#if ''how to write a paper I'' doesn't teach you to communicate i have doubts about ''how to write a paper II''

[alittleworldlywise]

I always wonder how many humanities courses “we need more humanities in STEM” people think STEM majors take.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.  

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

 I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

 “y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

 His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

[justabigassnerd]

hey:) do you have any tips on how to write bradley or maverick or know a blog that has posted tips?⭐️🧚i feel like i’m going insane because i can’t figure out how to write them🎀

ooh this is genuinely a very good question and I'm going to do my best to help

for Bradley, looking at his dialogue and his actions in Maverick, he's shown as someone who very openly cares for people (shown in how he is visibly shaken after hearing Phoenix and Bob go down) and when he does care for someone he's very quick to get defensive (such as nearly throwing hands with Jake after he brought up Goose). it's important to remember that he's definitely got trauma surrounding subject matters like his dad and deals with the potential thought of Maverick pulling his papers depending on when the fic is set which could lead to some self-doubt on Bradley's part (and of course a lot of anger). we also know from dialogue that Bradley is very cautious and does not just do things without thinking, of course, Maverick teaches him 'don't think, just do' but being cautious is a big thing with him and I don't think any amount of 'don't think, just do' will undo that from him completely (of course it's nice to see him be spontaneous but it's not as much of a thing with him as caution is) so if he's ever making a big decision, he'd definitely think it through

this one is more of a personal thought but I imagine Bradley to be quite good at communication when it comes to it. obviously, he does have moments of just lashing out but that's if someone truly gets under his skin. I think he's an effective communicator

as for Maverick, we have two movies to go off when looking at his character. he's a risk-taker, he tries to show off and truly doesn't care if he lives or dies. he's a tough nut to crack but when he lets down his walls that is a show of how much he loves and trusts someone. of course, we know he's got that cocky exterior that's so present in both films so that will always be a part of him but we see moments where he's calm and caring for those around him (like that scene of him and Goose in his accommodation, or that scene of him and Ice in Maverick). like Bradley, Mav has his own fair share of trauma, again losing Goose is the primary one and he definitely pretends to be okay even when he's not. and it's only mentioned once or twice but I believe he still kinda struggles with his dad's death from time to time too. Maverick definitely also struggles with doubt and would definitely be someone who needs a lot of reassurance (even if he doesn't ask for it). Maverick is also of course much more spontaneous and is way more likely to just jump headfirst into something without thinking, even with big decisions

unlike Bradley, my personal thought is that Maverick isn't as good at communication. he shuts himself off when he feels he needs to and takes a lot of coaxing to even open up in the first place

I'm sorry if this is not the best advice I figured I'd go with the basics rather than my million and one headcanons for them both and I'm happy to help any further if you so require it

if anyone else has any advice you can feel free to comment it or put it in asks so I can share it. or alternatively, if you have any more questions you can feel free to ask me and I'll do my best to help

much love <3

[nagisasstunningpersonality]

Please stop making AI Fanfics; it's art theft.

AI programs still from pre-existing fics to write the prompts you ask of them, A03 is currently fighting against AI programs but they can't do much if people keep feeding the machine.

Please don't feed the AI!

So I did look into this, mostly because the state of the internet has forced my natural response to anything to be "don't believe it without evidence".

Since you didn't cite anything, I just did my own digging. It appears that this specific claim originates from a reddit thread. The OP cites this article as their main source. Ironically, a good chunk of the post is straight up copy-pasted. The website is Communications Today, which is apparently an Indian telecoms magazine, but I could not find much information on it at all about them that wasn't produced by them.

According to their own LinkedIn:

"Communications Today provides a platform to build corporate image and influence purchase decisions through advertising. The magazine reaches decision makers who allocate budgets for procurement of equipment and services and identify and evaluate vendors for supplies. In-depth coverage and comprehensive research has made Communications Today an important referral for telecom, network equipment purchasers, and broadcasters."

Source

This publication appears to have some guest writers who have legit positions, however the specific AI article has no credited writer. This is questionable. Point is, I have doubts about the trustworthiness of this source to begin with, but there is clearly going to be some level of bias involved with its reporting. The article is pretty sensationalist anyway. This is how the media world works - outrage and fear sells.

This post also includes three examples. As someone who has written research based papers before, this is far from enough to prove anything.

