#crafts law firm

[acadianamarketing]

Website : https://acadianamarketingsolutions.com/

Address : 113 Fairwood Dr, Broussard, LA 70518

Phone : +1 318-267-2496

We create brand identities, digital experiences, and print materials that communicate clearly to achieve marketing goals, and look fantastic. We can provide something that not many agencies can, full service marketing. Many agencies claim full service, but they lack one or two essential services. We offer them all under one roof. Many outsource, taking 2-3X longer to make a change to your projects. We do do it all in-house. Best in class experience. Tailor-made solutions for your brand.

Business Mail : sabrina@acadianamarketingsolutions.com

[notbecauseofvictories]

I'm not sure whether KJ Parker is a good writer. However, he writes about divinity in a way that I---the bane of Catholic high school Theology teachers, someone who read Aquinas and Augustine specifically to prove said teachers wrong and then became a lawyer for mysterious reasons definitely unrelated to this---recognize intimately. So he gets a pass.

[dragonanon]

Having another hyper fixation moment for Hazbin Hotel. I’m now creating an overlord OC loosely based on the lamb from “Cult of The Lamb”, that is a LITERAL wolf in sheep’s clothing and is also lawyer. 👀

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🛸🖤Midheaven in the signs🖤🛸

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🛸If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🛸

🖤Masterlist🖤

🛸Midheaven in Aries: Self-confidence and extroversion are their main tools; self-sufficient, they seek to prove themselves at all levels. Professional careers that involve movement, individual action and proving their leadership abilities are favorable to them.

🛸Midheaven in Taurus: Their perseverance and determination help them achieve their goals. They take into account their gifts, resources and abilities and how to exploit them. Professional careers that allow them to manifest beauty and practicality are favorable to them, such as agriculture, sculpture, architecture, agronomy, painting and finance.

🛸Midheaven in Gemini: Great communication skills. Flexible, analytical, receptive, agile, versatile, adaptable, with great observational capacity, they can carry out several tasks at once without problems. Professional careers linked to the processes of communication and contact with society are favorable to them, such as journalism, commerce, diplomacy and education.

🛸Midheaven in Cancer: Planners and protectors; Individualistic, sensitive, firm and intuitive. Another point to keep in mind is to practice fluidity in your daily life. Professional careers that help channel assistance to others are favorable for you, such as psychology, gynecology, cooking and psychotherapy.

🛸Midheaven in Leo: You pursue success relentlessly, and sometimes you do not allow yourself to enjoy it. You have clear objectives and the perseverance and tenacity necessary to achieve them. Noble, generous, motivating, trustworthy, with leadership skills; you must learn to control arrogance. Professional careers with great autonomy are favorable for you, such as political positions, business management and dramaturgy.

🛸Midheaven in Virgo: You maintain a constant and methodical effort to achieve your objectives; critical, detail-oriented, positive, organized, innovative and with a great willingness to learn. You must avoid neuroses and the accumulation of objects. Professional careers oriented towards collaboration and with an appreciation of details, such as mechanics, languages, nutrition and crafts, are favorable for you.

🛸Midheaven in Libra: They plan and execute their strategy calmly, taking care of the details and feasibility. They are sociable, adaptable and diplomatic, and they like harmony. Professional careers that offer variety and where they can comfortably develop their sense of justice and balance are favorable to them. A classic example is the study of law, diplomacy, public relations and the arts.

🛸Midheaven in Scorpio: They have a tendency to manipulate others to achieve their interests. Ambitious, determined, direct, brave, skillful and capable of facing difficult transformation processes. Professional careers that privilege research and strategy are favorable to them, such as psychoanalyst, psychiatrist, private investigator, chemist and anthropologist.

🛸Midheaven in Sagittarius: They are constantly moving. Intuitive, open, creative, with strong convictions and ideals. They are favourable to professional careers that work directly by appealing to the philosophy of life of individuals, such as religion, philosophy, or spiritual guidance. They also excel in astronomy, ecology and sports.

🛸Midheaven in Capricorn: Ambitious, practical, predictable and modest. Protective, efficient, serious, concentrated, focused, they can fall into nonconformity and obstinacy, in relation to the results they obtain. They are favourable to professional careers that require their knowledge of administration and organization, such as architecture, politics, administration of companies or public institutions, and geology.

🛸Midheaven in Aquarius: They wish to build a better world for everyone, but they feel the need to constantly test the scope of their knowledge. This position indicates a constant search for wisdom. Cooperators, avant-garde, they must cultivate the freedom of spirit to achieve the awakening of consciousness they long for. They are favourable to professional careers that promote the use of technologies and the mass dissemination of ideas, such as journalist, writer, community manager, publicist and others.

🛸Midheaven in Pisces: Patient, sensitive, simple and compassionate, they seek to understand the meaning of life, so they have philosophical and religious concerns, as well as a deep desire to live with simplicity. They must learn that spirituality is not a concept at odds with success. Professional careers related to the management and expression of feelings, such as the arts, psychology, research and public relations, are favorable to them.

[courtofcrescent]

Your kingdom has lost the war. The Royal Family is dead, including your mistress, the Old King's beloved concubine. Following her last command, you are forced to bend your knees to the new ruler. You continue to live your life as a dutiful high servant, striving to maintain normalcy as best you can, until one moonlit night, you accidentally uncover a terrifying secret... and attract dangerous attention.

Thus begins your new life as the Royal Consort, navigating the intrigue of your old-yet-new Court, all while guarding The Secret with your life.

"May Luxen always shine upon you."

Play as a male or female bearing the title of Royal Consort.

Romance the Ruler with a questionable reputation who is your now lawful partner; the Knight with a piercing gaze who follows you like a devoted shadow; the scandalous nouveau riche who happens to be the Minister of Entertainment; the striking Cousin who prefers the company of books; or a secret... something?

Join the exquisite intrigue of the Court by planning lavish parties, attending charitable events, or simply lying in your pavilion all day in hope to avoid assassination attempts—or perhaps even plot some yourself.

Acquire an expensively crafted dagger... and stab a few people in the back—or you know, a charming smile works too!

Embrace your new royal life with all its privileges and responsibilities—or find yourself trapped in misery, contemplating your choices.

Secrets. Hidden Truths. Lies. You name it.

Here's the list of romantic options who may or may not desire the demise of the Royal Consort. Questionable information. Proceed with extreme caution.

MALLORY d'ASTRUM | THE RULER (M)

Formerly the enemy commander who slew the Old King, Mallory now become the new Ruler who reigns over the Court of Crescent—your beloved kingdom's new moniker. A member of the Imperial House Astrum, you were familiar with his rumors long before the Empire invaded your kingdom. Wolf of War, they said, so that's why you are quite... baffled when you find him as tame as a pampered royal dog, for lack of better words. Did you hear the right rumors? Were all the bard's tales lies? Is this sweets-loving gentleman truly the same vicious commander once called the Beast of Battle?

"My Moonshine, would you care for a dance with your partner?"

VIVIAN d'BENITO | THE KNIGHT (F)

Every royal family member always has a loyal personal Knight, and so do you. Vivian is the very epitome of a guard on duty, according to your etiquette book. Silent yet attentive, her gaze never strays far from you. Obedient yet firm, she grants any wishes of yours as long as they do not clash with Mallory. Vivian has sworn an oath to protect you from any external threats, however can you trust your life to a knight who serves the Imperial House that destroyed the former royal family? Can you trust any oath that passes the lips of a former member of the Knights of Raven?

"I'm yours to command, Your Serene Highness."

ELLIS EDSELLY | THE MINISTER (M)

Scandal, scandal, and more scandal. Ellis's life is never dull, if the rumors are true. Raised to power by the very incident that destroyed the former royal family, he has garnered quite a reputation. Some despise him, some commend him, some licking his boots—or licking much more. Ellis accepts them all with a grin and a wink. If life is a stage, surely the Minister of Entertainment has the center seat. A commoner turned merchant turned noble, he has certainly climbed the power ladder quite high. You wonder, will he continue to ascend even further?

"Let us raise our glass to the night of merriment!"

SORIN FLAVENY | THE COUSIN (F)

You don't know why your reclusive, anti-court great uncle grants his blessing to send your second cousin to the Court. The last time you met Sorin was when both of you were still nursing, thus your impression of her mostly comes from your other cousin's words. Citrine of Flaveny, or so you've been told, her beauty shines like gems under the sunlight, captivating countless suitors. A face of great asset, yet from her very first gathering, you hear that Sorin always curls herself up in the solitude of the palace library. Why does she even bother to come to the Court?

