#catalog cover model

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles through the years before Supernatural.

1994

Misha in University of Chicago yearbook. [Front Left]

Jensen on cover of Boy Scouts catalog. [Back Left]

2005 2004 2003 2002 2001 2000 1999 1998 1997 1996 1995 1992 1991 1990 1987/1989

[devdas5z]

Adriana Lima in Victoria’s Secret Fall 2001

[kalach-cha]

yet another brief lil fact about growing up in a modelling family:

you become VERY elitist about it VERY fast

[deatherella]

Deatherella does DOTY 2024 - Round 4

Here's the items I did up for Round 4. I made recolors, conversions, and a few new meshes. Most of the furnishings are IKEA based items since Steve-O's parents went shopping at their local IKEA store to furnish his study.

Let's start with recolors, shall we. Recolors on several Maxis poster meshes (Surf's Up and Yummers for my Tummers), the BV travel poster, and Veranka's Otter Be a Star painting.

Various rugs. Only one is in my entry. I had other ones to put in there and forgot to place them. There are square, runner, Maxis PS, Maxis Bull's Eye, 3x4, and 3x5 rugs

Sailfindragon's Santiago blinds recolored with IKEA's banana print fabric. I think I got the meshes at Affinity Sims so my link for her goes to her MTS profile.

I did a few 4to2 conversions. LightningBolt's Sega Genesis and game cartridges. It doesn't have a controller - the one in my previews and entry pics is from @2fingerswhiskey.  Peeled Orange from Surely-Sims. Floppy disks from Carabiner's Computer Lab set.

New stuff !!!! IKEA HALLSTA. Straight off the cover of their 1985 catalog. HALLSTA is actually a sofa cover, not a sofa. But I made it a sofa since I am not talented at bending faces around enough to make it a slipcover. It comes with recolors in 13pumpkin's IKEA pallette. In my downloads folder, there is an .rar with the seamless fabrics if you'd like to use them on your own creations.

IKEA Tarnaby chair. I made this from the Karlstad chair since they were a lot alike. Only one texture from the IKEA ad for it.

Chia Pets !!!! Can't get more '80s than that. One for putting on your surfaces and one for sprucing up your yard - flamingo move over, chia pet is here!

Now your teens can be the cool kids in the hood with their very own (deco) Sony Dynamite 8-track player. I made this mesh from scratch and it turned out fairly well. Little more poly than it should have for a 1-tile object but I didn't want it to look all boxy. Recolors in all Sony's colors for it - yellow, blue, red, white, black. Let's not forget those 8-track cassettes. I made these with a model from turbosquid. I deleted all the parts that wouldn't show in our games and it comes in rather low poly. There are three 8-track cassette meshes - one laying straight, a slanted one, and two together. "Deatherella_8TrackCassette" is the master for all of them. Lots of 80's bands' albums recolors.

Download ALL Round 4 items ! If you'd like to pick and choose from the items, you can find all in the Round 4 folder. Hope you have as much fun using these as I did making them.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your track record with trying to survive is a checkered one. This is a red spot among the black and white.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, forced murder? Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.0k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 66: Go for the Throat

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner. 

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; this one is white with red splotch on the cheeks, not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. Like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is black and a generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. Hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things. Rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet, you take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away- before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill, it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill, emotionless and analytic. it being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it perfectly or cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Only now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweet worship. How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, you know how to use it. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

Coming Saturday February 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Gentleman caller

Sanji x reader. NSFW!!

This fic was inspired by Usopp visiting Kaya at her mansion at night. One Piece of course is not that sort of story, but... what if things were allowed to get a little more spicy?

TAGGING @holymusicalmothman @b7717 @mcereal @aamon47 Thanks for asking!!

*****

"Are you sure you don't want a glass of warm milk before you go to bed, miss?"

"I am sure, Kyla." you answer politely. The truth is you haven't drunk a glass of milk to help you fall asleep since you were ten (that is, almost half your life) but your governess keeps asking, every single night, and every single night you answer no; still, you know she does it out of worry and affection for you, which you sincerely appreciate "I think I'll go now; will you tell my father good-night for me, when he returns?"

Kyla promises she will, and returns to the kitchen to clean up after dinner, while you walk out of the villa's large dining room, cross a long corridor and climb the stairs to the upper floor, finally reaching your bedroom.

Except for Kyla in the kitchen you are alone, since the cook and the gardener, who do not reside in the villa, already left, and your father is as usual busy with a business dinner. You don't feel lonely exactly, since that state of affairs has been going on since your mother died when you were still too young to remember her, but it does feel a little weird to live in such a large place, no less than twelve bedrooms on the first floor alone and at least six other rooms that have been closed for years since you literally don't know how to occupy them, when it's only the two of you... a waste of space, even though you and your father often host parties and receive many guests.

And the most important of those visitors by far is going to arrive soon, a person your father has no idea has already visited so many times before...

You take off your shoes, and spend a few minutes in the en-suite bathroom refreshing yourself before closing the bedroom's door behind you. You sigh, happy and excited, as you let yourself fall on the bed, observing the room you have slept in since you were maybe six and that you will soon leave: the desk cluttered with paper models, scarps of fabric and sewing tools; the two mannequins wearing your latest creations, a green cocktail dress and a simpler but elegant light blue men's shirt; the bookstore full of sewing manuals, fashion catalogs and the biographies of your favourite designers; the large poster on a wall, depicting a famous, elegantly dressed model... and the glass door that, only a few minutes after you have retired to your room, starts being hit by tiny pebbles, picked from the garden below.

Your guest is here. You happily stand from the bed, glance quickly to the full length mirror on the wall to make sure your hair is combed and in order, and reach the glass door to quickly step onto the balcony.

Standing in the garden under you like a suitor ready to serenade you, more handsome than a fairy-tale hero and beaming as if about to see all his dreams come true, is him. The former assistant cook of your family, your best friend in the world, your...

"Sanji!" you call out to him, voice barely rising above a whisper as you wave your hand at him, a greeting he returns in kind, clearly happy to see you, hidden among the trunks of the centuries-old trees; the night is particularly dark, heavy clouds covering the crescent moon and most of the stars, but his smile is brighter than any other source of light.

"Are you alone?" Sanji asks urgently as he glances all around him; no one has reason to visit the garden at this hour and the balcony is oriented towards the back of the villa, far from the main entrance through which your father would come in, but you both know how imperative it is to keep your rendez-vous secrets.

"I am; my dad hasn't returned yet and Kyla is in the kitchen. You can come up."

When you decided you would meet in secret at night, five years ago, you had offered to find a rope for him to climb, but Sanji never needed it. Tonight, as usual, you look on as he nimbly climbs the tree closest to the villa's wall, clinging to the huge trunk and then to the largest branches until he's jumping above the balcony and directly in your arms.

You embrace each other, your profiles standing out against the light filtering from the room, and for a full minute neither feels the need to talk. Sanji's arms hold you close by the waist, his lips pressed against your temple in a chaste kiss; you lose yourself in his scent, the costly perfume you bought for him because you knew he liked but couldn't afford it and and that never fails to make you shiver, as you enjoy the sensation of his slim but strong body pressed against yours.

"Do you have it?" you ask after a while, pulling away just enough to look at him in the eyes; you thought about nothing else for days, more nervous than if it had been your own future career at stake "The answer from the school. Did you receive it?"

"I have."

"... and?!"

Sanji, as usual neatly dressed in one of the dark suits he wears at work, smiles at you, his fingers brushing against your face; a small backpack hangs from his shoulder. "Can we go inside before we talk?" he proposes "I have something for you as well."

Knowing he brought you a treat from the restaurant he works at makes you happy, but nothing beats the simple, pure pleasure of his company. Wordlessly you take his hand to lead him inside, leaving the now empty balcony behind.

*****

Your friendship with Sanji began exactly one decade ago; you were the only daughter of a powerful politician, living alone with him at the villa and whose pathological shyness had left her virtually friendless, him a newly orphaned boy your father had decided to hire as assistant to the cook, so that he could support himself. One afternoon, you visited the kitchen to ask for a snack, since you were starving and dinner was still hours away; the cook told you that he was sorry but your father, already then worried for your weight, had strictly forbidden him from feeding you between meals. You noticed Sanji, busy scrubbing a large pot in the sink, but he seemed so focused on his job you decided not to disturb him to introduce yourself.

You left, disappointed but unwilling to insist, out of respect for both your father and the cook who was just following orders, but a few minutes later, as you studied in the library, he joined you, a nervous smile on his face and a salami sandwich in his hands.

"Please don't tell anyone, especially not your dad." he told you as he put it in your hands "I hope you liked it, I put some mayonnaise on it because I saw the cook used it to prepare your school lunch yesterday."

You did (and still do) like mayonnaise on your sandwiches, and in that moment you were doubly astonished: that he heard your request for a snack even though he had looked so engrossed in the cookware to wash, and that he had decided to risk your father's wrath to help you, less than a week after being hired.

"Thank you, I... thank you so much! That was very kind of you." you told him, for once forgetting your shyness "My name is (name). What's yours?"