To be clear, the AI I used was not sudowrite, which much of this discussion seems to centre around. The one I used (nor sudowrite itself apparently) don't use user input as training. This means that it responds to prompts and questions, but this doesn't actually teach it anything new permanently. Thus, me using it in this way has zero impact on its dataset and is certainly not feeding it. I also paid no money to use it. Your claim of me interacting with a chatbot somehow making AO3 action (can't find much in the way of evidence of this either by the way) harder also appears unfounded. If it did specifically scrape and train from AO3, then the damage is already done, so again my interaction with it would not mean anything to legal action.

GPT3 (which is what these bots use) have sourced data from the scope of all areas of the internet. It is not, as far as I can tell, any kind of specific targeting of AO3 as a training ground. The issue in this lies in the way this information is presented. "AI BOT SCANS AO3 TO STEAL YOUR FANFICS" stands out a little more than the alternative. AO3 even responded to the OP mirroring the fact that bots are everywhere, have been for a while, and they can't do much about it - not sure if this constitutes 'fighting AI programs' as you claim.

Look. I've been on tumblr a while. I've seen fear explode and spread like wildfire before (4chan incident, for example). I think it's a little misguided to mass panic (about something that has existed for years). The only evidence I could find was those three examples on reddit. I really don't think that equates to the chaos on this issue.

I'll also be clear that I'm not exactly an AI defender, and I dislike Elon Musk for many many reasons. I do think AI writing is a little more murky than AI generated images (certainly worthy of concern) because it's hard to prove much direct copying, especially in the case of Fanfiction which, by nature, involves existing IPs.

Does AI call into question a lot of potential societal problems? Yes. Is it straight up nefarious and evil? Nope, not in my opinion anyway.

That aside I also don't really care on a personal level. For me, writing is a hobby that I'm fortunate to be able to share with others. I also think there comes a point where the concept of artistic 'ownership' becomes asinine anyway, but that's a whole other debate.

My specific posts:

I have been using my OWN existing fanfic summaries as a basis. I don't think I can really be accused of stealing my own work. And as I said, I don't see enough evidence to prove in anyway that these bots are directly ripping things from AO3 in the copyright sense (as in, content in tact enough that it could be traced to an original author).

In other words, thank you and all, but I don't really like this kind of scare posting. Especially if you're not going to source or back up your claims, whatever your intent this comes across as spreading misinformation. I found my little experiment both interesting and amusing, and ultimately what I share on my blog in my relatively tiny corner of the internet is my decision.

TLDR: Don't believe everything you read on the internet - do research before forming solid opinions.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Link to my masterlist for earlier chapters or other stuff I've written

His Queen

Part 3

Bri ripped open the letter, amazed it was handwritten and in cursive! Knowing Roman, he had an assistant write it, but she felt a warmth in her chest knowing he’d truly loved her all along.

To My Queen, Briana Godfrey,

(Admit it! That sounds way better than Tucker, have the lawyers change it.)

Oh, and before I get into it, I wrote this myself. No assistants, so fuck you for thinking it.

Bri smiled a sad smile at how they still knew how the other thought.

I have to start off by saying thank you for reading this letter. That means you're at the white tower. I don't deserve you. I've turned into everything I never wanted to become. Everything you made me believe I could escape. You are the light to my darkness and I'm so sorry I disappointed you. I don’t have a lot of time, but I needed a plan in case I fail. You’re the only person I trust with my company, my money, my daughter, my legacy, my heart, all of it. I am an absolute crack head level blood addict, and I couldn’t trust myself when we got overly emotional to keep my head. Because I love you so much, you can make me so upset, and That last fight we got into, I scared myself. I don’t blame you for slapping me, but to hold back from returning the blow, I literally broke my own hand... but this is not what this letter is about.

Peter and my sick half-sister Annie have stolen my daughter. Peter is hell-bent on destroying me because he killed Destiny's trash fiance, and lied about it, so she blamed me and attacked me and I hurt her bad enough to foresee issues with peter, so I broke her neck to avoid problems figuring it was showing her some mercy since she was heartbroken. Annie was there and when I refused to carry on an incestuous relationship with her, she turned on me and told Peter about Destiny. So he came after me and fucking shot me, we fought and I won, but didn't cut his head off so I knew he’d be fine. Well, he calls me and has my kid and won't turn her over, and says he's going to kill me so even though I doubt it, Nadia needs someone to raise her, and if I'm killed it's not my whore of a sister Annie. I need you to find Nadia and take her home and raise her as she deserves. She’s such a sweet baby and she adores you.