"Cousin! Ah, I mean, Your Majes—Serene Highness! You have a very nice home. So... yellow."

???? | T̵H̸E̸ ̶E̴N̵I̶G̵M̸A̷?̷

G̶o̶.̵ ̷S̴t̵a̴y̶.̷ ̷G̷o̵!̶ ̵S̴t̷a̴y̴!̴ ̵N̶o̸!̸ ̴D̸o̶n̴'̸t̴!̶ ̸Y̷E̷S̸!̸!̴!̴

"Y̶o̷u̴.̵ ̴A̸r̸e̶.̷ ̷M̸I̷N̵E̸!!!!"

Court of Crescent is rated 18+ for mature themes, death and near death experience, blood and violence, alcohol and drugs, sexual content, morally questionable behaviours, really morally questionable behaviours, and more.

[DEMO COMING SOON]

FALL 2024

[under construction]

[hb-writes]

Another Time, Another Place

Summary: Harvey's wife (Reader) gets stuck while working on a case and she requires his assistance to get unstuck.

Prompt: “What? Isn’t this the book you wanted?”

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader/OFC (3rd person, she/ her)

Content Warning: Nothing much, really. Implied spice, but no explicit spice.

She pulled her gaze from her laptop, rubbing at her eyes as she glanced around the room after sending an email. Most of the partners—both the senior and junior designees—stayed far away from the law firm’s library. They had little need for the space, what with being granted their own resplendent offices, complete with the comforts of their own design—furniture and decor and views that reflected their status and clout at the firm…

So it was rare to find department heads there, excepting for the odd instances when they deigned to stretch their legs, drifting down to the library to follow up with an associate or paralegal assigned to their case in person rather than sending an email, but she had always liked the library. She often preferred its special brand of quiet, the near-silence imbued with the tense buzz of people working on their own time-sensitive assignments, almost like the parallel play of toddlers. Almost like they were all still students studying for exams and writing papers. 

The room was empty now though, the hour too late for even the most diligent of associates, the most hungry of them, but it had always reminded her of her days back in school…her days as a novice associate. Even now, she sometimes preferred the space to her own office the same way she’d once preferred the space to her little cubicle in the bullpen. Back when she was an associate, there had been no hour too late, no hour that she wouldn’t spend in the library with a pile of books and her mind wound tightly throughout the intricacies of a case, trying to craft a win for herself. For her mentor. For her clients. 

It wasn’t often these days that she needed to keep such late hours. And somewhere along the line, she’d become the one mentoring novice attorneys. She’d sent her own associate home hours ago, preferring to work through this particularly rough bit of research on her own. Once in a while, she liked that sort of challenge. Liked revisiting the grueling all nighters she’d once lived on a daily basis. 

And she could feel she was close now, the puzzle pieces in her mind’s eye nearly falling into place. Nearly…but there was something she was missing. Something blocked that she couldn’t quite work through. In a library containing thousands of volumes and a whole internet of answers, she just couldn’t find what she needed. 

Or, more likely, she couldn’t access it, her mind not making the right connections. 

She probably just needed to get some sleep, to look at things with a fresh mind, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight, not with an impending deadline. 

A short break would have to do. She just needed an influx of energy, a slight bit of distraction to pull her mind away from the issue just enough to give perspective. 

Pushing back from her laptop, she turned the volume on her wireless headphones up, letting the club hits she used to dance to during undergrad house parties soothe some part of her soul, almost as if the familiar beats unlocked something in her, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were tense. Not that it was a surprise. She’d been hunched over the table for hours, not even bothering to stop for dinner, taking only a few obligatory bites of the sushi Harvey had ordered for her while her eyes remained glued to her computer. 

She let her focus slip away now though, slipping off her heels and closing her eyes as she sang along to the song in her headphones. She imagined she was in another time, another place—far away from the library and the case, the music easily carrying her away. 

She started, eyes flying open as she danced into something solid, the scent of a familiar cologne tickling her senses as she stumbled. Harvey’s hand closed around her back, steadying her as she pulled her headphones off, letting them hang around her neck. 

Harvey smirked at the noise still blaring through the silent library from the headphones, a song he knew just as well as she did, the sound of it dredging up at least half a dozen memories—images of his own college days, images of the two of them on road trips, images of her cleaning the apartment, images of their wedding, images of a handful of other times he’d come across her in the firm’s library late at night…

“Hey fruitcake, what are you doing?” 

She rolled her eyes at the reference as she turned down the volume, allowing the memories and the music to fall away, her mind temporarily focused on finding the right retort, her mind gratefully sifting through Dirty Harry quotes rather than case law research.

Harvey watched her, letting the quiet stretch between them, some part of him gratified at the sight of her slightly disheveled appearance. Harvey liked something about the juxtaposition, of seeing her just slightly less put together than she usually was in the hallowed halls of their law firm, her blazer discarded on a chair, her shirt sleeves rolled, her feet bare, bright red toenails stark against the dark carpets. 

Not that he wasn’t used to seeing her like that. She was the type of girl who was almost always in sweats just minutes after arriving home. She’d actually been dressed that way when they first met, years and years ago in a different law library, in a different set of hallowed halls. 

Sometimes, especially times like this, it felt like it was just yesterday.

Harvey pulled his eyes back to her face to find her studying him, a certain eagerness lighting her eyes. His lips formed a fond smile again. 

“I thought you were hard at work down here?” he taunted, eyebrows raising.

“Well…” she started, leaning a bit of weight onto the arm that still lay snaked around her back, ���for the past three-quarters of an hour, I’ve been sitting on my ass waiting for you.” 

Harvey smirked. It was one of the things he loved about her: that she could go toe to toe with him with most things—movie references, the law, a few choice other things…

Nevermind the fact that she’d emailed him requesting his ‘assistance’ mere minutes ago…

Harvey gently massaged her lower back with the fingers he still had splayed there before shifting his arm away, abstaining from letting his hand drift down to the aforementioned ass, another thing he loved about her.

Her lips pursed at the sudden absence of Harvey’s touch and she pulled her arms up to fold over her chest.

“I brought that help you wanted.” 

She refrained from smiling as she read the title of the paperback he pushed into the space between them—Law for Dummies—even as he smirked, giddy as a school child. She had gifted the book to him upon his law school graduation, and it had occupied a shelf in his various cubicles and offices ever since. 

She doubted it had ever been much help, but it gave them a good laugh from time to time, something which was like a balm to the harshness of life sometimes, a healing salve for the seemingly chronic stress of their lives.

“Very clever, Harvey.” 

“What?” he asked, gaze drifting from her unimpressed face down to the black and yellow front cover. “Isn’t this the book you wanted?”

Harvey’s voice sounded so innocent—so sincere—that she almost laughed. Christ, he was good. If law hadn’t worked out, he could’ve given acting a shot. Comedy, maybe. 

“Did my email say anything about a book, Mr. Specter?” she asked, taking the tome from his hands and tossing it on a nearby table with a thump.

Harvey hummed. “Come to think of it, your email was a little…vague. Left a lot to the imagination.” 

“Mhmm…” She nodded. “The details of the specific type of assistance I require of you is something I suspect neither one of us would want in writing. Wouldn’t want it read aloud in a court of law…” Her eyes traveled Harvey’s face, clocking the light in his eyes and the tug of his smile. “Or by the IT department,” she added as an afterthought, the briefest bit of alarm washing over her features at the idea. 

“You think Benjamin is reading our email exchanges?” Harvey asked. “That’s kind of—”

She pushed at his chest before he could get the word out—kinky. 

“Harvey,” she groaned, not because she didn’t enjoy the childish side of him. She did. She loved it, actually, but she had asked him down here for a reason…

“Yes, Mrs. Specter?” 

To most of the world, both here at the office and in the eyes of the U.S. government, she went by her maiden name. She had kept her own name, both professionally and legally, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being that she was not a man’s property, not even if Harvey Specter was the man in question. But between the two of them, it still thrilled her when he called her that, made her feel so thoroughly his—and him so thoroughly hers—that her toes curled into the carpet, a movement that Harvey clocked as he stepped closer, one arm wrapping around her as he used the other to guide her face up to him with a hand under her chin.

“What specific type of assistance is it that you require of me?”

Whatever she asked for…whatever she needed…Harvey would readily give her the world if she wanted it. If it would make her happy. If she needed it. He’d do anything.

It was a truth they both knew. And it was reciprocal. She’d do the same for him.  

But all she wanted—all she needed—just now was him. 

This.