"I'm Sanji. And don't worry; I'm sure your dad means well, but no one should starve, especially not at our age. Don't tell anyone, ok? I know he forbade the cook from feeding you snacks, and i'm not supposed to visit the family's wing of the villa without a valid reason."

You obviously kept his secret, and from that day on, you and Sanji quickly became inseparable, spending together all your free time from school and work; he secretly fed you every time your father's concern about your weight made the cook limit your meals, and you used your allowance to buy him cooking books he studied to pursue his dream of becoming a famous chef. Apart from your father, you had never loved anyone like him; Sanji was the other half of your soul, an acerbic but steadfast feeling that made you sure you would never feel alone, as long as he were by your side, and you would not have left him for all the treasures, and the good food, in the world.

Your father, who was happy you had finally made a friend and didn't mind you had chosen the kitchen boy and not one of your school mates, who belonged to the city's most affluent and prominent families, never had anything against it... at least until you were both fourteen, when he suddenly decided it was inappropriate for the two of you to spend so much time together; as a sign of peace, he found Sanji a more prestigious job in a famous restaurant at the other side of the city. That, in your father's opinion, would have meant the end of your friendship, but it obviously didn't: and after all, with all the sandwiches and portions of dessert he had snuck you, hadn't your friendship been based on secrecy since the very beginning?

For five years Sanji has spent with you almost every evening he is free from the restaurant; he climbs the trees next to your balcony and you let him in, and sometimes you spend the whole night talking, or leave together to visit a bar or go dancing. Is it dangerous, should your father discover what you are up to? Undoubtedly so, especially since you know he only worries about you, whether it is about the food you eat or the places you visit in a large and dangerous city; but you are an adult, more than old enough to decide how to live your life, and Sanji is always ready to protect you when someone bothers you in a club, and he would never feed you something that could seriously endanger your health. You don't know why exactly your father has suddenly decided you mustn't be friends with him anymore, but you are determined not to lose him, especially now that your relationship has started evolving beyond mere friendship... and your own dreams risk separating you forever.

*****

"So? What did the school say?" you insist as Sanji closes the glass door behind the two of you; your heart is pounding, wishing with every fiber of your being you could change the decision the commission must have taken days ago "Did you get in?"

For years Sanji has dreamed of attending the most prestigious cooking school in the country, the Baratie Culinary Arts Academy in the capital; this year he has finally reached the required age to enroll, but the entrance examination, that your friend has taken two weeks ago, is notoriously difficult, especially for who, like Sanji, also has to apply for a scholarship. Your friend was meant to receive the results of his exam today, and you had decided you would also share your own secret with him... and then, hopefully, you would both have something to celebrate.

"I'll tell you in a minute."

"Sanji, please... I haven't thought about anything else all day!" you complain, fearing your friend's reticence is due to shame for his failure; Sanji, busy emptying his backpack on your desk, smiles, before rubbing the back of his head.

"The truth is... I haven't opened the letter yet." he admits "I hoped we could do it together... mainly because I don't have the courage to do it by myself."

There is nothing wrong with wanting a friend close when one is both scared and excited for something, but in that moment your heart breaks for Sanji: he has lost his parents, had to take care of himself since he was still a child, and while he has a good job and could try again next year, being refused admission to the Baratie would break his heart.

You wait patiently as Sanji quickly sets the table for the two of you: cutlery, napkins, glasses, a bottle of water and his latest effort in the kitchen: two portions of a delicious chocolate cake, bigger than what your father would allow you to eat but still relatively small, since your friend does care about your health.

"This looks delicious, Sanji!" you exclaim, as always happy to taste your friend's latest creations "But wait..."

You walk to the small fridge next to the door, almost hidden under a pile of scraps of fabric left over from your latest creation and that you will find a use for one day, and retrieve a small but expensive bottle of champagne that you have bought in the afternoon.

"I thought we could use it to celebrate; I have also taken two flutes from the kitchen." you explain.

"I still don't know if I got in, (name)."

"I'm sure you did. And if the chefs at the Baratie can't see, and taste, how extraordinarily talented you are, it's their loss." you point out "You wanna open it?"

A minute later you are sitting face to face at your desk, cake and champagne ready to be enjoyed, the white envelope Sanji took from his backpack in your hands.

"Shall I?" you ask softly; your friend, who has never looked so pale and so young, nods.

"Please."

You both hold your breath as you open the envelope and then unfold the single sheet of paper inside. You make sure Sanji cannot see your face as you read...

"So? What... what does it say?"

"Sanji, I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, God..." your friend, heartbroken, stares at you for a moment before slumping on his chair, face hidden in his hands "I can't believe it... I was so sure..."

"I'm sorry because you have some very difficult years ahead..."

"... what?"

"Of course. Nights spent studying, sharing a room with six other people, waking up extra-early to go to class... Really, I don't envy you..."

Finally you look at him, beaming, while Sanji's eyes grow bigger as he slowly catches the meaning of your words.

"You mean...?"

"You got in! And you got the scholarship as well. Oh, Sanji, I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it!"

You stand and embrace, laughing with shared delight. "I can't believe it." Sanji murmurs, still as he looks at the admission letter, signed by Zeff, a famous chef who is the Baratie's headmaster "There were so many people at the exam, and at one point I was so nervous I spilled a bowl of vinaigrette on my apron..."

"As I said, an important school like the Baratie, with so many experienced chefs, couldn't not recognize your talent." you point out, happier than you remember ever being "Classes start in a month, you'll have to give your notice at the restaurant."

"Yeah..."

Sanji takes your hands in his, kissing them devotedly. "I could have never done it without you." he murmurs, with the sort of gaze and inflection that, years after your first kiss, still makes you shiver "All the books you have bought me... and it was you who convinced me to apply. I owe you so much, (name)."

"You would have done the same for me; and we both know the two of us are beyond this sort of talk. I am so happy for you, truly; I know you will become a great chef."

Sanji smiles, circling your waist with his arm as he uses his free hand to pick one of the flutes from the desk. "Shall we celebrate, then?"

"Actually..."

"Actually?"

"Actually, I also have something to tell you." you admit, a new, excited smile opening on your face "You know that important fashion school in the capital, the one many of my favourite designers attended?"

Fashion has always been your greatest passion; you have designed clothes since you were a child, and thanks to a family friend who owns a large tailor shop you have learnt the basics of the trade, how to cut fabric, sew and tailor an item of clothing. Your father, who approves of your interests, has offered to introduce you to some fashion designers his friends or associates are acquainted to, but you are determined to accept no recommendations and take no shortcuts; just like Sanji, and any person who has to work hard to realize their dreams, you will pursue your education, earn an apprenticeship at a fashion house, and in time, hopefully, open your own and make a name for yourself as a designer. It will take you years and fashion is a famously difficult field to break into, but you are determined to give your all, so that whatever the future may bring you will be free from regret, and live doing what you love.

"Of course; the Nefertari Vivi Fashion Institute." Sanji promptly answers; miss Vivi is one of your idols, a ground-breaking designer who has revolutionized the fashion world and then focused on teaching, establishing one of the best-reputed educational institutions of the field "So what?"

You smile, still excited almost a week after receiving your own letter, that you asked your father to open for you.

Sanji gapes. "You are kidding."

"I am not!"

Your friend laughs. "And you didn't tell me anything!" he exclaims, and you apologize, telling him you didn't want to disappoint both of them in the not unlikely event you were not admitted.

"But you were?"

You still can't believe it yourself. "I was! There was no exam; I only had to send miss Vivi some of my creations, and a few days ago I received the acceptance letter."

"(name), that's amazing!"

"I know! I can't wait to begin. I also apply for a scholarship, but unfortunately I didn't get it."

Sanji asks whether you plan on asking your father to pay for your classes, but you shake your head: you need to learn to take care of yourself, living alone once you'll move to the capital and earning money to support yourself. To this end, you have contacted a friend who lives in the capital and owns a bookstore: she has accepted to hire you, and you have sold your jewels to pay your tuition fees.

"(name), you didn't!" Sanji exclaims, flabbergasted "Those were your mom's things..."

"I know." you sigh, still feeling saddened and a bit guilty even though you know you did the right thing "But this is my future we are talking about, the opportunity to build a career, and a life for myself, without my father taking care of me or using my family's money to buy whatever I need or want. I want to earn my keep, Sanji; I want to prove I can take care of myself, and that I am more than a spoiled little girl."

Sanji softly points out that no one who knows you could ever think that; he smiles, his handsome face expressing a joy too great and deep for words, as he takes you in his arms once more. "So we are both moving to the capital to study." he mentions "And pursue our dreams. Which means we'll both be very busy..."

"... but we won't have to hide our relationship anymore." you happily finish for him, having already reflected on the matter; you plan on living in a student residence, since their rooms are cheaper than other types of accommodation, and guests are usually not admitted, but at least you will be able to meet in the open, having dates like any other couple instead of having to hide like a married man with his mistress, lest your father learns about your relationship "I can't wait! In a month we'll both be living in the capital, studying with the best in our fields, and nothing will stop us from being together. I... I don't think I've ever been so happy!"

"Me neither." Sanji agrees, one of the flutes in his hand once more "Shall we drink to our future? And then enjoy the cake?"

