glasses, bodies of water, polished metal, and anything else that held a reflective surface. They were not a part of Nightmare or Nightopia; they could only peer into the world that they once called their land, watching time and people pass by and experience everything they took for granted. While they were cursed to only watch.

And all it did was fuel their rage and vendetta against their prisoner. The cycle that they break free will be the cycle that everyone will be reminded of why they are the greatest nightmare to have ever lived.

Character Design

Mirrages appearance hasn't changed much. This is more or less redoing their suit, as well as a few touches.

Starting with their natural appearance, Mirrage is a nightmaren made out of porcelain and is as white as snow. If you touch them, they feel cool and smooth like a doll. However, their body and 'skin' move like they were made of flesh and blood; there are no visible joints connecting their limbs together. When hit, they crack and can even shatter, though they can always magically repair themselves. They're tall, around 7'9 to be exact, and have a very slim and androgynous body type. Though they can change it if so desired. I'm debating whether they have claws, or finger armor like the picture beneath. Maybe both?

Their eyes are rather unique. At least compared to the other nightmaren we've seen. They have a sapphire blue sclera and a bright yellow iris, and the white pupils are in the shape of a four pointed star. They painted their bottom lip gold and they have cat eye lashes, but that's the extent of their makeup on a normal day. They also do not possess a nose or ears like the other nightmaren, but could easily form themselves those features if desired.

Their cowl/horns extend outwardly and down the sides of their head and curve inward, as if framing their face like a mirrorframe. The cowl is midnight blue, with bright yellow stripes going down the horns and silver borders on both sides of all the stripes. I'm considering maybe a silver fleur swirl design within the yellow and connecting to the silver borders as well, though I'm not sure yet. Also, they have golden caps at the tips of their horns with tear drop shaped jewels attached, acting somewhat like earrings. What color they are, I'm currently debating with my friend Marshmallow. I'll be sure to touch up on this post later.

Their outfit I struggled the most with. I'm not the best at designing clothes, but I think I got it. I took inspiration from Balan from Balan Wonderworld and Jareth from Labyrinth. They have a seamless full body suit that is a sparkling midnight blue, with a lacey ivory cravat and frilled cuffs and chained golden buttons lining the breast. The legs of the body suit turn black in an ombre effect and connect to their sharp, black high heels with silver bottoms. The suit tail is a cut in a sharp V shape and reaches down to just a few inches below the knee. And pinned to their cravat is an oval shaped brooch with the same jewel their cowl jewelery is made of. Again, I'll come back to this later.

And finally, their voice. They technically can have any voice they want and can mimic anybody perfectly. However, they have two true voices that they like to switch between at a whim. Their feminine voice claim is Bayonetta from the game by the same name, and their masculine voice claim is the eel from Padak.

Tid-Bits

Their insides are an inky, coagulated mess. If you can strike hard enough, the black goo will drip out of the crevices. You can see a hint to what lies beneath when they open their mouth; it looks just like a black mamba, aside from their perfectly pearly white fangs- that are also porcelain.

They do have a staff. It was taken from them when they were banished, but they'll be able to summon it again once they are free. It is a gold and blue striped staff with a crystal ball balanced within a bejeweled golden hoop at the top. They can extend it long enough to walk with it, or shorten it to the length of a scepter.

Although while they're peering into the night dimension they can't touch anything, they still hold some power in their nightmare realm. If you meet them in the labyrinth, you'll find that their reflection could touch or grab yours, or any other object with you, without physically making contact.

Mirrage is a manipulative silver tongued snake, using whatever trick up their sleeve to gain the upper hand. They'll strike deals, make false promises, intimidate, anything. And they'll find a way to use your own words against you, so you better watch what you say around them.

Being created from a human heart, Mirrage is not a stranger to human desires. Not just for materialistic things, but even companionship. You could use this against them, but only if you plan your cards right. As a trickster, they can recognize a poorly thought out ploy attempting to be played on them, but they did also fail to overthrow Wizeman. Remember that. Just don't remind them that.

Being able to travel mostly unnoticed throughout the night dimension, they know many many secrets. I wouldn't recommend making your confessions near a lake or in front of your vanity if you wish for them to be unheard.