Well, this…and a way to win her case, but as she kissed her husband’s lips, allowing him to guide them both back towards the stacks, thoughts of the case fell away until all that existed in the world was two people alone in a library, each of them falling a bit further in love, as they had once done long ago in another time, another place.

[soon-palestine]

So it turns out that Elons trip to Israel wasn't just for kosher theater and an IDF propaganda tour.

A secret meeting took place while he was there that went virtually unreported by any news media outlets.

In attendance was Netanyahu, Musk's tour organizer, investor Omri Casspi, Brigadier General Danny Gold, Head of the Israeli Directorate of Defense Research & Development and one of the developers of Iron Dome, Aleph venture capital funds partner Michael Eisenberg, and Israeli cybersecurity company CHEQ CEO Guy Tytunovich who is ex-israeli intelligence unit 8200.

The six men talked about technology in the service of Israel's defense, dealing with fake content and anti-Semitic and anti-Israeli comments, and the use by non-democratic countries of bots as part of campaigns to change perceptions, including on the X platform.

The solution Musk was presented was the Israeli unicorn CHEQ, a company founded by ex-Israeli intelligence unit 8200 CEO Guy Tytunovich that combats bots and fake users.

Following the meeting, Elon signed an agreement with cheQ, and apparently, the reason for the quick closing of the deal was Elons "direct involvement" with the company.

Now. What they won't tell you.

Israel is primarily responsible for the creation of bots. There currently exists dozens of ex-Israeli intelligence firms whose sole purpose is perception management, social media influencing/manipulation, disinformation campaigns, psychological operations, opposition research, and honey traps.

They create state of art, multi layer, AI avatars that are virtually indistinguishable from a real human online. They infiltrate target audiences with these elaborately crafted social-media personas and spread misleading information through websites meant to mimic news portals. They secretly manipulate public opinion across app social media platforms.

The applications of this technology are endless, and it has been used for character assassination, disruption of activism/protest, creating social upheaval/civil unrest, swaying elections, and toppling governments.

These companies are all founded by ex-Israeli intelligence and members of unit 8200. When they leave their service with the Israeli government, they are backed by hundreds of billions of dollars through Israeli venture capital groups tied to the Israeli government.

These companies utilize the technology and skills learned during their time served with Israeli intelligence and are an extension of the Israeli government that operates in the private sector.

In doing so, they operate with impunity across all geographical borders and outside the bounds of the law. The Israeli government is forbidden by law to spy on US citizens, but "ex" Israeli intelligence has no such limitations, and no laws currently exist to stop them.

Now back to X and Elon Musk.

Elon met with these people in secret to discuss how to use X in service of Israel's defense.

Elon hired an ex-Israeli intelligence firm to combat the bots…. that were created by another ex-israeli intelligence firm.

Elon hired an ex-israeli intelligence firm to verify your identity and collect your facial biometric data.

Do you see the problem yet?

Israel now has end to end control over X. Israel can conduct psychological operations and create social disinfo/influence campaigns on X with impunity. They now have facial biometric data from millions of people that can be used to create and populate these AI generated avatars.

They can manipulate public opinion, influence congressmen and senators, disrupt online movements, manipulate the algorithm to silence dissenting voices against Israel, and they can sway the US elections.

When the company that was hired to combat the bots is also Israeli intelligence…

Who is going to stop them?

Cyberspace is the wild.west. There are currently no laws on the books to regulate foreign influence on social media. There is nothing to stop them from conducting psychological operations and disinformation campaigns on unsuspecting US citizens. These companies operate with impunity across all geographical boundaries and there is nobody to stop them. But don't take my word for it.

For anyone wondering what the end game is for this, it was recently verbalized by Vivek Ramaswamy here on X. To narrow and completely eliminate the gap between what we say (think) in private and in public. In practice, the thought police of the future. And X is actively working on it.

[venomous-qwille]

Can you please just tell us what is wrong with ai and why, I can't find anything from actual industry artists ect online through Google just tech bro type articles. All the tech articles are saying it's a good thing, and every pro I follow refuses to explain how or why it's bad. How am I supposed to know something if nobody will teach me and I can't find it myself

I'll start by saying that the reason pro artists are refusing to answer questions about this is because they are tired. Like, I dont know if anyone actually understands just how exhausting it is to have to justify over and over again why the tech companies that are stealing your work and actively seeking to destroy your craft are 'bad, actually'.

I originally wrote a very longform reply to this ask, but in classic tumblr style the whole thing got eaten, so. I do not have the spoons to rewrite all that shit. Here are some of the sources I linked, I particularly recommend stable diffusion litigation for a thorough breakdown of exactly how generative tools work and why that is theft.

or this video if you are feeling lazy and only want the art-side opening statements:

Everytime you feed someone's work- their art, their writing, their likeness- into Midjourney or Dall-E or Chat GPT you are feeding this monster.

Go forth and educate yourself.

[necstasy]

fem servant reader; married irulan; infidelity; fingering; cunnilingus; &. PRINCESS IRULAN CORRINO MDNI 18+

“this … this is wrong.”

the labored words of princess irulan’s protests ring throughout the minimalistic room before meeting your ears.

you hum, resting your head on her inner thigh as you innocently peer up at her. she’s the picture of pleasure— her head thrown back and the crown of her blonde hair rubbing against the backrest of the chair, creating some sort of halo which illuminates her soft and flushed features.

her lips shine a deeper pink, nearly red, while her cheeks house a soft pink. she looks as if she’s wearing cosmetics applied by her servants, by your colleagues, but the early hour negates the possibility. no one has seen the princess yet today, not even her husband. only you have. the only one to truly bring her pleasure.

“why?” you press a kiss into the skin right beside her fluttering cunt, not even bothering to slow the pace of your fingers as they move inside of her. if you did, you know the princess would force you to continue. even despite her objections. “because i am a woman?”

“no,” she’s firm in her answer, up until you hook your fingers just right and her denial is broken off by a moan. she takes a second to recover, clearing her throat and pressing all of her strength into the way she grips the armrests of her chair. “because i am married.”

it’s the same answer she always gives, and like always, you snort. usually, you’ll mutter some complaint about the princess’s husband, something in a language she only barely knows. but today, you humor her.

“your husband makes you feel as good as i do, princess?”

it takes her a second, and she doesn’t reply until you press your thumb into her clit. only then does she sigh with defeat and disagree.

you know the lisan al-gaib hasn’t slept with her. you know muad’dib likely never will. if he were just paul, the son of house atreides and nothing but a possibility part of a meticulously crafted program of possibilities, then he might have slept with the princess. but the man that he has become, the figure that he has become, will not.

“a marriage of convince is hardly a true marriage, princess.” you speed up the pace of your fingers, spitting onto princess irulan’s clit and letting your saliva drip down, catching it on your fingers before forcing it into her. the extra lubrication wasn’t needed, but you know the princess likes when you treat her like this. she likes it when you’re a little rough and dirty.

“you’re only married by names of the law, and not the heart.”

her voice wobbles in her rebuttal. the forced condescending tone in her words does nothing to cover her arousal. “so what, you're saying you could have been a better spouse than the emperor?"

you don't fail to acknowledge how you and the princess wouldn't have been able to marry at all. with her being the eldest daughter of the emperor, her marriages were always planned. she would have always married for breeding purposes, and never for pleasure.

still, your answer is easy. “if i were given the chance, yes. i would have treated you better than he does. i would give you everything you need, no questions asked.”

as soon as the words have left your mouth, princess irulan has a delicate hand pressed into the back of your head and a split second later you have your nose smooshed against her patch of trimmed pubic hair.

[nina-ya]

Sweet Like Honey

A/N: Hi!! Two sanji posts in a row?? Im just a fake Law lover someone needs to revoke my card Pairing: Sanji x reader CW: Oral sex (reader receiving), AFAB reader, vaginal fingering, noseblood mention poorly translated french WC: 1.2k • masterlist • ko-fi •discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Sanji’s devotion to you was evident in every languid motion as he was nestled between your thighs, his newest happy place. His lips, the ones that usually curled into charming smiles or crafted complements to throw your way, were now occupied with giving you unrelenting pleasure. His tongue caressed and danced over your folds with a desperate urgency, determined to show you just how much he loves you.

His eyes were half-lidded, the cerulean orbs glazed over with a hunger and desire that made him nearly unrecognizable. Soft, needy noises escaped his throat alongside gentle slurps, breathless sighs, and the occasional groan. He was fully consumed by the task before him, finding complete pleasure in giving you yours.