You agree, but you barely have had the time to clink your glasses together when a sudden noise reaches your ears: an unexpected, but otherwise innocuous noise, at least for who, unlike the two of you, has nothing to hide...

A soft but firm knocking on the door.

Sanji looks at you, suddenly tense; you turn your eyes to the door, wishing to be able to see beyond it. "Yes?"

"(name), it's dad. May I come in?"

The flute almost slips from Sanji's fingers; terrified as if a whole army were standing at the other side of the door, ready to barge in and tear both to pieces, you both nonetheless act quickly, having prepared for such an occurrence since your first nocturnal meeting. Your friend quickly retrieves the flutes and the champagne bottle, while you do the same with the cake plates and the other things placed on your desk; a moment later, Sanji has slipped under your bed, a dusty and uncomfortable hiding spot where nonetheless he'll be safe from your father.

I hope.

"(name)? Is everything all right?"

"Just a moment, dad! I'm coming!" you answer, hoping you sound less nervous, almost terrified, than you feel; you quickly glance all around you, making sure no trace of Sanji's presence is visible, and finally go open the door.

"Hello, dad. How was dinner?" you ask, approaching to kiss him on the cheek; even though he interrupted you and Sanji, you're happy he came to say good-night to you before retiring to his own bedroom.

"Pretty good, even though the lemon cake was not up the restaurant's usual standard. Are you ok?"

"Yes, of course; I was... preparing to go to bed." you answer vaguely, before something in your peripheral vision makes you tense; it is Sanji's backpack, placed where your friend had left it less than half an hour ago: on the bed, perfectly visible.

Shit. SHIT. Shitshitshitshit...

You move a step to the right, so as to prevent your father from noticing the backpack; it is not as compromising as if he had found Sanji's tie, or his shoes, but he could notice the backpack is a men's model, and inside he could find your friend's personal documents, five years after he had forbidden you from having further contact with him. Don't look at it. Don't see it. Please please please...!

Thank God your father, a clever and perceptive man, seems unconcerned with out-of-place objects in your room. "I was thinking tomorrow we could go buy a new suitcase for you; you need a large one, since you'll have to bring most of your things when you'll move to the capital. I hope you'll allow me to pay for that at least."

You smile, grateful for the offer and even more for the intention. "Of course, dad. Thank you."

He smiles, taking your hands in his. "I am so proud of you." he murmurs "I have always known you had a great talent for fashion, but being admitted to such a prestigious school... You'll become the greatest designer of your generation, I'm sure."

"Dad..."

"Please, let me be happy for you. You know I'm always there if you need something, right? I know you have found a job, and you are smart and mature enough to take care of yourself, but if you ever need money, or you want to come home, you can do it; no judgement. Oh, I wish your mom could see you..."

You bite your lip, suddenly unable to talk; a lump of emotion blocks your throat. You are happy, and grateful, that your father supports your desire to move to the capital and attend the Nefertari Institute, especially since he's so protective and you know he wished you would one day follow his footsteps and go into politics, and while you can't wait to start your classes and enjoy life in a big city, the thought of leaving him, and the house where you were born, fills you with sadness... and guilt.

"I... I will never thank you enough for everything you have done for me." you murmur, stepping closer to him to hug your father "And I'm sorry if... if I ever made it hard for you, especially after mom died. I love you very much, dad. I'll be back often to visit, I promise; and I'll miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too, my darling girl." your father answers; he's moved as well, but better than you at hiding it "But I'm so proud you're beginning your life in the world. And I hope you'll let me visit you as well."

"Of course! Every time you can."

"Good. Now, we should both go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He kisses you on the forehead, and soon after he's closing the room's door behind him. You are still staring at it when, a minute later, Sanji joins you, resting his hands on your shoulders.

"Are you all right?" he asks softly; he has known you long enough to perceive what you are feeling, the love for your father and the guilt for the relationship you are carrying out behind his back, the efforts you are making to build a life for yourself away from his protective but constrictive influence and the way you'll miss him terribly and feel guilty for leaving as soon as you could.

"Yeah, just... I was just thinking."

You sigh, turning to face Sanji, desperately trying to return to the carefree joy of five minutes ago, and drive away the melancholia filling your heart. After all, it is normal for children to find their way in life away from their family, and your father is still young, dedicated to his job and career, and has many friends and a new partner he is very close to; he'll be all right, and whatever loneliness and melancholy he will feel, you know he will accept it.

"Your father is a good man." Sanji points out as you both retrieve your drinks and plates from the wardrobe you had hidden them in "He didn't even know me, but he gave me a job when I was alone in the world, and then he found me an even more prestigious one at the restaurant; every berry I ever earned I owe it to him. I'll never forget all the help he gave me."

You smile, happy to hear your friend talk well about your father. "You still have a good opinion of him even if he forbade us from being friends?"

"Well, I shouldn't resent him for that, since we never stopped seeing each other. And he only wanted to protect you, which I can understand."

You blink. "... sorry? What are you talking about?"

"Right, I... I never told you, did I?"

Sanji rubs the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. "You never wondered why your dad was suddenly against us being friends?"

You had. "Well... I thought it was because we weren't children anymore... and you a boy and I a girl..."

"Exactly, but... there was something else. When I was fourteen, I... I wrote you a letter; there was something important I needed to tell you, but I couldn't find the courage to do it in person. I left it on your pillow one day while you were in school, but your father found it... and read it."

You wait for Sanji to elaborate, but he seems focused on staring at the floor, avoiding your gaze. "It was... something inappropriate for a father to read...?"

"Nothing vulgar, if that is what you are wondering; but... it did say I wanted us to be more than friends, and this is what your father opposed, not that I was an orphan without money and prospectives, but because he thought you were too young for that sort of relationship. So... so he asked me to leave things between us as they were, and when I refused, he decided it was better to separate us, and he found me a job at the other side of town, forbidding me from contacting you again, at least until you were of age."

He looks at you, tense since he has no idea how you could react, but the truth is you don't know either. "He sent you away because he didn't want us to date?" you recapitulate in the end, flabbergasted "What would have been so wrong about that? Lots of girls get a boyfriend at fourteen, and he knew you, he knew you would treat me well..."

"Well, he's always been protective of you. Sorry, maybe I should have told you before..."

"It's ok." you reassure him, even though you are not completely sure of it yourself; you understand your father's reasons, and appreciate he didn't simply kick Sanji out in the street, but at the same time you can't believe all of it was to stop your best friend, a boy he knew posed no danger, from confessing his feelings "I... I'm so sorry, Sanji..."

"Well, it wasn't so bad; and as I said, I really don't have a reason to complain, since we did end up becoming more than friends. I felt guilty lying to your dad... but I couldn't give up on you."

He smiles, as he picks one of the flutes up from your desk again. "Now, can we please have a toast to our future?"

You do, happily enjoying your late-night snack; you delicately clink your glasses together before taking a sip, and then feed each other cake, your knees touching under the desk.

Silence has fallen on the room, and on the two of you, as usual when you are with Sanji a comfortable, peaceful silence that you don't feel the need to fill with small talk; you smile at each other, both happy and excited at the future opening in front of you... a future that you will face together as you have always done, finding strength and support in each other.

"Does chef Zeff teaches any class at the Baratie?" you ask after a while; you know the extent of Sanji's admiration for the principal of the cooking school, and it would be amazing for him to learn personally from his idol.

"Not for first-year students; but I heard that he sometimes gives one-on-one classes, if he finds a particularly talented pupil."

"... which means he'll leave all his other classes to tutor you exclusively, as soon as he tastes your True Bluefin sauté... or your salami sandwich."

Sanji smiles; he knows how much faith you have in his cooking abilities, and he never stops being grateful for it. "You're exagerrating."

"I'm not." you very seriously protest, as you clean your dish from any crumble of cake; you know watching your diet means taking care of your health, but you would happily eat three more! "A month and he'll let you skip a year or two, I promise."

"Well, if you are so sure..."

A few minutes later Sanji is putting the dirty plates and cutlery away in his backpack, while you observe the sky out of the glass door, leaning with one shoulder against the wall.

"Once we both live in the capital we won't have to hide anymore, but we'll be so busy with school..." you consider "I'm afraid we won't have a lot of time to spend together."

"Still, it will be an improvement from what we have now. And all the city's school dormitories are in the same campus, which means we can visit each other every time we want."

You nod, still pensive, and a moment later Sanji's arms are circling your waist, his chest pressed against your back.

"It's going to be all right." he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear in a way that makes you shiver in such a pleasant way "We are going to be all right, I promise, no matter how busy we are."

"Oh, I know; believe me, I'm not doubting my feelings, or yours. We have waited for so long to be able to live our relationship in the open, and I can't wait to be able to see you every day, even for five minutes between classes or to cram together at night. It's just..."

You turn in his embrace, almost apologetic as you smile at him. "I feel so happy, as if all my dreams were coming true: attending a great school, not having to hide what we share. It is almost too good to be true; and I'm almost afraid to wake up and find out it really was just a dream."

Sanji is too kind to make fun of your fears; he considers them as he holds you close, equally aware that no matter how steadfast your feelings for each other are and even though both of you have rightfully earned admission in the schools of your dreams, you are both beginning a new chapter in life, and neither knows what future may have in store for you.