Find Shelley and she can help you maybe. She’s in love with this weird old poet and chooses to live at the old steel mill. Calls it Rooster Poop. Can’t make this shit up.

The entire security team is trying to find Nadia, so contact them and see where they’re at with it.

you are the love of my life and I refused to ever say so, even though we both knew it was true. I would bullshit and say it’s cuz I was saving you from myself, but I’m not that fucking noble. You scared me more than anything ever scared me in my life. God, it's great to admit I love you. Like I need to make up a new word for how I feel for you cuz love isn’t strong enough.

there’s a pretty poem I saw that reminded me of you;

I’d still choose you.

In a hundred lifetimes,

in a hundred worlds,

in any version of reality,

I’d find you and I’d choose you.

Even though I knew you were going to break my heart again and again.

I’d still choose you.

It’s crazy how happy I am writing you a letter, even with every aspect of my life in shambles, you’re my light.

You get everything. Fuck all of them. You were right about everything. If I survive this shit, I am winning you back if it takes 100 years and I have to spend every cent. This is literally a reset.

I tried to forget your baby girl but I never could. No amount of drugs, money, blood, or bullshit could ever distract me from the constant ache in my heart for only you. You’re the only pussy I ever wanna see again. I ran thru a fantastic amount of pussy after you left and none of them made me forget you for even a moment. I pictured you or I could not get off. It was pathetic. I hope I get to see you again and rip up this fucking letter.

I looked back over this and there’s a reason I have other people write shit up for me. A few requests to seriously consider:

-->Blitzky should take over for Pryce. Not only is he a genius, he's a good guy. He's a bit soft, so you may have to be the bad guy.

-->Get a new nanny. The current one looks good on paper but she's an idiot.

--> Live in the white tower. It's secure and safe and you can make as many floors as you like home.

--> if an animal killed me, it's Peter and he's still a wolf. He’ll be white. Kill him, cut off his head and burn him up in the incinerator.

--> if Annie comes around at all, kill her. She's very manupulative and acts religious and nice. She's crazy and not to be trusted.

-->try and convince Shelley to live in the mansion and have her little homeless community there. She doesn't care about money but she cares about people, so offer it as a safe haven. Make sure it stays stocked in necessities like toilet paper, soap, cleaning materials, etc and write it all off as a charity contribution. Make the whole endeavor a big tax write off, but don't tell Shelley that part. Just tell her it was my dying wish she had a home.

--> the loser she's with has legal problems. Have the legal department solve them so he's got no reason to desert her.

-->if Peters mom comes sniffing around, don't tell her a damn thing. I doubt she will tho, she's a wanted fugitive.

--> don't trust any gypsies.

--> Nadia is very intelligent. She can read minds, influence dreams, and kill anyone or anything just by looking at them. She's dangerous and shouldn't be allowed around animals or people until she can understand the concept of death and consequences. There's no way to control her, I have found.

--> I promised a homeless man I ate that id pay for his sons school. Anonymously pay for Mathew Shandwicks classes, books and dorm at Penn State for all 4 years. His father traded his life without a single complaint so it's imperative you keep my word.

-->make sure Nadia isn't a spoiled brat like me. Teach her about her mother and her father and all the good things about us. Leave out we were related if you can swing it. Just say we were young and loved each other very much. I enclosed a pack of photos of me and Letha for her.

I wonder what you’re wearing... That reminds me; if I’m really dead, you have to be in mourning at least two years. That means all black suits and dresses that cover you up, black nails, big black hats like you just left a Catalina Yacht Mixer or you’re going to a royal wedding. I even got you black lab coats just in case.Don’t half ass this. It’s important.

Also I want “Fuck you” by the Archives played at my funeral, if it comes to that.

Hopefully, you never see this letter because I got everything fixed here, and went and found you and you ran into my arms and we lived happily ever after, and I have a whole lifetime with you... But just in case...

All my love,

Roman Godfrey

P.s. - since you're a genius, hopefully you can fix me or bring me back. I hope you still love me even 10% as much as I love you, because then nothing can stop us.