The mess he was making didn’t phase him. If anything, the whole ordeal just spurred him on. Your own essence, mixed with the maroon of his nosebleed, painted his face and dripped onto the surface below you, but he seemed unaware of the world beyond the taste of you, not that either of you minded. 

"Mon trésor," Sanji murmured between breaths, his voice vibrating against your most sensitive spots. "Tu as le goût du paradis." you taste like heaven.

His hands moved to adjust your position as he draped your legs over his shoulders and pulled you flush against his face, the new angle allowing him to delve deeper into you. Each flick of his tongue was a masterstroke, each and every cell in your body alight with euphoria. He sucked on your clit gently, each pass over the sensitive bundle of nerves drawing choked gasps and mewls of pleasure from your lips. 

Sanji’s mouth worked tirelessly to draw out moans, sighs, shaky breaths, and twitches from you. Each beautiful sound that spilled from your lips filled the air, mixing with his own hums and groans of satisfaction Every drop of your essence was like liquid gold, thick and sweet like honey, driving him mad. 

His hips moved with an almost animalistic rhythm as he rutted into the mattress beneath you. His neediness was palpable, his body aching for any kind of friction, any form of relief from the intense tightness building in his pants. Each thrust against the fabric felt like he was pleading in any way to get some sort of reprieve. His cock straining painfully against the confines, the precum that seeped through the fabric of his pants only adding to the mounting frustration. 

Sanji’s devotion wasn’t just in his touch– it was in the reverence with which he worshipped every part of you. His movements were purposeful and unhurried, he was savoring his perfect dish and indulging in every taste of you. His tongue was a brush that painted you in sensations that were far too profound to name, his lips being the softest silk as they molded to the curves of your body. 

Your legs trembled where they rested on his shoulders, his grip on your thighs tightening as if he feared you may slip away. He buried his face deeper into you and with each slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, your body arched instinctively toward him, desperate for more.

“Mon amour,” he murmured against you. “Je ne pourrais jamais en avoir assez de ton miel.” I could never get enough of your honey.

The words dripped with a longing, the deep timbre of his voice vibrating through you like a current. His hands slid up your waist, warm and firm, before one crept higher, cupping your breast as his thumb circled your hardened nipple. He couldn’t get enough of you. He couldn’t stop at just tasting you, he needed to feel you– needed to feel you come udone under his touch. 

“S’il te plaît… i want to hear you,” he groaned against you, almost pleading. 

The plea sent a crackle of electricity down your spine at his plea, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to hold on and steady yourself against the sensations that had your mind whipped into a frenzy. His lips latched onto your clit once more, sucking gently before his tongue lashed against it, every suck and flick driving you mad until you were teetering, breathless, at the point of no return.

Sanji’s gaze was molten, his lust-darkened eyes glued to the sight of you unraveling beneath him. Each movement you made was committed to memory– the arch of your back, the trembling rise of your chest, the way your lips parted with each desperate gasp. His hands, warm and steady, slid down your stomach before joining the slick mess between your thighs. 

The first touch of his fingers were teasing, as if testing the waters. The wetness that greeted him made his cock twitch in his pants as he spread your slick across his fingertips. The scent of you was intoxicating. Earthy, sweet, and unmistakably you. It filled his senses and made him dizzy with need. 

When he finally slid a finger inside, the warmth of you wrapped around him, tight and inviting, and he couldn’t stop the groan that slipped past his lips. He slowly pumped his finger, letting you adjust to the sensation, and then he added another. His fingers curled just so, pressing into that spot that had you seeing stars. The thrust of his fingers soon quickened, matching the movements of his tongue and soon the obscene sound of his fingers plunging into you filled the air, mixing with the desperate moans spilling from your lips. 

That unbearable tightness coiled in your lower belly, like a spring ready to snap. Your breath hitched in sharp shallow gasps and your legs trembled against him, toes curling as the tension in your core grew tighter, tighter still, until you thought you might break from it. 

Then, the first tremor hit, and it was like you were struck by lightning, a shock violently sending a jolt down your body that made your entire body arch off the bed. Your eyes clamped shut, brows furrowing as your mouth fell open in a silent scream, the intensity of it all stealing your breath. Every muscle in your body was taut, straining with the force of your orgasm as it tore through you wave after wave. 

Sanji groaned against your clit, feeling you clench around his fingers and he couldn’t help but continue his pace, coaxing every last shudder, every spasm of pleasure from your trembling form. The muscles in your thighs quivered uncontrollably as your body surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, your chest heaving as you gasped for air and your heart thumped against your ribcage.

Your hands grasped helplessly at the sheets, knuckles turning white as you rode out the aftershocks. You could feel every throb, every pulse in your core as you tensed up again and again, pulling in Sanji’s fingers with each contraction. 

Your legs, once tense, began to fall limp, muscles weak and trembling from the exertion. That furrow in your brow softened, and your lips formed a soft, contented smile. 

Sanji’s fingers withdrew gently, his lips placing soft kisses on your skin, murmuring sweet praises that you barely heard through the fog of your pleasure still clouding your mind. He savored the taste of your honey, pulling back just enough to watch the effects of his efforts. If you weren’t in such a daze, you would have noticed that look in his eyes telling you that he is far from done.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Social media and online video companies are collecting huge troves of your personal information on and off their websites or apps and sharing it with a wide range of third-party entities, a new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) staff report on nine tech companies confirms. The FTC report published on Thursday looked at the data-gathering practices of Facebook, WhatsApp, YouTube, Discord, Reddit, Amazon, Snap, TikTok and Twitter/X between January 2019 and 31 December 2020. The majority of the companies’ business models incentivized tracking how people engaged with their platforms, collecting their personal data and using it to determine what content and ads users see on their feeds, the report states. The FTC’s findings validate years of reporting on the depth and breadth of these companies’ tracking practices and call out the tech firms for “vast surveillance of users”. The agency is recommending Congress pass federal privacy regulations based on what it has documented. In particular, the agency is urging lawmakers to recognize that the business models of many of these companies do little to incentivize effective self-regulation or protection of user data. “Recognizing this basic fact is important for enforcers and policymakers alike because any efforts to limit or regulate how these firms harvest troves of people’s personal data will conflict with their primary business incentives,” FTC chair Lina Khan said in a statement. “To craft effective rules or remedies limiting this data collection, policymakers will need to ensure that violating the law is not more lucrative than abiding by it.”

19 September 2024

[sen-ya]

um hi hello I wrote a fic for the first time since I was like 16 and this is probably the first time I’ve ever put prose anywhere on the internet oops. I did a very scribbly comic abt this a few weeks ago and instead of finishing it I did this I guess.

Grounding Exercise

Summary:

The panic didn’t leave Law’s body, but he managed to slow his movements, grip tightly at his first mate’s sleeve. “Bepo?” he huffed. “Real?” The question hung heavy between them. 

“Yes,” the word was dripping with sorrow, with apology. “Not dreaming. I’m sorry, Captain.” 

Tattooed fingers curled deeper into Bepo’s sleeve. Law leaned forward into him, his body screaming in protest. He didn’t care. How could he? Here he was, alive amidst tragedy. “Again,” he hissed, vocalizing the thought. “Again?''

Warnings: suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 2589

When he woke, it was violent. 

Law jerked upright in bed, black quickly reclaiming his vision as it all washed over him. Yes, his bones ached, and he could tell several were broken. Yes, he could taste a bit of copper in his mouth. And yes, he could hear a few sharp pops as he threw his weight forward. But the worst of his pains gripped at his chest, a squeeze not unlike when his heart had been abused outside of his body, in the hands of someone who took pleasure in hurting him.

“Where are they?” he breathed urgently.

Heavy hands guided him back to the bed amidst his thrashing. “Captain,” a familiar voice pleaded. “Captain, stay down. You’ll make your injuries worse.”

Slowly, the world came into focus. Not all of it, admittedly, but he tried to focus — to find an anchor. Bepo’s fuzzy face made a home in Law’s vision, the polar bear’s brows knitted together and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The panic didn’t leave Law’s body, but he managed to slow his movements, grip tightly at his first mate’s sleeve. “Bepo?” he huffed. “Real?” The question hung heavy between them. 

“Yes,” the word was dripping with sorrow, with apology. “Not dreaming. I’m sorry, Captain.” 

Tattooed fingers curled deeper into Bepo’s sleeve. Law leaned forward into him, his body screaming in protest. He didn’t care. How could he? Here he was, alive amidst tragedy. “Again,” he hissed, vocalizing the thought. “Again?'' The word tasted like poison. 