Still, it is pointless to worry about tomorrow, and Sanji decides that more than reassure you, he wants to make you forget your fears, even if just for a minute. "You know what I'm thinking about?" he asks after a minute, his tone pensive "That I've been here for at least thirty minutes, and I haven't kissed, or been kissed by, you, even once."

"Ah, that won't do."

"It really won't. So..."

He grins, happy to see you smile as well, and when he lifts your chin with his fingers you obediently close your eyes and offer him your mouth to kiss.

Almost three years have passed since your first time, in this very room, and kissing Sanji still makes your heart tremble; he is sweet but passionate, not aggressive but intense enough to leave no doubt about his feelings, and his intentions. You enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours for a moment before kissing him back, Sanji's lips hot against yours; you feel him smile, his hands now holding you by the waist while yours gently caress his hair and neck.

"Gods, you taste so good..."

"It's the cake, Sanji."

"No, it's not. You are delicious, (name); absolutely... mesmerizing..."

You keep kissing for a while, as your hands start moving on each other's body; Sanji whispers your name, suddenly breathless, as your mouth descends towards his neck, at first gently pecking at the delicate skin of his throat, and then sucking hard enough to make him moan.

"(name)..." he murmurs again, and you smile, circling his hips with your arms; you nuzzle at his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt so familiar and comforting against your skin, and wish you could stay like this forever.

You feel Sanji's hands move on your hips and back, his fingers brushing against the hem of your skirt.

"I like this one." he murmurs in your ear; he is aware of the effect he has on you and exploits it mercilessly "Is it new?"

"Made it myself." you answer proudly; you had seen the skirt on a fashion magazine, and rather than buying it you had decided to see whether you could recreate it "Does it look good on me?"

"You look absolutely ravishing, my darling..."

And ravish is exactly what Sanji seems intent on doing; a minute later your back is pressed against the wall, with a very handsome, very amorous young chef intent on making you forget your very name.

Sanji's back and shoulder muscles are taut under your hands as they run all over his body, like a beautiful clay statue molded by your touch; you can feel his heart pounding against your chest, the tenseness in his body as he tries to restrain himself in order not to unsettle you, not to take more than what you would be ready to offer. Dear Sanji, you think fondly as you arch your back to press your chest against his and finally, finally feel his hands grab at your buttocks, don't you know at this point you don't even have to ask?

Sanji's jacket is the first item of clothing to go, falling on the closest chair after you helped him take it off; he returns the courtesy freeing you from the heavy sweater you wear, leaving you with a tight camisole, the different colour of your bra visible under it. He smiles, clearly appreciating the view, but a moment later his expression turns serious, almost reverent, as he gazes at you, almost as if he couldn't believe he's really holding you in his arms.

"I love you so much, you know that?" he murmurs, and no matter how many times he has already uttered those words, you know how deeply he means them, how utterly and hopelessly devoted he is to you and to what you hope to build together. To be the object of such an intense ardor is... humbling, since you're not quite sure you deserve it, and you could even feel guilty for it, if your feelings for Sanji were not equally deep and strong. You don't remember a day in which you didn't love him, ever since he risked your father's ire (and, consequently, the job he had just gotten) to feed you, there has always been a special place for him in your heart, a place no one else could ever occupy; Sanji is the other half of you, someone who you don't need in order to live but who you want to share your life with. Without him you could go on; but you know you'll never feel complete ever again.

And to express everything you feel -all the love, the joy that fills your heart when he's by your side and the hopes you cherish for your future together- you are unable to say more than...

"I love you too, Sanji."

... and that is more than a little frustrating.

You know what you share goes beyond physical attraction, but you can't deny it is flattering, and exciting, to know you can have that sort of effect on Sanji, a man attractive and charming enough he would have no troubles attracting a date; you sometimes think about the girls he meets at work, or the clients he could easily flirt with when he has to cover for a waiter at the restaurant, but you know he is being sincere when he swears you're the only one he cares about, and that he has never betrayed your trust. On the other hand, you are not good with words and Sanji doesn't care for expensive gifts, which makes you fear, sometimes, you could do more to prove how much you care for him, and how committed you are to your relationship; the truth is, you love him so much, a feeling deeper and more encompassing than anything you thought you would be able to feel, that you lack the words to express it, and any declaration, no matter how grandiose or romantic, would fall short of your actual feelings.

Then, you suddenly realize, maybe you shouldn't tell him; after all, like your father always says, actions do speak louder than words...

Sanji's stares, eyes wide open, as he sees you take off your camisole. A moment later, he hurries to unbutton your shirt, and you move to help him, and somehow, maybe because you're in a hurry or because your hands are shaking, you tear off a button.

"Oh, Gods..." you stutter, embarrassment filling you "I'm so sorry, I... I'll sew it back on, I promise..."

Sanji shakes his head, as if to say you needn't worry; he is a sight to behold, short of breath, his usually pale complexion turned pink with excitement - with lust. He looks at you, he looks at your hands still holding the two panels of his shirt, and orders:

"Tear it off."

"... what?"

"Rip it off me. (name), please, I want you to undress me."

"Are... are you sure?" you ask again; the idea is more than a little exciting, but the experienced seamstress and future fashion designer in you hesitates at the thought of ruining a perfectly serviceable item of clothing.

Sanji grins, desire and affection filling his brown eyes. "Yeah, sure; it's an old one. Please, darling..."

"As you wish..."

A sound of tearing and ripping fills the room, and a moment later Sanji's shirt, now missing every single of its buttons and irreparably damaged, lies on the floor, while he's naked from the waist up - and Gods, just looking at him is enough to make you forget any hesitancy you may have... including the ones regarding the presence of your father, in his bedroom at the other hand of the corridor.

He smiles, more than aware of the effect he's having on you, as he shamelessly stares back at your body. "Come here, my beauty." he invites you, and a moment later he has taken you in his arms once again, your hands moving on each other's newly exposed skin.

"Let's move to the bed." you propose in a whisper between kisses, and laugh softly as Sanji hurriedly picks you up, bridal style, to carry you and delicately lay you down on the light blue sheets of your bed. A minute to take off your shoes, and he has joined you; you are kissing again as he makes quick work of your bra's clasp, but Sanji stops to admire you, lying under him, and for a moment he seems unable to speak.

"You are so beautiful." he murmurs; he looks you in the eyes, to gauge your reaction and make sure he's not overstepping, before letting his hand brush against and then close around your breast "My (name)... I've waited for this moment since I was maybe twelve, you know?"

"You could have told me before."

"A gentleman never asks, he waits for the lady to offer."

You smile, shamelessly enjoying the sensuality of his touch, the delicious sensation of Sanji's warm hands caressing and stimulating and gently squeezing the warm flesh of your chest; he sees you jolt when the pad of his thumb finds your nipple, and smiles, and you smile with him.

"Well, this lady is offering." you point out a moment later; you want there to be no doubt or ambiguity about what you want "I want you, Sanji. Will you make love to me?"

Unexpectedly, and while you can see the desire in his eyes as he looks at you, he hesitates. "You know we don't have to do it." he softly points out "You don't... owe me anything; I don't want you to think this is something we need to do in order to make our relationship last, or since we have been together for a while..."

"I know. I... I just want to live this with you; I want you to be my first, as well the last. I want you, and I'm tired of hiding it."

"(name), I..."

"Sanji, please."

That last word, as well as the tone you utter it in, being begged to take you in his arms and make you scream, would make even the most dispassionate man forget himself, and Sanji is far from that. In a whisper, he asks you to lift your hips, and takes both your skirt and panties off; he licks his lips as he looks at you, as if anticipating what he is going to do to you, and delicately lifts your foot in his hands. His first kiss is placed on your ankle, and then the second at the bottom at your calf, and the third a bit above it, and then on your knee and on your thigh until Sanji is lying on the bed between your open legs, and the sensation of his tongue and hips doing magic on the most hidden part of you is so delicious, so lurid and at the same time heavenly, you have to press your hand to your mouth to keep yourself from screaming. You can feel the wave mounting inside you, and you couldn't stop it even if you wanted to, and a minute later your first real orgasm hits you, and you are shaking in Sanji's grasp as he licks you like a man starved, proud and excited by the pleasure he was able to give you.

Your eyes meet above your heaving chest; you are both smiling, breathless. "That was... amazing." you whisper, and Sanji grins as he reaches to kiss you once more, neither bothering about the taste.

"We have just started." he assures you "Will you help me with my clothes, darling?"

He stands from the bed to let you take his trousers off, smiling softly as he sees how your hands shake; a moment later he's finally naked, and you can't help gulping as you gently take his erection in your hand, heavy and hard. You swallow, and instinctively lower your face to it to lick the tip.

Sanji jumps. "Shit..."

"I'm sorry, I thought... that was ok..." you stammer, suddenly alarmed "Did I hurt you?"

"Hurt?" he repeats, completely breathless, as if he had never heard that word before "Quite... quite the opposite. I... (name), I..."