Brianna stared at the page as her tears fell on it swirling the ink in designs and spirals. She knew he’d always loved her, but it was bittersweet seeing him finally admit it. She took the photos out of the envelope and looked through them.

Looking through the pictures was heart-wrenching. There had to be a way to fix all this! She tried to remember everything she’d learned about Upirs from that dreadful Russian women and Pryce. Luckily they’d been a bit of an obsession for her that she delved into when Roman pulled his shit. Being obsessed with Upirs had distracted her from obsessing over the real issue.

Just as she started to wonder when Mueller and Edwards would be back, as if by magic, the elevator doors opened. They had brought Dr. Blitzkey with them as well.

“Oh my gosh! You’re alive! I’m so happy to see you’re ok and still here!” Bri said as she ran up and embraced Blitzky. “Where is Roman? I need to see him.”

Blitzky looked at the ground nervously before meeting your eyes. “It’s not fixable.”

“No matter. I just NEED to see him. Please?” She begged.

“Okay. He has several severe traumatic injuries so please prepare yourself for that.”

“What happened to him?”

“Some Type of animal attacked him in the old mansion and pushed him out the upper story window, fracturing his spine and neck which most likely left him paralyzed and vulnerable. His throat and heart were then ripped out.”

“Peter.” Bri said darkly. He was going to pay for his betrayal. She would make sure of that.

“I mean that’s the most logical conclusion but after all Roman did for that little degenerate, ” Blitzky muttered.

Bri nodded solemnly.

“Hate to interrupt your happy little party but we have several forms that need immediate attention, to get this shit show back on the road,” Edwards interjected.

“They’ll have to wait till after I see Roman. You lead the way Blitzkey, you two stay here.” She said firmly stepping into the elevator with the doctor. Both lawyers looked furious but did as they were told since they were honestly intimidated by this young woman that had all this piled on her, and seemed unfazed.

As soon as the doors closed she sank to her knees and screamed. The tears came flooding out of her eyes as her body was wracked by sobs. It’s like she’d been hit by a truck. The realization that Roman was really gone finally sinking in.

Blitzky didn’t know what he should do. He was a genius, but completely clueless when it came to social and interpersonal skills. He hesitantly patted Bri on the head like a golden retriever, unsure how long was comforting so he just kept doing it. “You’re strong.”

Bri glanced up at Blitzky through her foggy tears and couldn't help but agree. She WAS strong.

The elevator opened to their floor as she looked down at the floor.

“Well” Blitzkey peeped, unsure of what to do, “this is it.”

“We have to fix him Blitzkey. There’s got to be a way.” she said rising to her feet, as if the little display he just witnessed never happened.

“You’re the boss.” Blitzky said as cheerful as he could muster.

“I’m giving you Pryce’s position. I trust you.”

“Thank you! I wasn't sure if maybe you'd want to take charge.... What will you do? Take over for Roman?”

“Until I can bring him back, I guess I’ll have to. I will bring him back Blitzkey.... If I have to make a deal with the Devil himself.” Bri stated adamantly before setting off down the hall like a woman possessed.

[beckettmoba468-blog]

KRATOM: THE INTENSE TREE WHICH MIGHT HELP OPIOID JUNKIES-- In Case THE DEA DOESN'T BAN IT

The girl up in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. It is a little community, upscale and charmingly New England. Heroin was very available there, and very great.

She stopped going to school, stopped doing much of anything besides scoring drugs, doing drugs, taking things, offering things, scoring more drugs, doing more drugs. "This was the start of the New England heroin epidemic," she states.

That experience was mirrored around the nation. In 2014, overdoses from heroin or prescription opioids eliminated 30,000 people-- 4 times as many than in 1999. Today, 3,900 brand-new people begin utilizing prescription opioids for non-medical purposes every day. Almost 600 start taking heroin. The yearly health and social expenses of the prescription opioid crisis in America? $55 billion.

Campellone kicked her routine at 19-- with rehabilitation, suboxone, and a great deal of determination-- and left west, to the San Francisco Bay Area. She started working at a natural treatment shop in Berkeley. Her employers and co-workers introduced her to a wide variety of plant-based items, among them a tart-tasting leaf called kratom. It gives a minor, blissful high. Like the feeling that stays when you spin around in circles after the dizziness disappears. It was also a decent painkiller, so she 'd take it when she was harmed, or on her menstruation.