“No, no,” Bepo soothed. “The crew is strong. It won’t be like —“

“Yes it will, Bepo!” Law buried his forehead into the bear’s chest, the fact that he wasn’t in his usual orange jumpsuit somehow making it even worse. “I wasn’t strong enough, I let us get in over our head — damn it I did it again.” The declaration was venomous, his voice loud and sharp. Were his mind clearer, Law would have recognized that Bepo was a part of that crew, too. That as his captain — could he call himself that now that the Tang met its end? — he should be the one to insist on the safety of their nakama. He would have started crafting a plan, letting Bepo sniffle as he listened. 

But in this moment his thoughts clouded. He felt small and cold and sick, like they were back on Swallow Island, before it would have been inappropriate for Law to lose himself in front of his dearest friend. “I’m a curse,” he shouted. He wasn’t sure when the tears started but now that the seal had broken it felt like they’d flow forever. “I doomed all of you, pretended for years that I hadn’t —“

“Stop it,” Bepo pulled Law into himself, his larger than life captain reduced to what he was — his brother. “You did everything. You always have.” His voice was steady and firm, a tone unusual for him. Somehow that only made it worse, yet Law melted into him, allowed himself to drown in his weakness. He cried, Bepo’s unfamiliar sweater soaking in the tears. 

“How many times do I have to lose?” he wallowed, his voice barely audible. The mink only held him tighter in response, and slowly Law’s breaths started to steady. He began to smell the sterile tinge of the infirmary, to feel the way the fresh bandages clung to his skin, to hear —

“…Torao?” it was hesitant. 

“I’m hearing things,” Law whispered. “How pathetic.”

A hand rested gently on his back and he tore himself from his brother’s hold, the sudden movement causing him to jerk in pain and fall down to the bed. As his vision unblurred he slowly made out a third figure in the room. Wait, had he even processed yet that they were inside somewhere? A familiar somewhere at that. It fell into place as Luffy’s face came into focus, the worry that had made a home there making him look so much unlike himself. Law’s eyes grew wide and the panic began to creep back in.

“Torao,” Luffy reached for him slowly this time, like he was approaching a scared animal. 

“Get out,” the order was low, with no force behind it. The other two might have even missed it, it had been so quiet. But as Luffy’s hand drew closer and Law’s face pulled into an expression as feral as the spooked creature he was being addressed as, the command was undeniable. “Get out!” 

Luffy recoiled as though he’d been hit. “You can’t be here,” Law continued, struggling to prop himself up. You can’t see me like this, bounced around his head. 

“Captain,” Bepo protested. “It’s Straw Hat. He helped us, he — “

“I know who he is, and I know what I said,” was the growled response. I can’t handle your smile right now, was the echo. 

“It’s his ship,” Bepo continued. “He can —“

“I’ll go.”

Everything was still for a moment. When the Straw Hat captain made his swift exit, the click of the door was only a whisper.

—

Law was insistent on treating himself. The only person he would acknowledge entering the infirmary was Bepo, and even that was scarce. The bite he’d shown when he awoke ebbed and flowed, sometimes the anger was the only thing left behind his golden eyes. Other times, most times, those eyes were dull, empty, surrendered. 

He knew that his first mate must be hurting too, but Law couldn’t muster any empathy. He could hear muffled “sorry”s beyond the infirmary door, sniffles meant to be private in the corner of the room, worried muttering being exchanged. It was rare that the bear wandered much further than the hallway just outside. It was on one such rare occasion, three days after he’d come to, that the door swung open violently. 

“That’s what I thought,” Luffy crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the tray full of food on the table at Law’s bedside. “Listen, I’m happy to keep eating your leftovers but if another plate comes back to the kitchen full I think Sanji’s gonna kick your ass.”

The declaration wasn’t even met with a glance. 

“What’re you even doing in here,” Luffy continued, irritation clawing at his words. “I know you’re supposed to rest but even you don’t listen to that.” 

Law stirred. “I’m a doctor,” was the muttered response. That’s all I am.

“Yeah, a doctor who’s always got somethin’ else to do,” Luffy huffed, throwing himself to sit at the foot of the bed. “You got plenty to do now.”

Law couldn’t argue. Not because he thought the other captain was right, per se, but more because arguing took an amount of gusto that he didn’t have at the moment. As that became evident to Luffy, the mounting anger melted from his face. 

“You don’t have to grieve, Torao,” he soothed. “They aren’t gone.”

And there it was — a spark. Law’s chest burned as the words settled in. His features lit up with the only feeling they’d been able to find since he’d stopped crying a few days ago. So fierce was the look that Luffy recoiled in surprise. 

“What do you know about grief, Straw Hat?” Law seethed. The other captain found some anger of his own at that, his mouth dropping open to protest. Law wouldn’t let him. “I was there when your brother died,” his voice was too steady for comfort. “That’s your body count. One. One person who’s gone. Did — did you know —“ he surged forward, ignoring the bolts of pain reminding him he was still tied to this mortal plane. “Did you know I had a little sister?” Luffy’s eyes grew wide, the anger not quite letting the shock override it. 

“We took music lessons together every Wednesday evening. And when I got too wrapped up in my studies she’d come tell me I was boring. Sing with me, Lawli — she was so damn insistent.” Something bubbled in his chest at hearing the name Lawli out loud for the first time in sixteen years. “I loved her. And our parents loved the both of us. Did you know that, Straw Hat? That the first thing I was, was happy?”

The air was heavy in the infirmary, Luffy’s lips a tight line as he listened. 

“The world government took my parents before disease could,” Law spit. “I left my sister to die by herself. Told her she’d be safe, that I’d be back — but instead she suffocated on smoke. Or burned. I’ve imagined both. Either way, she did it alone.” His voice dropped as he leaned in ever closer to the other captain. “On the day I escaped Flevence I angered whatever powers that be that marked me for death. And ever since then I’ve been followed, pretending that crossing the border was all I needed to do to escape it. Pretending not to be the harbinger that I am. Pretending to not notice that it seems I have nothing to outrun myself, that the worst thing that can happen is that I live.”

“You survive,” Luffy’s voice was gentle, a soft whisper against the rage he was faced with. His hand slipped forward, resting lightly on the tattooed fist clenched tightly before him. And this — this was not what Law expected.

Like Flevence, like Cora, like the Tang and like his crew — Law crumbled.

He was ten again, surrounded by flame and gunfire. Crying for his parents. Helpless. He was just a boy. A boy who wanted only one more time for his mother to wake him gently, far too early in the morning, and ask would he like to join her at the hospital today? A boy who wanted to read the most boring books with his father again and again, be corrected when he didn’t retain the information, have gummy bears positioned tactfully on the page to encourage him to read just one more paragraph. A boy who wanted to hear sour notes on the piano followed by the inevitable tug on his shirt — sing with me, Lawli. More than anything he wanted to sing with her. 

“I never asked to survive.” It could have been a breeze, the admission was so scarce. “I don’t want to anymore.” 

And at that Luffy’s calloused hand drifted up to brush tears from Law’s cheeks. When had he started to cry? “You have to.” Gentle, still so very gentle. “They’re counting on you. Not just your crew. Everyone you've grieved. Doflamingo’s brother. Your sister.” Law was sobbing now, thick tears bubbling out of him like waterfalls. His shoulders shook and he bit his lip, somehow through all of it still not wanting Luffy to hear him cry. “They still love you.”

That — that was too much. Whatever was left of the dam burst and Law fell into Luffy, who curled his arms around him protectively. Law knew the sounds were spilling out of him, but only by the vibration he felt in his throat. All he heard were soft whispers in his ear — these things aren’t your fault. You’re so easy to love, Torao. Thank you for living. Thank you.

—

The sea breeze was grounding. 

His eyes closed, Law took stock of his senses. It smelled like salt. The wind was cool on his face. He heard the waves crash on the side of the Sunny as it sailed forward, always forward. He took a deep breath, let out a long sigh. 

“I’m sorry I shut down,” he admitted, eyes fixated on the water.

“It was long overdue,” Bepo dismissed.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“You’re right,” the mink hummed. “It makes it necessary.”

They looked out over the sea in a comfortable silence for a while, the two leaned on the ship’s railing. 

“We’re chartered to Pirate Island,” Bepo offered eventually. “It’s the best lead. If Blackbeard wants your fruit he’s going to keep them as hostages.”

Law gave a firm nod. 

“We’ll get ‘em back, Captain.”

Another nod.

“Well, I believe we will anyway,” Bepo sighed and sunk his head into his arms. “You don’t have to. I’ll believe for both of us.”