He can't find the words to describe what he wants, but thank God you know it already, and this is miles beyond what you had already experience in, but you must be naturally talented, or perhaps this is one of those things you simply know how to do. You keep Sanji's eyes in yours as you take his erection in your mouth, swallowing it almost to the base and using your lips, your tongue and even (cautiously) your teeth to give him pleasure; he moans, bucking his hips, his hands caressing your hair.

"God... you're so good, baby... you take me so well..."

Emboldened, you wish you could make him climax with your mouth, but Sanji asks you to stop after a while, smiling as he sees you pout. "As much as I love the feeling of your mouth, there is somewhere else I'd rather come." he tell you as he cleans your lips with his fingers "Let me take care of you."

A silent nod is the only answer you feel able to give, and the only one Sanji needed; your hand guides him back on the bed where, a slight and natural awkwardness covered by your kisses, Sanji lies above you, gently caressing your hair as he lifts your leg above his hips.

"I love you." you murmur; you feel barely able to breathe, but those words easily leave your lips, as natural as a breath "Sanji, let me be with you forever."

He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours; he isn't inside you yet, but the intimacy of that moment goes beyond what you could describe in words, the marvelous feeling of being one, a closeness born from love and passion and trust and empathy. You doubt you will ever feel anyone as close as Sanji is in that moment, and that makes you happy.

"Nothing and no one will ever come between us." he murmurs "I promise."

*****

You spend what feels like hours locked in an embrace, exchanging lazy but hot kisses as your hands explore each other's body. Your fondling makes Sanji grow turgid once more, and he has to use your pillow to suffocate his screaming (yes, screaming) as you do get to make him come in your mouth; he gets even a minute later when you both find out that you really enjoy your chest being sucked, which Sanji does until you are a moaning mess, begging for mercy, and he has to gift you your third orgasm, this time using his fingers, to make you calm down.

This night is perfect; this night feels as if it would never end. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and an hour before dawn, after he risked for the second time to fall asleep with his cheek pressed against your chest and your fingers in his hair, Sanji reluctantly abandons the warmth of your bed, and of your body, to get dressed. You both know it can't be helped; if your father discovered him in your bed, even now that you are an adult and about to go live on your own, the consequences would be catastrophic.

"Things will be different once we have moved to the capital." you reassure him as you pick up what is left of his shirt to throw it away "I want my dad to visit, but we can tell him we met again on campus and decided to date; he does like you, and he'll accept I am old enough to have a boyfriend."

"I hope he will." Sanji considers, as he ties his shoes; he hesitates for a moment, and then: "What if I wanted to tell him the truth?"

"You mean...?"

"About us, yes. I could have never given up on you, (name), but I didn't like lying to your father; I owe him so much, and I'd like give his blessing to our relationship. Don't you?"

Nothing would make you happier, even though, you must admit, the prospect of having to confess you have deliberately disobeyed him for five years is not pleasant; you love your father, and the last thing you have ever wanted was to disappoint him, even though there is no price you wouldn't have paid if it meant being with Sanji. You admire the fact your boyfriend wants to be honest with his benefactor, and you need - no, you want to be as brave as he is.

"Then we will tell him."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. It's not going to be pretty, and I know he'll be very angry, but he deserves the truth. We all do." you point out with a sigh; then, seeing Sanji is almost done getting dressed: "Wait..."

You stand as well, and walk to the mannequin wearing the men's shirt, an elegant light blue model with white collar and cuffs. You return to Sanji to offer him the shirt. "Here, wear this."

"... are you sure?"

"Of course, I had planned to give it to you to celebrate your admission to the Baratie. Try it on, let me see how it looks on you."

It looks great, even though it is perhaps more because of Sanji's good looks and physique than anything else; he carefully buttons it, and happily looks at himself in the full-length mirror. "My favourite tie will go perfectly with this."

"I know, why do you think I chose this colour?"

Naked as you are, you don't feel cold, especially as you feel Sanji's gaze lingering on your body as his brown eyes admire the flesh he has lost himself in just two hours ago, but that he's not yet sated by.

Soon, your smile tells him as you return the gaze, committing the beauty of his lithe but strong body to memory, as soon as we have moved to our dormitories, or as soon as my father has to leave for one of his work trips. I want you again too; I think I'll never stop wanting you.

As usual Sanji seems to understand you without the need for words, because he smiles once more and, as soon as he is done admiring himself in the mirror (which you cannot blame him for; the shirt does look amazing on him!) he takes your face in his hands to kiss you once more. "I am so happy." he murmurs "Happy we got to share this moment. I... I do want to be with you forever, but..."

"... but you are happy I was your first, and you mine. I know, Sanji; I feel the same."

You spend a precious minute like this, your foreheads touching, your fingers intertwined, as you breathe in each other's air and savour that new form of intimacy. In this moment, you are not afraid Sanji can doubt your feelings anymore; but in any case, you promise yourself, you'll still make sure he knows how much you love him, every day from now to eternity.

In the end, it's time for your boyfriend to go. He takes his backpack and insists you put your nightgown on, in case one of the neighbours looks out of their windows, before you accompany him on the balcony, where a last kiss sees him climb over the parapet and cautiously reach the tree's closest branches.

"Thanks for the cake! It was really delicious."

Sanji winks at you, mischievousness dancing in his eyes. "I think you thanked me enough already."

"Oh, you are so vulgar..."

Your laugh follows him as Sanji quickly climbs down the tree, finally reaching the ground safe and sound; he looks up at you and waves, and you wave back, and "I'll be back soon; I promise." he says, and you nod as he starts walking away, and remain where you are until Sanji has disappeared, hidden in the murmuring darkness surrounding the villa.

[wake-up-lieutenant]

mod tutorial: Connor's android hands

some info: the visibility of Connor's android hands is controlled by "invokes", which can affect textures and certain submeshes and when/if they appear. some other notable uses include Connor's open collar and lack of tie vs closed collar with tie, and bullet wounds and blood that appear dynamically.

Step 1: Accessing the Lua bytecode

you can do this by using the texture tool from deadray. in the tool, under "Catalog", search for Connor. you will see multiple entries, but "CONNOR_INT02" is the Connor's most frequently used game model, so i'll use that one as an example.

select CONNOR_INT02, and click "Enable Editing".

(explanation: the texture tool decompresses the model's data and appends the more easily edited data to one of the game files, .d26.)

once you've enabled editing on the model, open up the .d26 file from the Detroit: Become Human folder in a hex editor such as HxD or 010.

you will be greeted with something like this:

search for (Ctrl+F, case sensitive) the text "LuaQ". if you find this string near the text CONNOR_INT02, you're in the right place.

Step 2: Finding the invokes

once you scroll down a bit, you'll find a lot of strings that "HIDE" or "SHOW" things, or turn things "ON" or "OFF".

for Connor's android hands, we are looking for "Evt_RETRACT_SKINHAND_LEFT_OFF" and "Evt_RETRACT_SKINHAND_RIGHT_OFF". Change the bytes 46 46 (the FF in OFF) to 4E 00 (N and a null character, resulting in ON). Repeatedly turn all the instances of OFF to ON in each occurrence of the RETRACT_SKINHAND phrases until you reach the end (signaled by the text MESHDATA).

make sure you have a clean backup of .d26 and .idx for uninstallation. save the new .d26, and place it in the DBH folder after you've moved the old one to a different location like your desktop.

Step 3: Removing the synth skin

open the .idx file (located in the same folder as .d26) in your hex editor. search for the hex-values 00 00 08 B5 00 00 00 01 00 00 7B 88. change the following four bytes (which are 22 1A 40 00) to 99 99 99 99. save it and replace the unedited .idx, like with .d26.

Start up the game!

the method explained in steps 1 and 2 of opening a model catalog, editing OFF to ON or HIDE to SHOW can work with a lot of other stuff.

for example, you can make Connor's android hands glow:

or give him a lot of bullet wounds, like i did in this post.

you can also have Kara showing up in A New Home covered in blood. or have Markus be literally on fire during the entirety of Crossroads. the possibilities are endless.

happy modding!

[girlactionfigure]

🚨EXCLUSIVE NEW DETAILS ABOUT THE PAGERS - A THREAD:

Just when you thought it couldn't get crazier, Reuters released brand new details about Mossad's brilliant pager operation against Hezbollah in September. I will break down the most important parts and the exciting moments. 

Let's start with the construction of the pagers themselves. The explosive component, Pentaerythritol tetranitrate (otherwise known as PETN), did the most damage. Mossad technicians found a way to insert a very thin square sheet of PETN between two battery cells and a strip of highly flammable material to act as a detonator. This entire package was placed into a plastic sleeve, which was encapsulated in a metal case roughly the size of a matchbox. 

When the command was given, the flammable strip generated a spark to light the detonator and trigger the PETN to explode. The explosives took away some of the battery's power, which Hezbollah noticed when the battery would drain faster than expected. However, they never put two and two together and continued to use and issue the devices. 

The complexity of this construction is essential for one primary reason: without metal components like a standard detonator or wires, the explosive element was utterly undetectable by X-ray. Israel knew that upon receiving the pagers, Hezbollah would likely check them for tampering or explosives, which is precisely what happened. Using airport-style security scanners, Hezbollah did indeed check the pagers, but thanks to Mossad's ingenuity, the explosive was not detected. 