And, on two celebrations, she used it to assist with the withdrawal signs following heroin regressions. "Nothing actually feels excellent when you're withdrawing from heroin, so no matter what you're taking, you're still in pain and it's quite agonizing," says Campellone. Kratom assisted some.

Campellone never needs a prescription to get kratom. And when she does not take it, she does not crave it like she yearned for heroin. She was surprised when, on August 30, the DEA revealed that it was pursuing an emergency scheduling of mitragynine and 7-hydroxymitragynine, the active alkaloids in kratom.

The DEA Takes an Exception to Kratom

Biologically, kratom acts enough like an opioid that DEA considers it a hazard to public safety. The agency prepared to use a regulatory system called emergency situation scheduling to place it in the very same restrictive category as marijuana, lsd, and heroin . This classification, Schedule I, is scheduled for what the DEA thinks about the most hazardous drugs-- those with no redeeming medical value, and a high potential for abuse.

Prior to they finalized the scheduling, something surprising occurred. An advocacy group called the American Kratom Association (yes, AKA) raised $400,000 from its impassioned membership-- remarkable for a nonprofit that generally raises $80,000 a year-- to spend for lobbyists and lawyers , who got Congress on their side.

On September 30, agents both liberal and conservative -- from Orrin Hatch to Bernie Sanders-- penned a letter to the DEA. "Given the long reported history of kratom use, coupled with the general public's belief that it is a safe alternative to prescription opioids, our company believe using the regular review process would offer a much-needed discussion among all stakeholders," they wrote.

The DEA raised the notification of emergency situation scheduling, and opened a public remark period till December 1. Galloway could not recall another circumstances when the DEA responded to public protest like this.

They are from: people who use kratom to alleviate chronic pain or endometriosis or gout; people who utilize kratom to deal with depression or wean off opioids or alcohol; individuals who stated it conserved their life. "It does not permit you to escape your issues," states Susan Ash, founder of the AKA, who utilized kratom to deal with pain and leave an dependency to prescription opioids.

And definitely not adequate to back up https://www.drugs.com/illicit/kratom.html all the life-altering claims extolled in public comments, and by the many kratom users we spoke with. And must the DEA follow through on its guarantee to set up kratom, these people will end up being bad guys overnight.

For Ash, that's entirely undesirable. "I desire the future to look like this is your next coffee," she states.

An Herb Wades Into an Opioid Crisis

Kratom is not an opioid-- really, it remains in the coffee family-- but its active molecules bind to the same neuronal receptors as opioids like heroin, codeine, oxycodone, and morphine . Typically, those drugs offer users a feeling of euphoria and dull their pain-- that's why David *, a previous boarding school instructor, started using prescription opioids to treat his discomfort from ski injuries. He became addicted, when his prescriptions ran out, he changed to heroin. "I ended up being a high functioning user," he states. "My addiction was never detected at my place of work, although I do think my habits became more unpredictable."

When David ultimately devoted himself to rehab, his doctors weaned him off heroin using suboxone, a combination of 2 drugs-- buprenorphine, a partial opioid that satiates the body's chemical thirst, and naltrexone, which blocks any euphoric opioid sensations. But suboxone can give users symptoms of withdrawal, not to discuss a dulled sense of reality. And users like David can still find ways to abuse it. "Dependence on that was different from heroin, and it ended up being easier to take more suboxone to a higher high, or offering it to score heroin once again," he states.

As of this writing, though, David has been tidy for 18 months-- success that he credits to kratom. Since it binds to the same receptors as opioids, kratom users report similar blissful and pain-killing effects, but they're silenced. After other 12 step recuperating addicts presented David to the plant, it helped him rebuild his life-- he did ultimately lose that boarding school teaching task-- and handle the physical pain that got him hooked on opioids to start with.

Since it mirrors opioids in other methods, the issue is that kratom is also addicting. David and a number of other users we spoke with said kratom is practice forming, to some degree, though one study in Southeast Asia found that for people using it to kick an opioid dependency, the dependence is far less most likely to disrupt their lives. "When I take kratom, that addicting part of me kicks in and it becomes regular," says Jeffrey *, another previous opioid addict.