The corners of Law’s mouth twitched upwards at that. “You’re getting comfortable with that,” he mused. “Not listening to me.”

The younger was suddenly on alert. “I’m sorry!” he poured. There they were, Law thought, the tears he was entitled to after the week they’d had. “I had to. I had to. You’d die for less than our nakama. You’re always so…so…” The submissive pout took a turn towards a grimace. Had Law ever seen his brother like this? “Self destructive and stupid.” He decided, his eyes glued to his feet, tears soaking the fur around his eyes. 

“Is that so?” The response was surprisingly steady given the way the words shook the captain.

“Yeah it’s so,” Bepo scoffed. He was on a roll now — for him at least. “How long will we have to show you we need you before you stop trying to leave us?” 

“Bepo.” It was choked, Law’s throat felt dry.

“I know how you look when you want to disappear. Those feelings — they belong to you, I know that. You’re not gonna just…” he sighed. “Change. Get over it.” The last sentence was said in a mocking tone, the both of them understanding that Shachi didn’t always understand the nuances of certain ideations. “But if you get to want to die, I get to want you to live. And I get to be happy about it when you do. I’ll always be happy about it.” Only then did he lift his gaze, a fierce determination burning there. “I don’t care if you hate me for it. I’ll always give everything I’ve got to keep you here with us.”

Law did the only thing that felt right — he threw his arms around his brother in a show of affection far more blatant than he’d given out in a long time. “I could never hate you,” he kept his voice as steady as before, grateful the other couldn’t see the tears pooling in his eyes. He’d had his turn to cry. “I love you. I love you.”

Bepo squeezed him tight. “I love you too,” he cried. “We’re gonna get ‘em back. We’re gonna —“

“You’re right,” Law insisted. “We’ll get them back. And we’ll build a new ship. We’ll be okay.” 

Bepo nuzzled into him like he had when they were children. Bepo had always been a crier growing up. Law had always let him, scolding Penguin and Shachi when they’d giggle. Don’t be jealous just because he knows how to have a feeling, he’d scoff. And Bepo would cry louder, eliciting even more boisterous laughs from their other brothers. Today, there was no laughing in response. As the breeze carried away the sniffles and sobs, Law patted his back.

Living for other people was never a sustainable option, he’d thought. Law wanted autonomy in his life where he could get it, and opportunities for that felt woefully few and far between. Here on the deck of the Sunny, even with his brain still swimming with ways to disappear, he supposed maybe he could learn to let those who cared about him keep him tethered here. They were real. As good an anchor as any. He closed his eyes — Bepo’s fur was soft, the sweater he had on clearly was borrowed from Franky since it smelled of oil and cola, and he could hear his cries begin to calm. 

Possibly against his better judgement, Law decided he’d stay grounded.

[djarins-cyare]

✨Questions Tag Game✨

Thanks for tagging me @burntheedges 🩵

Of course I’m going to add GIFs and images. Did anyone really expect me to post something without visual aids??

[photos are my own (apart from the one immediately below, which is from here), and unless otherwise credited, GIFs were made by me during office hours when I was supposed to be working… 🤫]

Do you make your own bed?

Not in terms of making it look all neat and tucked in, no. But that’s because I’m a teensy bit of a germaphobe, and humans naturally sweat at night, which means you must leave your mattress uncovered for a while after you get up to ensure it airs. So, for most of the day (because I forget to straighten it up), my bed just looks like this:

(Just for fun, how many Mandalorians can you spot in the pic?)

Favourite number?

It’s always been 2, and my reasoning used to be that all good things come in pairs. But having discovered my autism in recent years, I’ve come to realise it probably more likely represents the maximum number of people I’m most comfortable interacting with at any one time. So it’s a manageable number. It’s also an even number. And it’s a prime number (in fact it's the only even prime number). It’s a pretty number – it has a nice curved top and a solid, sturdy base. It stops 1 from being lonely, so it’s a kind number.

Is this a weird answer? All of these are really logical reasons to me!

[GIF found here]

What’s your job?

It’s become so specialised that I no longer have a job title, but I started as a legal PA for one of the senior partners at a Legal 500 law firm in London. I flirted with the idea of qualifying as a solicitor but realised there was no way in hell I’d be comfortable standing up in court and speaking in front of lots of people (and I work in the criminal law department so not keen on casually chatting to criminals either). Instead, I decided to become The Person Who Knows Everything.

So now I write briefs to Counsel, proofs of evidence, funding applications; I analyse evidence, conduct legal research, advise the solicitors on their cases; I train paralegals and admin staff; I do a load of data analysis and make pretty spreadsheets for the bosses; and I manage the firm’s IT needs because I can do computer stuff too. I’m basically their go-to girl for anything that seems complicated or time-consuming… and I don’t have to wear a stupid wig in court.

And the best part is, during Covid lockdown, I demonstrated I can do 100% of my job from home, so I was allowed to move 150 miles away, and I now only have to visit my office two days a month! 🙌🏻

Downside: the arduous and random nature of the job means I’m never up to date and always very tired.

If you could go back to school, would you?

My original plan after getting my undergrad degree was to do a Masters and PhD and become an academic, but I put all that on hold for my (now ex) husband so he could finish his PhD and first postdoc. I’m very glad I never went back, though, because I realise that academia is not the place for me… see above comment about not being able to stand up and talk in court to understand why standing up and talking in a lecture hall would be equally nerve-wracking for me. So, no, I’m content with my current level of schooling.

Honestly, university was more about learning how to ‘adult’ properly than obtaining any useful knowledge on the course anyway (she says, routinely using concepts learnt on her fiction writing modules when crafting Mando fics).

Can you parallel park?

Yup. Narrow roads and a lack of parking spaces in the UK kind of make it a non-optional skill here.

That said, I do sometimes see people desperately trying to line themselves up to get into a space and making an absolute farce out of it, so I guess maybe some people here think it’s optional, but I’d rather not have that kind of stress, so I practised until I could do it easily.

[original GIF found here and then cropped]

Do you think aliens are real?

The way this is phrased… do I think they’re real? Like, do I think the grey ones with big black eyes are anally probing residents in certain sections of North America on a regular basis? Hmm, no. Too many episodes of The X-Files. I mean, Fox Mulder: yum, but I really Don’t Want To Believe, thanks.

But, I remain open to the idea that alien life has evolved elsewhere in the known universe. It’s inconceivably huge, after all. There’s nowhere near enough data to prove (or even speculate) either way – just look at the Drake equation, which has been used to both ‘prove’ and ‘disprove’ the possibility – so I’ll reserve any kind of judgment until some real evidence appears.

Can you drive a manual car?

Yeah, of course. It’s the standard driving test in the UK and allows you to drive both automatic and manual – you actually have to specifically ask to learn only automatic if you decide you can’t handle gears. And, like, it’s all muscle memory, so it’s really not as hard as people think once you’re used to it. I tried to drive an automatic a few years back and found myself involuntarily shadow-shifting the gears!

[original GIF found here and then trimmed for length]

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Mostly, I don’t feel guilty about indulging in pleasures these days. I used to be really affected by social pressures (back before I discovered my autism and still felt like I had to ‘mask’ and fit in), so I used to feel guilty talking about my hyperfixations, but now I couldn’t care less. I shall consume them endlessly and unselfconsciously. It’s very liberating.

Any phobias?

I suppose the answer is sharks, which has no sensible basis for being a phobia because I’ve never had any real encounters to make me fearful (thank fuck!). In fact, I walked through the shark tunnel at SeaWorld just fine as a 7-year-old. Unless that planted some kind of seed of terror, I don’t know. Not sure when it really took hold, but I can’t even look at photos these days. It’s their damn teeth. Someone’s going to have to give me a tooth report on Gladiator II before I can go see it.

The hell if I’m gonna put a photo (or God forbid a GIF) of a shark here, so, umm…

Favourite childhood sport?

Two answers: (1) Football (AKA soccer). I played for a girl’s team when I was about 11, but it was only because the boy I liked was into football. I couldn’t give a shit about it these days, and I don’t think I ever really liked it – I was just ‘masking’, as I did for most of my childhood, but I convinced myself I loved it.

(2) Karate, which I decided all by myself that I fancied doing, then found I was actually quite good at it and excelled at it for a while. But I was 9, and they decided I was so good that I should go and join the adult class (age 14 and up), which I hated, so I quit.

[GIF is one I already had saved from Reddit a while ago, but I can't find the source anymore, so sorry for not crediting the maker]

Do you talk to yourself?