Now we get to the really interesting part, which is the lengths the Mossad went to create a cover story for their ruse. The PETN battery pack that Mossad constructed had a label on it: LI-BT783, and this was an issue because that specific battery did not exist. The Mossad started by creating a custom model for the entire pager, AR-924. They approached a renowned Taiwanese brand, Gold Apollo, to add it to their catalog. 

Hsu Ching-Kuang, the chairman of Gold Apollo, was approached by a former employee and her new boss named "Tom" to inquire about adding the model. Ching-Kuang said that while he wasn't impressed by the AR-924 when he saw it, he agreed to grant a license under the brand and add photos and a description of the product to his company's website, thus unknowingly establishing the legitimacy of the Mossad's pager. 

In September 2023, a website named came online with the AR-924 listed as a product. The site was tied to a Hong Kong-based company, Apollo Systems HK, of which no record exists today. In late 2023, two additional online states came online with the LI-BT783 battery listed in their product list, amongst other legitimate units.

Users in two online forums discussing batteries even made posts about the LI-BT783 and the AR-924, praising its "great performance" and ruggedness for field use. When Hezbollah searched for a new pager, their procurement manager chose the AR-924. The salesperson who brokered the deal offered a "very inexpensive proposition" and continued reducing the price until the Hezbollah manager agreed. 

In the wake of the explosions, Hezbollah launched an internal probe of what went wrong. However, the senior official leading the investigation, Nabil Kaouk, was himself killed in an Israeli strike just 11 days after the pagers went off. The internal investigation is supposedly still in progress... 

@JewishWarrior13

[oldschoolfrp]

Grenadier Models 1978 catalog, cover by Ray Rubin. This early catalog included the 25mm "Wizzards and Warriors" fantasy miniature range, the "Space Squadrons 2998" spaceships, and the 25mm "Starsoldiers" figures which were "inspired by G R Dickenson's Dorsai series, The Forever War by Joe Haldeman, and Starship Troopers by R A Heinlein."

Alongside the 25mm Western Gunfighters are a number of historical wargaming ranges that disappeared from later Grenadier catalogs -- 25mm Ancients (Sumerians, Egyptians, Republican Romans, Carthaginians, Imperial Romans, Gauls, Dacians, plus a gladiator set), 25mm English Civil War and Medieval Chivalry, and 15mm American Civil War.

[wutheringheightsfilm]

interview with the vampire art history lesson part 2:

Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion, Francis Bacon, c. 1944. Held at the Tate Britain in London. Here is its catalog listing.

So! This is the painting that has been on the wall of Louis and Armand's apartment, and that Season 2 makes a point to emphasize that they're selling. Full disclosure, modern British art history is not my forte, but I have covered this in a British art history survey class, and this is arguably one of Bacon's most famous works, so there's a lot of literature you can find on this. Let's discuss!!!

Now, one claim that you can try to make here about the relationship of this painting with Armand specifically is that Armand is now connected to two 'Christian' artworks (see my post on The Adoration of the Shepherds with a Donor here): one that marks the beginning of Christ's (semi)mortal life, and one that marks the end of it, which is definitely interesting, but the thing is with this Three Studies piece is that Francis Bacon put a lot of emphasis on the fact that this is a crucifixion, not the Crucifixion. Francis Bacon was an atheist, however, a lot of his work does revolve around either critiquing or dealing with Christianity (this is not his only work to reference/allude to or show the Crucifixion, as well as his other very famous work, Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X). It was a very nuanced, complex topic for him that is way beyond the scope of this post.

Interestingly, though, Bacon has made a point to say that "faith is a fantasy" [1]----which is definitely something interesting in relation to Armand...

What Three Studies is definitely associated with, though, is World War II and Greek tragedy.

The catalog entry from the Tate spends a while discussing the process of this painting, and how Bacon may have drawn from his various experiences during World War II (he was in the ARP during the London Blitz), as well as other works made around this time (namely, Figure Getting Out of a Car and Man in a Cap) referencing various Nazi imagery that Bacon had seen impacting his process for creating this triptych. Various scholars have cited Bacon as interested in the dynamics of power and violence, and the imagery of the triptych can be interpreted as either the perpetrator and/or the victim [2]. Bacon has also confirmed that this painting references the Eumenides (the Furies who are responsible for enacting revenge in Greek mythology) [3 + 4].

Now that we've covered the very basics of this work, let's discuss how this might relate to Louis and Armand. This work being present in the show has raised some interesting points for me, and some questions:

The show makes a point of emphasizing that they're selling this work. Since this work is so closely related to World War II, and Louis and Armand are currently trying to relay their experiences during World War II, is the selling of it symbolic of either 1) 'selling' their story to Daniel or 2) finally closing out that chapter in their lives?

It is interesting that in their apartment, there is only modern and post-modern artwork and architecture. I wonder how deeply this ties to Armand's trauma, since he himself was modeled (whitewashed as he was) in Late Renaissance/Mannerism artwork from the 1500s. How much of that experience drives his taste in art?

Bacon's juxtaposition and struggle with violence, power, and the dynamic of the perpetrator/victim is extremely interesting... the thoughts are still cooking about this one.

What do u guys think.... i've been microwaving this in my head all day along with the other painting!

Works Cited + Referenced:

[1] D. Farson, The Gilded Gutter Life of Francis Bacon, London, 1994, p. 134. [Taken from this JSTOR article, further cited below] [2] Referencing the catalogue here, which cites: Ziva Amishai-Maissels, Depiction and Interpretation: The Influence of the Holocaust on the Visual Arts, Oxford, New York, Seoul and Tokyo 1993, pp.189-90, 225-6, 354. [3] M[ichael] C[ompton], letter to Francis Bacon, 6 Jan. 1959, Tate Gallery cataloguing files. [4] Francis Bacon, letter to Tate Gallery, [9 Jan. 1959], Tate Gallery cataloguing files. [5] Arya, Rina. “The Primal Cry of Horror: The A-Theology of Francis Bacon.” Artibus et Historiae 32, no. 63 (2011): 275–83. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41479747.

[bananaofswifts]

01 - Taylor Swift

No one in the music industry wielded more power over the past year than Taylor Swift, who made history at stadiums, movie theaters and on the Billboard charts, leaving even the most seasoned executives speechless. While they’d long celebrated her staggering popularity as a singer, songwriter and performer, her force as a strategic business leader suddenly came into sharper focus — and industry veterans took notes as they watched some of her bravest and most innovative business risks reap remarkable rewards.

At 34, she is one of the music industry’s most charismatic and influential leaders — and she rewrites the rules.

“The piece of advice I would give to the other executives on this list is that the best ideas are usually ones without industry precedent,” Swift tells Billboard. “The biggest crossroads moments of my career came down to sticking to my instincts when my ideas were looked at with skepticism. When someone says to me, ‘But that has never been done successfully before,’ it fires me up. We have to take strategic risks every day in this industry, but every once in a while, you have to really trust your gut and take a flying leap. My rerecordings are my favorite example of this, and I’m extremely grateful to my team and fans for taking that leap with me because it absolutely changed my life.”

Sage advice for an industry in which instinct has largely been supplanted by metrics and data analysis.

In December, Time named Swift its 2023 Person of the Year. In September, after encouraging her 279 million Instagram followers to vote and linking to vote.org, the nonpartisan nonprofit said it received over 35,000 registrations. She appears on the cover of this issue of Billboard and in the No. 1 spot of our annual Power 100 issue because her force across the business of music is now unparalleled — and because she models commitment to innovation that the rest of the business will need in order to tackle the big challenges ahead.

Swift’s gambles have paid off handsomely over the past year.

Her massive The Eras stadium tour, which began in March after she controversially put all the tickets on sale at once, crashing Ticketmaster and sparking mass hysteria, grossed an estimated $906.1 million in 2023 and is poised to become the highest-grossing global tour of all time before it wraps in December, according to Billboard.

The Golden Globe-nominated Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour film, taped during her six-show run at SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, Calif., in August, has grossed over $261.6 million worldwide since its October opening, according to AMC Theatres Entertainment. In January, the publicly traded movie-house chain announced that the film’s box-office take made it the highest-grossing concert/documentary picture ever released, surpassing Michael Jackson’s 2009 This Is It. Once again blazing a new path, Swift made a groundbreaking distribution deal directly with AMC Theaters instead of linking with a film studio.

Swift has shaken up the catalog market, too. When Scooter Braun infuriated her by acquiring the master recordings of her first six albums through his Ithaca Holdings and then sold them to investment firm Shamrock Capital at a profit, Swift rerecorded the albums with loving precision and added bonus tracks to the new releases. They performed phenomenally well, as she deftly used her tour to promote them. When her latest rerecording (and 14th studio album overall), 1989 (Taylor’s Version), spent its fifth week at atop the Billboard 200 at the end of 2023, Swift beat Elvis Presley’s record for the most weeks at No. 1 by a solo artist. Her industry market share last year was 1.72%. If she were her own genre, she’d rank ninth for 2023 — bigger than jazz.