As you might have guessed, they use they/them pronouns and can easily change their appearance if they want to look more feminine or masculine. They don't know the meaning of 'cisgender'. They are whatever they like to be.

Since they aided Wizeman in the genocide of the guardians, that makes them and my OC Prism comnected... I may or may not be planning something with this.

Mirrage both respects and envies NiGHTS. They rebelled while still keeping their freedom. And Mirrage knows that that courage ideya shard must have something to do with NiGHTS turning on Wizeman. They think it might even save them from their prison. The trick however, is luring the little rapscallion into their realm in the first place.

When Wizeman finally falls and Reala takes the throne, Mirrage will present themselves to him, offering to help him become a better ruler in exchange for their status back... Though I'm certain we all know what they must be really planning by now.

Jackle... Is rather entertaining. They sometimes find their way to his guillotine and watch him do whatever he's doing at that moment. As far as they know, the failed first level has no idea about their existence.

The name Mirrage is a pun; combining the word mirror and mirage together to point to their character.

And that's my take two on Selph/Mirrage!! I hope you guys like my take ^^

[quirkle2]

as a huge spyro year of the dragon fan i Hate the reignited trilogy they took all the charm and nostalgia out of it BUT ... spyro's walking/running animation ? they perfected that.

[skitskatdacat63]

Christopher Nolan making movies: I'm gonna make a film that is so confusing and non-linear

[bmpmp3]

I KNOW every person says this about every medium, art form, hobby, etc. ever, and always specifically about whatever time they get really really really into said hobby BUT i do genuinely think, at least from a software perspective, that we're probably on the cusp of some kind of vocal synth renaissance. the scene never died or even wavered, but with the sheer amount of new software coming out both paid and free, voicevox getting a singing update,stuff like OpenUtau making compatibility easier... i don't care for subscriptions so im only interested in their perpetual licenses but i will admit voisona's subscription model for voicebanks has a lot of benefits for those who just wanna use a voice maybe once or twice.... there are so many robots to make sing you guys. there are so many.

[fangirling-heart]

💜❤️💙🤍🩶🖤

It means a lot to me that when people send heart emojis, they have a specific color/style they use. And heart they choose to use seems to really reflect that persons personality and how they love.

Actually, do me a favor. Reblog this with the hearts you typically use.

💜💜💜💜

[crows4luna]

DANCING WITH ANOTHER GUY TO MAKE HIM JEALOUS.  ﹒˚ ₊ ︵ LOVE & DEEPSPACE EDITION.

mature, suggestive content. explicit content in zayne's section (fingering, nipple play, teasing, pussy slapping). possessive caleb, brief mention of bondage. mentions of miscommunication, disagreements, generally being petty. set in a nightclub. slightly toxic? i think? everything is consensual! reader is gn!afab. reader is not mc but works in the respective fields of their own position (xavier's and sylus' sections). xavier and rafayel's sections are the least horny. sorry, i tried. unedited. 𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀now playing: lokera - rauw alejandro, lyanno, brray [ author's note ] thank you so much @ivohex for helping me brainstorm a little more for xavier's and caleb's sections. also, if anyone has rauw alejandro tickets, please hmu. tysm.

Subtle, strobing lights make the dark intimacy all the more enticing. A beautiful gradient that casts over the bodies that meld with one another in the dark. Beneath them is a fluorescent square platform, following similar color switch patterns as the neon lights above. Those who move on this illuminated island are either drunk, tipsy, or—looking for something with bold intentions.

And bold, you are.

You stand near the middle among these half-inebriated bodies, in a position that makes you secure enough to be within a keen line of sight across the bar. It’s intentional, of course. The music that booms throughout the venue is like a natural, instant spell. Each song that shuffles through is a repetition of a dembow riddim, accompanied by a backing track of pop and R&B instrumentals mixed together.

Naturally, your hips lead a sultry sway. Your body is captivated by the nightclub’s inviting aura, melding with the beat like it’s moving you. A dance that heightens your own enjoyment of the night that’s bound to be filled with opportunity.

Tonight—you’re wearing an outfit skimpier than you’re used to. Showing more skin than you would ever bare on any other night.