Sometimes, but not often. I live alone, so I occasionally just need to exercise my vocal cords lol. It also depends on what mood I’m in. On an average day, no, I don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but if I’m excited/animated/annoyed in some way, I might say stuff aloud. Basically, if I’m inclined to utter curse words for any reason, I’ll probably use other words aloud too.

[GIF found here]

Tattoos?

I only have one right now, but I plan to increase that number someday. See photo below; I used to have chameleons as pets and got this tattooed near my right hip when I turned thirty to commemorate them. It’s really small.

I would like to get a phrase in Mando’a inked on me somewhere, probably “Kaysh meg miit’gaana, oyacyi”, which means “she* who writes, remains” [*substitute chosen pronoun – Mando’a doesn’t distinguish genders], and is a Mandalorian proverb teaching that you can live forever if you leave behind written words. I have it engraved on my iPad.

Favourite colour?

Very much the blue (with a hint of green) end of the colour spectrum. For something soft, duck egg blue, or for something bold, teal. See the colour of the titles in this post.

I also like the colours of hyperspace and would happily snuggle up with Din in the cockpit.

Do you like puzzles?

Yeah, I guess. I don’t dislike them. But I don’t really do them much. In terms of the crossword/sodoku/brain teaser sort, I might choose to do them in specific settings, like on vacation when I inevitably need to offer my brain something different than whatever book I’m binge-reading.

In terms of the jigsaw type, I have short phases of thinking, “Ooh, that’ll be fun!”, trying to do one, getting bored, and then forcing myself to finish. Last time that happened was Covid lockdown. Took me a year! Though, to be fair, it was one of these bastards…

Okay, I’m done. I realise I’m very late to the party, and a lot of people have already done this one, so sorry if you’ve already participated. No pressure (and no need to illustrate with gifs and images, I just can’t help myself)… 🩵

@604to647 @beefrobeefcal @d4rm4nd4 @feral-ferrule @gracieheartspedro

@joelslegalwhre @littlemisspascal @magpiepills @penvisions @quicksilvermad

@secretelephanttattoo @studioghibelli @syd-djarin @the-mandawhor1an @zaddymandalorian

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Twenty-Five

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Twenty-Five: One More Sword

His eye remains on you. It always remains on you. Even as he pushes his foot down against the floor, leaning on only one stool leg. Even as his slender, yet firm, fingers fumble in between the folds of his towel, delicately drying each knuckle with a tender swivel. Even as he rewraps his bandana over his bare skin, muscles rippling underneath a layer of fresh perspiration. He claims the hand-crafted stool as his own, widely parting his legs as if the seat was crafted specifically for him.

With a languid stretch, he leans towards you, his soft breaths brushing against your cheeks like a threatening greeting. His arm, adorned with sweat and scars, snakes over and around your waist, his fingers brushing against the wooden desk beside you.

He slams his towel onto it with a resounding thud.

Without retreating, his face hovers over incredibly close to yours. The hot breaths that trace across your skin feel feral - primal, almost - filled with hard-headed demands and silent, creeping wants.

"You’re telling me everything,” he whispers, his voice a low growl that reverberates through the air.

Instantly, your fingers clench tightly over the edges of your seat. Swallowing hard, you look at anywhere but at his lips - at his cruel frown that rests upon his mouth so deliciously, so naturally curved downwards like a snarling animal. No. You're not looking at them. Instead, you pierce your eyes back into the samurai's watchful gaze, battling your will against his, and strain a fake smirk across your lips.

Then, you part them.

"And what if I don't?"

In immediate response, Zoro's own lips curl into a half-smirk, half-snarl, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. He shakes his head slowly, his eye never leaving yours. "S'not an option for you. You've been hiding something. Keeping something from us."

His eye flickers down to your arm and then back up to you. “Frankly, I just don’t trust you.”

That makes you sharply exhale - a precise and deadly huff of bitterness. Your palm reaches out for his wet chest, splaying your fingers out across his skin. And with one motion, you shove him a few steps away.

“Roronoa,” you tut, your palm still lingering over him. “Remind me, when have I ever cared about earning your trust?”

Zoro's gaze darkens at your bold response, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His jaw clenches, a silent warning flashing in his eyes as he takes a step closer, closing the distance you've created between you.

"Don't play games with me," he warns dangerously. "I can see right through you. And you're going to tell me everything."

“I’m playing games?” You raise an eyebrow, snarling your words out like a growling demon, your fangs bared over your lips in bewilderment. “Weren’t you the one who kept losing your grip on your weights? At only… was it your second, or your third rep? No… now that I think back on it, I don’t think you even did one.”

Zoro's expression tightens, his gaze burning with a mixture of irritation and defiance at your pointed accusation. His jaw clenches visibly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he struggles to maintain his composure under your scrutiny.

"Don't try to distract me," he growls, his voice low and gravelly, each word laden with barely contained frustration.

And you grin a little. You're relishing in it, you can't lie - you've finally managed to get under his skin.

"Who's distracting who, Roronoa?" you retort, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "You were the one who couldn't handle Law's presence without losing your focus."

"Watch yourself." His eye narrows dangerously, a flicker of anger flashing in its depths as he takes a step closer, his hot, quick-paced breaths looming over your mouth like a warm cloud of thunder.

You innocently cock your head. "Or what? You'll lose your grip again?"

Zoro's nostrils flare with frustration, his grip tightening over the edge of your desk, his hand laying so close to the skin at your waist.

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

“For God's -- No, Roronoa. I’m protecting myself!” you snap. “I’m allowed to tell other people the things I don't feel like telling you. Fucks' sake, I’m allowed to have my own secrets! To have my boundaries!”

"Secrets breed mistrust," he retorts, his voice edged with a hint of resignation. "And mistrust breeds discord."

"Oh, spare me the moral lessons, Roronoa. You're not exactly a paragon of trustworthiness yourself – or would you like for us to revisit that matter again?"

“God fucking damn it!” he exclaims, his voice coming out strained as he continues choking on his intoxicating fury. He swivels himself away from you, his body acting as a boulder for his unrestrained feelings, his muscles moving in motion to the aggressive breaths that he's taking. His fingers are strained tightly into a scrunched up fist, the bulging veins through his arms coursing with a different type of adrenaline that he's normally used to. “When the fuck are you going to stop hanging that over my head, Raya? When are you going to fucking understand that I couldn’t. Do. Anything?”

Your heart stops for a second. The breath in your throat dissipates into some other vortex, the world slightly spinning under your feet like rolling a pair of tabletop die.

You realise that this is the first time he's ever acknowledged you by your first name.

 "Raya."

It's as if the world around you pauses, every sound muffled, every sensation heightened. His voice saying your name feels like a revelation, a seismic shift in the dynamics between you, a crack in the stoic facade he's always maintained.

You swallow, trying to compose yourself and steady your wobbling vocal cords. It's not just the sound of your name on his lips that affects you—it's the way he says it, the weight behind the syllables, the depth of emotion that you can hear in his tone.

"Raya."

You struggle to find your voice, to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. His gaze, intense and penetrating, holds you captive, as if he's searching for something in your eyes, something you're not even sure how to name.

"Your or my Gramps' samurai honour means nothing to me... You know what does?”

Your voice is barely a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart - but you say the words with conviction, with a newfound sense of clarity.

And in this moment, all the pretences fall away, leaving behind only the brutality of your anger. Your ground your teeth into dust, heat rushing through your skin like an unquenchable storm of fire.

“Life. Living. Being aware that the entire balance of one person’s fate rests within your control. And doing something about it. But you? You didn’t do anything. To me, that’s not honour, no.” You shake your head, tears glossing over your eyes as you furiously try to blink them away. God, if only you could singe those feelings away from your soul, you would. You'd do it a hundred times over if it meant you'd become stronger.

You part your mouth again, your lips quivering with no rhyme or reason - with no sense of the word, 'control.'

“That’s idiocy. That’s unforgivable. That… broke me." Your voice wavers. "And I resent you for it."

And there it is.

The truth.

You finally admitted it, said out loud - not to him. But more to yourself.

That's the truth. You're angry because you're hurt. No - you're angry that he even had that power to begin with. You're angry with yourself, too, for not being strong enough. For begging for his help like some sort of pathetic deer, your limbs stuck in a pool of mud as a typhoon of wind consumed the very breath you were taking. You were wriggling, like a cockroach on a matt of glue. Squealing. Begging.

Begging.

You begged for his help and that was the most vulnerable you have ever been to someone.

And he...Heard straight past you, as if you were just some wail of wind from a faraway distance.

Silence rushes into the workshop like a thunderstorm. It seems like the samurai is finally rendered speechless – unknowing of what to say, what to do, or where to go.