“She’s the smartest artist I’ve ever worked with,” says Messina Touring Group’s Louis Messina, who promotes Swift’s tours and has worked with her since 2005. “She outworks everybody and she has always had this vision. If you’re around her, you can’t help but believe in her.” —Melinda Newman

[valleydoll]

The new Bild Lilli book has arrived from Switzerland and features amazing pictures of the original Bild Lilli fashions, modeled on Peter Isler’s amazing collection of Bild Lilli dolls (including some ultra rare brunette and redhead Lilli’s).

The cover mimics the original Bild Lilli fashion catalog from the 1950s:

And the back cover features an old advertisement suggesting a gentleman could get a Bild Lilli doll as a cute gift for a loved one:

I’ll only post a couple of pictures from inside, the one below shows a couple of the brunette Lilli dolls:

And of course the tennis outfit:

And my gorgeous Lilli’s getting ready to browse the book:

For anyone interested the book can be purchased at www.lilli-book.com directly from the author/owner of all the beautiful dolls inside.

[achronalart]

It's my birth month, so as a fashion history treat, here's the cover of a 1928 wholesale catalog from I. Arbus & Sons, New York, who I think were connected to the famous photographer Diane Arbus, who would have been five years old when this catalogue came out.

The catalog is 24 pages, sepia-toned black-and-white, of various styles of dresses fashionable in summer 1928, 14 by 21 cm (5.5 x 8 inches). Many of the fashion illustrations appear to be photographs, but the dresses the models are wearing are either painted on or very heavily retouched. There are a few purely painted illustrations.

I'm going to see about loading up more pages this month. Meanwhile, here's a start.

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 8, vol. 23, 24 février 1901, Paris. 1. Toilettes d'intérieur. (Création des Magasins du Bon-Marché, rue du Bac, rayon spécial des Peignoirs et Robes d'intérieur.) Toilette de bal (Modèle de Mlle Thirion, 47, boulevard Saint-Michel, Paris, Mme Audigier, successeur.) Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(I.) Robe d’intérieur en zenana ornée d’applications en drop brodé et volants de mousseline de soie.

(II.) Robe en zenana ornée d’applications de mousseline de soie et de guipure; pli Watteau garni de petits rubans comète de velours noir.

(III.) Toilette de bal (Modèle de Mme Audigier, 47, boulevard St-Michel, Paris). Cette ravissante toilette de jeune femme est en tulle point d’esprit à pois en relief. La jupe ronde, plissée à plis lingerie, est garnie de neuf petits volants bordés de comète de satin blanc. De mignons bouquets de roses en mousseline de soie sont semés en application entre les plis lingerie. Le corsage, décolleté en rond, froncé légèrement, est garni d’une berthe brodée en paillettes nacrées; à gauche, chou de tulle blanc et nœud Louis XVI en velours.

(IV.) Robe en satin antique broché ornée d’un col modern style et d’une cascade de mousseline de soie coupée par des entre-deux de Valenciennes.

(V.) Robe Empire en satin Bengale plissée du haut à plis lingerie, recouverte par un boléro en velours miroir corail entouré de guipure.

Envoi du catalogue des peignoirs sur demande affranchie.

—

(I.) Zenana house dress decorated with embroidered drop applications and silk chiffon ruffles.

(II.) Zenana dress decorated with silk chiffon and guipure applications; Watteau pleat trimmed with small comet ribbons of black velvet.

(III.) Ball gown (Model of Mme Audigier, 47, boulevard St-Michel, Paris). This lovely young woman's ensemble is made from point d'esprit tulle with polka dots in relief. The round skirt, pleated with lingerie pleats, is trimmed with nine small ruffles edged with white satin comets. Cute bouquets of chiffon roses are strewn between the lingerie folds. The bodice, round neckline, slightly gathered, is trimmed with a berthe embroidered in pearly sequins; on the left, white tulle and Louis XVI velvet bow.

(IV.) Dress in antique brocade satin adorned with a modern style collar and a cascade of silk muslin cut with Valenciennes interlaces.

(V.) Empire dress in Bengal satin pleated from the lingerie pleated top, covered by a coral mirror velvet bolero surrounded by guipure.

Sending the bathrobe catalog on request, prepaid.

[medra-gonbites]

The Wizard Who Read Everything

Chapter 2

When a certain Wizard secretly reads the work of his new apprentice and cannot help but admiring her when she writes it. How to get his hands on her last released work?

Pairing: Gale x Named Fem!OC

SFW - Humour, Fluff, Meta

Words: 2677

How many hours had he spent observing her as she created? Her eyes never leaving the page. Her fingers firmly holding the quill that seesawed relentlessly on the parchment. Her brow bent in an everlasting furrow. Sometimes looking into the void, daydreaming, imagining a scene; when her lips moved on their own he knew she was piecing a dialogue. Some others tutting in frustration, her hand twitching, writing then erasing and writing to erase again, shooting an accusatory look to the quill as if the tool itself was sprouting the wrong words. How many cups of tea had grown undrunk and cold as she lost herself in her own mind? How many afternoons had turned to evening, her eyes straining, not noticing the light around her dimming? How many times had he covered her with a blanket, without an acknowledgement from her, lost within the world of her words on the pages? Gale would not interrupt her. Never.

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut

As the months passed Gale and Marina fell into some sort of mundane routine. Her knowledge of magic wasn't perfect, and her execution even less but she made up for it with her resourcefulness and her positivity.

In truth, her ways fascinated him. He was one to follow instructions when it came to casting spells, respecting the ingredients and the proportions to the drop when concocting a potion, and carefully manipulating the weave with the precision and focus of a surgeon. Marina was much coarser and more spontaneous, pulling at the strands roughly, decanting blight spores with her eyes for scale, messily free drawing her glyphs without taking a second look at the models. 

She carried that same energy when she cleaned. She had taken upon herself to catalog his books and scrolls, sort out his alchemy station with jars and labels and had done so for the pantry and spice cabinet too.  Still it happened often to see her start a task and abandon it suddenly to start another… 

Chaotic. That was the word that described her the best.

Yet her chaos was greatly welcomed in this tower that had for too long suffered the cruel silence of Gale’s hermitage. Sure, he wished that she'd been more focused at times. But he hoped that in time she would turn. With experience and practice and the possibility that as a teacher he would eventually rub off on her.

After all, he knew she was capable of great concentration. He could see it when she wrote in the study, on days that were uneventful. On these occasions the wizard would dismiss her, to use her time as she saw fit but she always chose to stay around and write here. Then, she would prop herself on the couch, or on the balcony if the weather allowed it, and demonstrate an unwavering focus. 

How many hours had he spent observing her as she created? Her eyes never leaving the page. Her fingers firmly holding the quill that seesawed relentlessly on the parchment. Her brow bent in an everlasting furrow. Sometimes looking into the void, daydreaming, imagining a scene; when her lips moved on their own he knew she was piecing a dialogue. Some others tutting in frustration, her hand twitching, writing then erasing and writing to erase again, shooting an accusatory look to the quill as if the tool itself was sprouting the wrong words.

How many cups of tea had grown undrunk and cold as she lost herself in her own mind? How many afternoons had turned to evening, her eyes straining, not noticing the light around her dimming? How many times had he covered her with a blanket, without an acknowledgement from her, lost within the world of her words on the pages?

Gale would not interrupt her. Never. 

He looked forward to each new segment she released. The pile of Waterdeep Wazoos on his coffee table was ever-growing with the special editions he would receive every tenday. The ones which featured her stories. Tara was blamed for this, but the reality was that the Tressym barely obliged in these numbers anymore. Not as much as the wizard claimed anyways. It was his paws that grabbed the newspaper first, to pick up where the previous edition had left off. 

Some days he was almost tempted to talk about it with her. To ask questions about the current premise. To share his opinion about some character arcs or notes about certain plot points. To compliment her mostly, on this or that scene. But he refrained from it: He did not want to embarrass her by acknowledging he had read her work. Or himself, for that matter, by admitting he was reading that kind of story…

That afternoon, Marina was furiously writing on the parchment while Gale read a heavy and complicated tome on Dwarven enchanted items. She let down her quill with an irritated sigh and rubbed her temple and eyebrows to uncrease the frown that furrowed between her eyes. The wizard looked at her with a sympathetic gaze, knowledgeable of the frustration of poetics. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, slowly lifting his head from the dwarven encyclopaedia.

“No! Far from it.” She answered, her irritated tone not directed at him but there nonetheless, “Deadlines are rolling in faster than I wished and this… scene is giving me trouble!”

“Would you like me to read it and give you my input?” He asked, a genuine offer which he soon realised could be bewildering for the both of them.

A tinge of pink coloured Marina’s cheeks and she shook her head with energy. Also aware of what he could find amongst those pages, Gale felt heat radiating from his skin and guessed that his face was probably as bright as Marina’s. He thanked the Gods for his facial hair that would at least hide the evidence of his discomposure.

“No! No, thank you… I just need to take a break for today, I think. Go back to it tomorrow with a fresh pair of eyes.” She peeped at the clock on the wall, “It’s quite late already, maybe I should head out.”

Marina started to gather her things clumsily, still a little panicked. Gale looked fondly at her attempt to remain cool-headed. An idea came to him, to help unburden her and release the tension he had caused with his intrusive question.