And your partner’s here.

But it’s not him who’s pressed up against you from behind. There’s an emboldening heat between yourself and the stranger grinding against you, moving in that same natural gyration. His hands on your waist, squeezing the flesh as you two circle and move as one.

You glance up within that keen line of sight—wearing a hazy, teasing smirk—meeting your significant other’s eyes across the room. Even with the stranger damn near close to bursting in his pants, his hardening bulge grinding up and down against your ass—the only people who exist in this intense atmosphere being yourself and the man you always go home with.

XAVIER - You two were here on a whim to join your coworkers on a night out. It was a spot that had been pointed out by Tara, begging her tight-knit bonds within the Association to ‘let loose for one night.’ - Disagreements were bound to take place between partners, but the light air of tension between you both had been a result of small misunderstanding. He had promised you could accompany him on a mission that was said to be a little bit more precarious. Yet he went alone. - He knows this sight right now was your way of getting back at him. - He gets it. Sure. - But his hand clenches tighter around the glass in hand, ice tumbling and clinking as the liquor inside begins to tumble like a troubled wave. Unknown to him, his jaw is clenched tighter than it ever has. And if anyone knew Xavier better than his usual, composed demeanor, nothing would have been amiss. - You’re always stunning. You’re the most beautiful person to him, and he’s seen you, embraced you in all of your glory. That’s why he finds it unfair that you look as pretty as ever, allowing some random stranger to touch you in a way that only he can. - The glass shatters into pieces—and his tense fingers clench around nothing but the air. - And you’re giggling at the sight. You’re enjoying yourself heartily, feeling a thrum of warmth course between your thighs as Xavier takes an eased stride onto the platform. - You’ve already loosened your grip on the stranger just slightly, giving your partner the ample room to pull away the guy and taking his place. Xavier is stiff at first, but his grip relaxes while keeping a firmer hold on you. - “They already have a dance partner. Find someone else.”

RAFAYEL - The after party following his new gallery opening is handled and arranged by Thomas (surprisingly). Rafayel takes his kindness in good stride. - Yet the artist struggles to enjoy his evening at all. It’s to the point where he’s dissatisfied with the selection of paintings he had for the gallery. He makes a mental note to go over them again, rearrange the space later on so that he’s satisfied. - His biggest gripe isn’t the paintings, though. He realizes it now that the earlier disagreement between you two should’ve been handled better. He misses the normal, casual banter with you, and he hasn’t had ample time to properly whisk you away and apologize. - You’re not holding a grudge against him, but— - You do feel excitement at the thought of him taking the lead. Making the first move tonight. - And Rafayel gets it. It’s why he’s casual, leaned back against the bar as he watches you get lost to the music—as the man behind you is very apparent in fantasizing about taking you home for the night. - Fat chance, the artist thinks. The thought remains when he matches your own playful smile, subtly lifting his hand, in the motion that he would be adjusting his cuff links. - You know each other’s antics already—and you let out a giggle as you make slight distance between yourself and the stranger. Within that same split second, Rafayel snaps his fingers—enjoying how a flame singes the other man’s pant hem, causing him to instantly distance himself as he sputters in panic.

CALEB - It doesn’t take you long to understand that he is seething. The pinch of his brows, slight twitch of the corner of his lips, and a vein damn near outlining on his forehead. - Good. It’s what you wanted anyway. Another petty jest on your end just to rile him up. It’s a fun game, the way you two work together. - Caleb has never once bat an eyelash towards anyone else but you. Yet in the time you were apart, in the time he knew he fucked up and should’ve reached out sooner, you’ve learned how to have your fun. - Don’t get him wrong, he’s absolutely heated in every way possible. You look ready for the taking more than anything tonight—but the sight of that man’s hands on your hips is all that he can focus on. Caleb doesn’t hear a damn thing his colleague is blabbering about. - His teeth might just break from how hard he’s grinding them against each other, hidden behind a forced smile he can no longer maintain. All the while, another vein pops. You’re laughing, knowing how miserable he is seeing this. - He could easily walk up to you, make a scene, and take you into a dark corner and remind you who you belong to. But this was supposed to be a fun occasion. You’ll end up going back with him anyway—and he knows which tie he wants to blindfold you with when he takes you tonight. - Caleb would rather make that happen now. - He subtly lifts his hand with a flick of his fingers—and the stranger you’re dancing with is suddenly pulled back by his pant leg, falling back onto the dancefloor. It startles the other patrons, helping him stand as you walk away with ignorance. You mirror the satisfied smile on his face as you walk towards him—ready to be his for the rest of the night.