Instantly, your fingers grab for the sheathed Enma, the silent child observing the present battlefield with an ironic sense of helplessness.

Without looking at him, without tilting yourself upwards or even acknowledging the outline of his shadowed figure, you slam the masterfully refined sword against his chest with meaning.

“One more sword, and my debts to you are cleared,” you mutter out, staring in the opposite direction from his presence. “One more sword, and we're done.”

Fiercely, you slam the door shut on the way out.

[marrowdaughter]

“When biologists claim that “sex is binary,” they mean something straightforward: there are only two sexes. This statement is true because an individual’s sex is defined by the type of gamete (sperm or ova) their primary reproductive organs (i.e., gonads) are organized, through development, to produce. Males have primary reproductive organs organized around the production of sperm; females, ova. Because there is no third gamete type, there are only two sexes that a person can be. Sex is therefore binary.

It is important to note here that the binary nature of sex is compatible with sex ambiguity because ambiguity with respect to sex is not itself a third sex. However, many gender activists falsely assert that the “sex binary” must mean something like “every human who has ever existed and will ever exist can be unambiguously categorized as either male or female.” Given this, they contend that providing examples of people with ambiguous sexual anatomy (i.e., “intersex” conditions) not only disproves the sex binary but also demonstrates that biological sex is a meaningless and even oppressive categorization scheme. (We will leave aside for now the fact that many of these same activists do recognize an alternative version of “biological sex” in the form of gender-identity bio-essentialism, or the theory that a person’s subjective self-conception of male or female is rooted in the brain itself.)

The chain of reasoning goes something like this. Sex is not binary because intersex people exist. Their existence demonstrates that biological sex is a spectrum. Since sex is a spectrum, that means no line can be perfectly drawn separating males from females. If no single line can be drawn, then anywhere someone chooses to draw one is totally arbitrary and subjective. If it’s totally arbitrary and subjective, then that means the categories male and female are also arbitrary and subjective “social constructs” with no firm root in biological reality. If that’s the case, why are we categorizing people in law according to these arbitrary labels instead of letting people simply label themselves? To do otherwise is to oppress people based on a biological falsehood.

This is just how the argument is made, and it is made with stunning success. Children in K-12 are regularly taught these days that sex and gender exist on a spectrum. Parts of the scientific establishment and the medical profession have also embraced this idea.

Perhaps nobody is more well-known for relying on the existence of intersex conditions to supposedly disprove the sex binary than the historian of science Alice Dreger. In her book, Hermaphrodites and the Medical Invention of Sex, Dreger refers to intersex individuals as “hermaphrodites,” and says: “Hermaphroditism causes a great deal of confusion, more than one might at first appreciate, because—as we will see again and again—the discovery of a ‘hermaphroditic’ body raises doubts not just about the particular body in question, but about all bodies. The questioned body forces us to ask what exactly it is—if anything—that makes the rest of us unquestionable.”

Those without a firm background in biological science may read such passages and feel something akin to having an epiphany, but Dreger is peddling pseudoscience. This desire to extrapolate a small blur at a boundary to the entire picture is rooted in the postmodern impulse to “queer,” and thereby eliminate, natural categories. In the queer-theory worldview, categories are themselves oppressive, and human liberation requires the “troubling” of categories (to borrow Judith Butler’s term), including those of sex. Yet Dreger’s account does not accurately describe biological reality. The existence of “questionable” cases with respect to sex classification does not automatically cast a degree of doubt onto everyone’s sex. For most people, their sex is obvious.

Besides, our society is not currently experiencing a sudden dramatic surge in people stricken with ambiguous genitalia; we are experiencing a surge in people who are unambiguously one sex claiming to “identify” as the opposite sex, or neither sex.

Another false depiction of the sex binary is that it refers to sex chromosomes, with males always being XY and females always XX. Activists purport to debunk this misrepresentation of the sex binary by pointing to sex-chromosome aneuploidies—instances where an individual may have missing or extra X or Y chromosomes, such as in those with Klinefelter (XXY) and Turner (X0) syndrome, among others. How could sex be binary and based on sex chromosomes, they argue, if there are more combinations beyond XX and XY? They may also highlight examples of XX males and females with Y chromosomes as proof that chromosomes do not determine an individual’s sex.

There are several major issues with this line of reasoning. The first is that the vast majority of people with sex-chromosome aneuploidies are not intersex; their primary sex organs and anatomy are unquestionably either male or female. Other compositions than the typical XX and XY arrangement do not represent additional sexes beyond male and female, but instead represent chromosomal variation within each of the two sexes. A person with Klinefelter syndrome (XXY), for example, isn’t a new sex in the same way that a person with Down syndrome (who has three instead of two copies of chromosome 21) isn’t a new species.

Second, the notion that XX males and females with a Y chromosome debunk the claim that sex is determined by chromosomes erroneously conflates how sex is determined with how sex is defined for an individual. “Sex determination” is a technical term in developmental biology referring to the process by which certain genes trigger and regulate sex development. Mammals, which include humans, have evolved what’s called “chromosomal sex determination,” meaning that certain genes residing on chromosomes guide the development of males and females in utero. The Y chromosome is considered “sex determining” because it usually harbors a gene called SRY that triggers male development, and in its absence a female typically develops. But in very rare instances an SRY gene can find its way onto an X chromosome, resulting in a male with XX chromosomes.

This process stands in contrast to sex-determining mechanisms in other organisms that do not rely on chromosomes, such as “temperature-dependent sex determination” that occurs in many reptiles, where the temperature at which an egg is incubated triggers male and female development. In the alligator A. mississippiensis, for instance, higher incubation temperatures (>34°C) produce males, while lower temperatures (<30°C) produce females.

In both chromosomal and temperature-dependent sex determination systems, though an individual’s sex is mechanistically determined in different ways, it is always defined the same way—by the type of gamete his or her primary reproductive organs is organized around producing. This should be obvious, as it would have been impossible ever to have discovered these different sex-determining mechanisms without first knowing what males and females are apart from sex chromosomes and incubation temperatures.

These efforts by activists serve a single purpose—to portray sex as so incomprehensibly complex and multivariable that our traditional practice of classifying people as simply either male or female is grossly outdated and should be completely abandoned in favor of “gender identity.” This entails that males would not be barred from female sports, prisons, or any other space previously segregated according to our supposedly antiquated notions of “biological sex,” so long as they “identify” as female, whatever that means.

But while sex development is a complex process, it does not follow that the outcomes are equally complex. Dreger’s claim that the existence of edge cases “raises doubts not just about the particular body in question, but about all bodies” is not true. A person’s sex is almost always completely unambiguous and recorded correctly at birth.

While it may be necessary to outline reasonable policies and laws for hard cases, we need not pretend we’re all hard cases. Failing to reject Dreger’s rhetorical sleight-of-hand prevents us from calling a spade a spade.”

Article published on August 4th, 2024. Emphasis is my own.

[silveragelovechild]

I’m a nerd. My favorite movies and TV shows are scifi. I like stories set in the future, but I’m also bored with dystopian societies. But my favorite sci-fi stories involve, time travel, parallel words, and artificial sentience (computers or robots that develop a will of their own).

With that said, today I attended the best movie I’ve seen this year - Mars Express. It’s set in a future where robots of all types are a part of everyday society - mechanical robots, androids, Cyborgs, and augmented humans.

Mars Express is a French animated movie with a well crafted complex story. It is violent and includes references to adult themes (alcoholism and prostitution) so it’s not for kids.

The story starts with a human detective and her robotic partner trying to find a missing girl. Like all good detective stories, the more they dig, the bigger the conspiracy becomes. Did I mention the robot sidekick was once human? He died and his memories were uploaded into a mechanical with a hologram of his head floating above the robot parts.

The robots of this world are bound by Issac Azimov’s first law - they cannot harm humans. But someone has written a program which would wipe this restriction from their programming. What would these synthetic creatures do when they are able to strike back at humans who have enslaved them? The answer will surprise you.

The art design is superb. Certainly it’s been influenced by stories such as Blade Runner or WestWorld, but the story and concept stand on their own. It also has some cool concepts. I particularly liked the futuristic airbags when a car crashes. Not just bags though, the entire cab of the car is instantly fills with foam that get firm, protecting your body from every side. Of course you’re suspended in the foam until robot traffic cops arrive to free you.

I’m one of those people who prefer to see movies at actual theaters. So if Mars Express is playing near you, go see it!

Note: Mars Express has been released in both its original French, and an English dub. (I saw the dub.)