“You can just leave it all here if you so wish. What’s more quills, papers and rough notes than what is already there?”

“Are you very sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! You’re responsible for the order in this room for one. It would be selfish of me not to allow a bit of your chaos in here.” Gale answered in a gentle voice. “Besides, that’s where you write most days isn’t it? I wager you should claim a spot of your own. It should prevent you from carrying everything back and forth.”

Marina smiled, a timid stretch of her lips that made Gale's stomach flutter with affection. 

“Thank you!” She sighed, “It does help: I like writing here. Oftentimes inspiration comes to me when I’m outside of home.”

“Then you are more than welcome to find it in the tower.” 

A comfortable silence settled between them. She stacked the paper in a relatively neat pile and dropped her quill on top and closed the ink pot tight before retreating for the night.

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

After Marina’s departure, Gale tried to go back to his studies but found himself incapable of resuming his former focus. Stretching from his chair, he approached the window, his eyes lingering on the bunch of pages discarded on the coffee table. His gaze went over the scribbled notes with endearment and warmth and he felt a hint of curiosity poking at  the back of his mind. 

He could have a preview of the next piece right there, instead of waiting seven more days before the next publication. He quietly loomed over the paper, not daring to pick it up but intrigued enough to start reading the words he could see from where he stood. His breath caught at the sight of the title “The apprentice’s tale: to learn and to love.” An evocative title if he had even seen one. 

At these words he felt incredibly flustered and self-aware, as if he was attempting to read someone’s diary. Would he be happy if someone read his research notes without his prior permission? Certainly not! That would be rude and indiscreet. However enticing they may be…

He fought hard against his curiosity. If there was something his previous adventures had taught him, it was that some things were better left unread. Besides, if it was meant for his eyes, it would end up published; then and there he could read it fully, as an anonymous reader, one of the many who enjoyed Marina’s work, no matter where her inspiration came from.

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

Finally came the last day of the tenday and Gale was up early and pacing by the door, awaiting the delivery of today's mail. He still had thoughts about the tale he had discovered a few nights ago and was wondering if it would be featured in this special edition of the Waterdeep Wazoo. He had thought of what that story could entail. Knowing its author, he expected some specific… actions to be depicted amongst the twists and turns of the narrative. 

The metallic flap of the letterbox clunked, indicating the passage of the postman. Gale rushed to the door and retrieved the freshly delivered envelopes, the correspondence barely touching the wood of the box before being shuffled in his hand.

The wizard impatiently reviewed it all:

A missive from the owners' association regarding the height of his chimney: annoying and unjustified, the vent barely a few dozen metres above the required size… ;

A letter from the  Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors demanding access to his artifact stash: bothersome and unnecessary, his pile drastically reduced due to the orb and his loot brought from his adventure in Baldur's Gate hardly requiring an inventory ;

A postcard from the Underdark, either from Astarion or Minthara: both of them unlikely and yet loyal correspondents with whom the mage exchanged on a regular basis, but nonetheless, to be answered later ;

A bill: never expected, always an inconvenience.

Alas, the last edition of the newspaper he was so eager to read was not accounted for, however exhaustive this pile was. Gale grumbled, retreating to his study. He deposited the mail on the coffee table. Tara was lounging on the couch cushion, her belly aligning with a warm ray of sun that was shining through the window. 

“Morning Tara.” He said to the creature, “I apologise for being the bearer of bad news but it seems we have not received the periodical of the Wazoo today.” 

“Oh, that’s quite normal, dear.” She replied as she stretched lazily, her pink tongue unspooling as she yawned “I have stopped our subscription.”

“You did?” the wizard exclaimed despite himself.

“I did.” The Tressym confirmed, “I hadn’t read it in months and you always told me you could not stomach laying eyes on this “rag” so I’d figure if none of us would consult it, what was the point in feeding the stationary clutter of your office. The Gods as my witness, we do not need more paper in our life, we got enough literature for a few lifetimes.”

Gale was left speechless and somewhat upset. He wanted to protest and demand that she would resume their subscription, but he could not admit to her that he was indulging in such unintellectual reading. Or the reason that caused his sudden interest in these prints. He pondered a minute before coming to a decision.

“I’m going to town to run a few errands!” He blurted out before hastily running downstairs, grabbing his cloak and exiting the tower.

Tara had no time to request anything of him as she would often do while he was out and about. No fresh chicken from the market for her it seemed. She would have to hunt pigeons today.

“Rude.” She thought.

In a hurry, Gale sprung out in the streets. He was running errands because it was his day off, and the weather was nice and because there was always something to do in Waterdeep. That was what he told himself while he eagerly sought a kiosk or a newspaper seller. 

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

After a lengthy but unfruitful pursuit, Gale had to admit the obvious: There was no copy to be found anywhere near him. He reflected on his tastes, on mainstream literature and on media consumption. And when he was done philosophising like the supercilious highbrow he had come to realise he was, it hit him how much he had missed out on because of his snobbism.  Clearly he had been a fool. A damned fool! And now he could not find the story he was so desperate to read…

His shoulder slumping and a dejected look in his eyes, he was making his way back to the tower when he passed by The Mermaid’s Arms. As he glanced through the bay window something gave him pause. A docker, his arms unoriginally covered in nautically themed tattoos and an eye patch on his left eye, was holding a copy of the blessed edition of the Wazoo the wizard had been so thoroughly looking for. Of course! Taverns and Inns generally received the newspaper daily, and the special editions too, for the free use of  their guests and clientele. 

Gale hesitated before the solid wooden door. This tavern was rowdy. A boorish establishment that doubled as a brothel at night. Not a place he would usually frequent at all but then again, he was getting comfortable with not being comfortable these days, and indulging in things he would have never thought he could go along with a few months back.

He pushed the door open and before the inquisitive eyes of the few regulars present in the room, went to sit on a chair by the entrance. He ordered a tea, which earned him the confused look of the innkeeper, used to stronger orders. It was quickly served in a questionably cleaned tin cup. Gale couldn't care less about his beverage, and was solely  waiting for the large man to finish the paper he was currently reading. 

After a few minutes, the tea had ceased to fume. The man’s eye was still roaming on the page. Not a fast reader, it seemed. Due to his disability perhaps? Judging by the spelling mistakes in some of his tattoos, most likely an advanced dyslexia too.

When he finally released the paper and got up to leave his booth, the wizard lunged at the gazette, opening it up to discover the much anticipated story he had longed for the whole morning. His eyebrows shot up and an involuntary smirk formed on his lips as he read. As the title suggested, Marina’s new piece seemed to fairly draw from real life. It retold the story of a master wizard having a torrid affair with his newly hired apprentice. It was tender, captivating but also very erotic. This time, she really outdid herself in the smut department, some passages going for pages on end. 

Gale’s eyes widened, faced with certain words and metaphors. His mind bustled with the possibilities this could imply. The description of the master wizard, matching his own. Events described eerily familiar to their everyday routine. Safe for the more steamy parts, obviously.  Was he merely a source of inspiration for Marina’s creative streak; his teaching and his tower an arena for her to use in her fiction? Or was it a fantasy, sprouted from his apprentice’s budding desires. What was the truth and what was a projection of his own yearning?

As he reached a particularly racy excerpt, the wizard swallowed hard, a crimson flush creeping on his cheeks. The door swung open with a creak, as a new patron entered the tavern and Gale was brought back to the reality of his surroundings. His blush got even more severe as he was forced to remember the very public setting in which he currently was. If he was to continue reading, it would have to be done at home…

He glanced sheepishly around, reassured to see that no one seemed to notice the early signs of his arousal. Peeking left and right, making sure nobody was watching, he sneakily tugged the magazine under his arm and dashed outside. He rushed to regain the sanctuary of his tower where he could finish the story in peace, abandoning his now cold tea, neglected and unconsumed.

An old Half-Orc who had very much witnessed the whole scene and whom Gale had failed to see, sighed. He was next in line to read the edition. 

“Looks like the horny posh wizard pocketed the newspaper.” He told the innkeeper.

The innkeeper grumbled, wiping a cup with a dirty rag.

“It’s always the fancy ones who take it all!”

Read the next part in Chapter 3 - coming soon

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i know ai reader, “unlike Jason, [wasn’t] coming back”… but what if she did?

That would kinda defeat the purpose

Was it worth it to teach you celcius?

Tim frowned at the programming he was doing and glanced over to the drive that held your "brain". Terabytes and terabytes of storage. He called you an "AI" but that wasn't strictly true. Not yet anyway.

You couldn't learn independently. But you did catalog his responses to your dialogue. And you could extrapolate from data to a certain extent based on some different variables.

But- ugh.

It wasn't the same. He knew you weren't really there. Even if the program had your voice and some of your sense of humor. Nothing could replace... the feeling. The emotions and the fact that half of your personality was the faces that you made.

No amount of training could train that out of you.

It's why your mask covered your whole face. You could manipulate your tone but- anything you were thinking was all over your face like a marquee.

Your heart wasn't on your sleeve it was on your eyebrows.

Maybe he should do the 3D model instead. And triple-lock your case file. Maybe move it onto a server you wouldn't have access to. When you started learning- well. He'd probably have to remove the digital file altogether.