SYLUS - It became routine for you two to take on missions together whenever it was something that required going undercover or bringing a plus one. Nightclubs in the N109 Zone were a sleazy but vibrant scene, making the venue all the more intimate when you both stepped foot inside. - Sylus was efficient as ever in handling his task, another arrangement having gone smoothly. He doesn’t have to kill anyone tonight. - Or so he thought. - It’s rare you’re ever in this kind of scene, even more so that you dress for this occasion. Who would you be if you didn’t have your own fun? Especially when it came to riling up your beloved. Between you two, it stirs the very heat needed when you’d like him to be a little more rough. - Sure enough—Sylus is positively seething despite the too calm expression that makes his striking features tense. The look in his eyes is one you’ve come to recognize; it’s the same ferocity that his enemies see in their final moments. - The slightest smirk quirks up on his lips. You’re being cheeky tonight, he thinks. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from your own—ogling him, beckoning him over without a word. - His sharp eyes notice how the man behind you has squeezed your hips a bit tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go. You indulge in it, grinding your ass back into the stranger harder—and that’s all it takes for Sylus to finally prop himself up from the bar. - No, he hadn’t planned on harming anyone at all. He’s a good, morally-abiding citizen. - But oh… the things he was planning to do you. Perhaps keeping you up until the morning was a fair punishment.

ZAYNE - You should have known better by now that your games with him always end up in his victory. - You don’t ever look away from one another as the stranger continues to grind against you, oblivious to the tension and how this was all just an act. But you wonder why Zayne is as calm as he normally is. Eased, relaxed, with no drink in hand. - No, it bothers you. - Your initial, teasing smile begins to soften, and you’re becoming desperate. Your half-lidded eyes now slightly wider, while you jut your bottom lip into a pathetic pout. You’re losing, and your frustration about it makes Zayne smile, ever so slightly. - Your partner eventually pulls away, muttering something about going to get a drink. Just as he turns his back to head towards the opposite side where another bar stands—you feel a familiar, calloused palm tug your wrist, leading you out of the club. - You barely have time to process anything—when Zayne pushes you onto your back against the backseat cushions. He grips your calves, instantly folding your legs back as he slots in between your thighs. - He pants against your throat, humming in satisfaction as his trained hand instantly finds your slicked folds. You gasp for air, instantly weakening beneath him. Your back arches as he presses and circles his fingers into your aching flesh. - “Zayne… Zayne, I—please—please—oh!” You chant his name hurriedly, breathless as you grind into his hand sloppily. - But in trying to chase your pleasure, Zayne retracts his fingers just as fast as he found your skin. His palm strikes against your pussy, drawing a surprised yelp from you. You cry out a whimper, trying to reach out to your lover—and his hand strikes the same spot again. - “What if I just left you like this, hm?” The doctor breathes huskily into your ear, nipping your lobe between his teeth. He groans as his fingers easily slide into you, his low chuckle vibrating against your neck. - His other hand comes forward to expose your chest, instantly latching his lips onto a nipple. You moan out loud into the cramped darkness, more needy than you ever have been. “Ah… agh, fuck… Zayne, I’m sor—” - “How about you go right back into that building, and give him another dance, hm? Just like this.” - You can only whine at this point, huffing with such intense arousal it makes you look pathetic. Zayne is relishing in it, you can feel his smirk against your breast as he flattens his tongue against opposite nipple this time. - “That’s what I thought.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fic Idea: A little bit of Home

One day, out of the blue, J'onn J'onzz asks if he could celebrate a Martian holiday. He hadn't before, seeing as the pain of losing his people and his home was too fresh, but he missed the holidays of Mars. He felt that if he didn't try to bring back some of his celebrations, then they, too, would be lost to death.