There is no doubt, nevertheless, that kratom is less damaging than opioids-- even take-home synthetics like suboxone. "The 2 main alkaloids in kratom, 7-hydroxy and mitragynine , appear to have a low ceiling for breathing depression," says pharmacologist Jack Henningfield of the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, who with the consulting company Pinney Associates has actually encouraged the AKA on kratom scheduling.

Notice he stated "purely." In its preliminary notice of emergency scheduling for kratom, the DEA did connect the drug to 15 deaths between 2014 and 2016. That accounting disregards the reality that all however one of those individuals had other substances in their systems. Folks utilizing kratom to wean themselves off opioids may still be taking those opioids.

And some deaths might be associated to contamination: Because kratom isn't really strictly regulated, bad actors can and do lace the plant with real opioids, like the extremely effective synthetic opioid fentanyl. Well, we've got a unique kratom item,'" Henningfield says. The concern is whether the DEA's scheduling is the right kind.

Regulative Wranglings

The FDA might help avoid contamination-related deaths by strictly regulating kratom as a supplement, rather than the DEA scheduling it as a drug. "FDA has a lot of authority to really help consumers know that what they're buying is exactly what is labeled, and have at least some level of assurance," Henningfield states. "It's not near to the drug requirement, but it's better than something that's illegally marketed."

"The choice to completely schedule any drug is not a DEA unilateral decision," states Steve Bell, a DEA representative. The FDA approved the drug in 2002, and the Department of Health and Human Services suggested that the DEA put it in Schedule III, which the DEA accepted.

Schedule I, though, is an totally various rodeo. No one can touch the things if the DEA locations kratom here. Current users, must they continue to utilize, will be forced to even sketchier sources. And researchers will have a more difficult time discovering how kratom works, and supporting, or refuting, the claims users make with tough information. (Consider marijuana, likewise a Schedule I drug. Science has a dearth of data on it since getting licenses to study the drug is an exercise in bureaucratic insanity.).

All that research https://www.wired.com/2016/11/kratom-bitter-plant-help-opioid-addicts-dea-doesnt-ban study costs cash. Which is kratom's catch-22: The DEA wishes to set up the drug due to the fact that they believe it might posture a danger to public health, but the only method to confirm (or refute) the DEA's concerns is with more research-- which will be beside difficult ought to the DEA follow through on its pledge to schedule.

Among the few researchers studying kratom is the University of Florida's Oliver Grundmann, who is finishing up an online study of almost 10,000 users. And the information (preliminary, though Grundmann prepares to release a paper in the coming months) exposes a different profile of kratom users than you 'd anticipate from an " illegal" recreational drug.

" The age variety is more geared toward an older population," states Grundmann, "which is most likely to experience work related injuries or acute or persistent pain from another medical condition." Over half of users are in between the ages of 31 and 50. Eighty-two percent completed at least some college. Nearly 30 percent of participants pull in a household income of over $75,000 a year. Not the party drug group. And the public talk about the DEA's scheduling notice show that population. A number of those folks are using kratom to either wean themselves off prescription opioids or use the drug alone to deal with discomfort.

Still, that's self-medication utilizing a product that might be polluted. "The market requires to come together," states Susan Ash of the AKA. "There's no way the FDA is going to feel comfy not seeing this as a set up illegal drug without a dedication from the market that there will be correct measures put in location." Better labeling, for instance, would be a start.

Grundmann states he understands the DEA's motivation. "They do not wish to have another drug out there that could possibly contribute to the already devastating opioid epidemic that some neighborhoods are experiencing," he says. "But on the other side, we also have to think about that the 4 to 5 million estimated users of kratom may face a health crisis of their own if kratom becomes scheduled.".

Anecdotes and Evidence.

Ariana Campellone takes her kratom with coconut milk and protein powder. She mixes, watering down with water to take the swellings out of the mix. By itself, the stuff tastes awful. Like oversteeped tea, or a mouthful of peat. She thinks the comparison to coffee is a bit overstated. "Coffee gives me a visible spike and high, and can feel when I'm coming down," she says.

The DEA's public comment duration closes tomorrow. The firm says it will think about those remarks alongside the FDA's medical and scientific examination before proceeding to schedule. The FDA did not react in time to talk about this story.

If the DEA follows through on its previous intent to schedule, Campellone says she'll still continue to use kratom. Those costs, those threats-- those inconveniences-- may not be worth it to some kratom users.