His teammates were happy to celebrate with him; they were touched by his sharing this part of his culture. J'onn explained that all they had to do was bring a childhood food item to feast on. He explains that on Mars, recipes were passed down for generations, and having the ancestral food of friends and family was the second most crucial part of his holiday.

They are then left stunned when he admits that the feast is traditionally held that same night, but he had been too nervous to mention it beforehand. He allows them to change their minds, but no one dares to.

Heroes pour out of the Watch Tower, racing home to begin cooking, and the Martian is told that as soon as they have something, they will return in time for the meal.

No one mentions the tears gathering on the smiling Martian's face. Nor do they say that his humanoid form falls away to his proper form, a rare occasion to witness.

J'onn then starts decorating the Watch Tower as the Justice League members work on what they will each bring.

He places a lot of shimmering rocks in patterns on the ground. They weave and curl through the hallways as members are careful with no stepping on them. He then has Batman help him find different minerals that change the color of sand used in gorgeous art portraits of each member. (The man was more than capable of sending him information while helping Alfred bake cookies)

It took a bit of flying around the world, but he was able to return to the tower a few hours later with all-natural colored sand. (Thank goodness for the teleportation technology Bruce installed)

By then, a few heroes had returned, each carrying a food or drink container.

Those he forms in the cafeteria where the feast will be held. A crowd of heroes stands around, oohing and ahhing, as J'onn uses his telekinesis to move the sands and create all of them simultaneously, putting on a show.

He is singing hauntingly beautiful songs while hanging colorful drapes around the walls in the last few hours leading up to the feast. No one could understand the words, but everyone agreed that J'onn had an incredible voice.

Clark, arriving with three Kent apple pies, smiles. "He sang that at my house on Christmas Day."

J'onn informed everyone that the event would be formal wear- and everyone showed up dressed to the nines. Heroes who still hid their secret identity- like Batman- had arrived in their costumes, but they had added bowties or some other little accessories to make it formal.

Seeing Nightwing fix the tophat on Batman's head while Red Hood was dressed in a lovely suit, forgoing his usual helmet for a red half mask, was..... enlightening.

A few drinks were served while people walked around admiring the sand painting that J'onn had made. He depicted not only the heroes but also multiple parts of the world, then a section of their best missions, and finally, paintings of good memories they had all shared.

It was like a walkable photoalbum.

Spirits were high as members enjoyed themselves, smiling at the memories and chatting with friends in the few peaceful times of their crazy lives. No one could hold in the gasp when J'onn finished getting ready and arrived at the party. He had painted himself in different shades of blue, beaming in pride at the praise for his cultural markings.

He asked everyone to sit, standing to pray in his native tongue. A few heroes bowed their heads, and others merely sat comfortably, waiting for the Martian to finish.

He picked up his cup, raising it high in the air with his hand

"Friends," J'onn started, voicing, choked up with emotion. "I thank you all for joining me today. It means the world to me that you come here to celebrate the King's Feast. May Phantom watch over you all and freeze all your enemies!"

His cup floats out of his hand, turning to the side so the water can fall out and take the shape of a strange D. J'onn bowes his head, crossing his arms and muttering more prayers.

John Constantine, who had been attempting to sneak bites from the steak and kidney he brought, drops his fork. He stares in absolute shock at the flouting water symbol above the martian before Zatanna slaps him on the shoulder. "Don't be rude!"

He points one shaking finger at the Martian, turning to her with a pale face. "The Martians worship King Phantom!?"

She blinks. "Who's that?"

John moves his jaw, but no words leave his mouth as J'onn finishes his last prayer. He then holds up a plate proudly, explaining what it is and why he chose it to share. He encourages every hero to do the same, so voices fill the air one by one as they present their offering and the memory attached to it.

No one pays much mind to the blond British man desperately drawing wards on the ground using his green-colored chalk. When asked what her husband was doing, Zatanna shrugs helplessly.

Likewise, no one notices some of the plates mysteriously lose some of their contents. The food appears on Earth in the room of a very excited Halfa, who feeds on the foods and the emotions weaved into the meals.

J'onn later claims that this Great One Day felt like King Phantom was slightly closer than usual.