#she was made using ChatGPT

[sleepyy-jayy]

i am a sage fanatic an absolute madman quite obsessed the biggest stan imaginable my beautiful amazing scrunkly daughter

i made crimis edits of her

have i mentioned i love sage

[dullahandyke]

sidenote speaking of polls that infuriated me, that poll like 'does a story require themes to be good' was sent from hell to kill me

[horely]

I was at a symposium on AI research this week and an expert in the field said basically each single exchange with ChatGPT is equivalent to pouring out a half-liter of water...

like... my college students have flat out told me that they have ChatGPT summarize all of the readings for class instead of reading them & they generate drafts/ideas for projects with that too, so even beyond the fabrication of sources and issues of academic integrity, they are:

1) Not engaging with the full content,

2) Not learning the skills to engage with and research these topics moving forward,

3) Becoming more reliant on a tool that is literally SO BAD for sustainability efforts?

we need to make using chatgpt embarrassing bc sorry it really is. what do you mean you can’t write an email

[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

______________________________________________________________

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[agirlwithglam]

📚 It girl's guide to school 📚

hiii girls! this is part of the big Guide to being the It Girl. this section will be all about school, studying and academics. i'll teach you how to tackle school, get the highest grades effortlessly, and look chic and gorgeous doing it! the rest of the ultimate it girl series is linked! 🎀

guide to getting good grades:

LISTEN IN CLASS. one of the best tips ever. if you would actually listen to what your teachers teaching in class, you’d get to spend a lot less time studying.

ask if you need help! these teachers are qualified for the job, they’re meant to be good at it. so if you don’t understand something, don’t be afraid to ask. and if you’re really too much of a chicken, ask once the class is over or email the teacher. but honestly? half the kids probably aren’t even listening tbh so u do ur thing!

participate in class. actually participating in class will help you so much in recalling the information. it’s a great way to actively revise. you don’t have to be a teachers pet or anything, but if you know the answer, put yourself out there. anyone who judges you simply judges themselves and their inability to speak up.

change up your environment so that you're still interested and excited to learn! you could go to a coffee shop, set up a mini picnic in the woods, go to a library, etc.

use alter egos!! i will never stop recommending this because it really is an amazing tip. either you can create your own alter ego who loves to study and gets high grades, or you could pretend you're rory gilmore or hermione granger!

revision/ study techniques:

feynman technique: teach it to someone else/ to plushies. try not to look at your notes too much, pretend ur a teacher.

use practice questions/ practice exams! trust me this can be so helpful! try and find past exams and go over them in exam conditions so you can see what u missed later. or, you can get all the info and ask an AI like chatgpt to write questions based on it and go through them!

BLURTING! love this method! basically, you write all the information you know about the topic on one page (optional: set a time limit) and then go over it with a different colour pen and add in what you missed. do this a couple times until you haven't missed anything! - you can do this by creating a mind-map, or literally just scribbling down everything you know.

SQ3R method: survey/ skim over the text, question- make questions on it, read- begin reading to find the answers to the questions, recite- summarise the words in a section in your own words, review- quiz yourself on what you just learnt

organise/ prioritise what you need to study using the traffic light method. first, identify the topics, then highlight them according to these 3 colors: red- struggling a lot/ no idea , yellow- okay ish, need to work on it a bit tho , green- good understanding & confident on the topic.

make associations. this is especially helpful for when you need to memorise things. the thing you need to memorise- link it to stuff that you already know.

⭐️ use mnemonics, songs, raps to remember! a couple years back, my science teacher made us create a rap on osmosis (a biology term). and not even kidding, i still remember the simple definition of what it does because of that rap! so create songs or rap and maybe even make a whole music video on it! trust me, not only is it so fun but it really does help keep the information in your mind!

more resources:

huge big list of studying and school

another big study masterpost

100 reasons to study

how to be a whole new student this year

ACE your exams -by me!

study icons:

as i mentioned earlier, channelling the energy of a character who already studies and gets good grades is an amazing way of getting yourself motivated! here are some of my favs & tips to study like them! (p.s i've also added links to the names for a more in depth guide on each person!)

♡ rory gilmore

she loves studying- develop that mindset! have a passion for learning more.

"i can go from 0 to studying in less than 60 seconds"

switch between different subjects when you get bored

ask someone to test you with flashcards

♡ elle woods:

study while you exercise- take care of ur body too!

"what, like its hard?"- i love her sm for this!! if anyone else can do something, of course you can do it too!

be ambitious + have strong source of motivation

get into study groups

♡ paris geller

have the discipline and ambition to do the things that will get you to where you want.

"i want to win, and i'm going to win." - love this, she's sure of herself and confident in her abilities.

prioritise & use to do lists

start early to be the top of your class!

♡ blair waldorf

honestly its so fun to embody her energy of high value, cares about her education, so confident and takes no sh*t from others!

"anything you can do, i can do better"

always have a plan

have flash cards, take notes

♡ hermione granger

always participate in class!

read more about the material. + learn more!

teach others & help them study

finish the hw/ work quickly and do the extra credit!

stylish in school 101:

SURVIVING SCHOOL AIR: here are some tips to staying/ looking pretty and refreshed all day at school bc u and i both know the horrors of school air 🙀 :)

DRINK WATER. stay hydrated - very important. always drink water. this keeps your lips hydrated, face hydrated, and just makes you look a lil less dead.

lip gloss/ lip balm to reapply throughout the day, esp for my girlies with chapped lips! i keep lip balm in my pocket so its always there when needed, but you can also keep it in your locker/ bag/ pencil case.

perfume. you can keep it in your locker/ bag/ pencil case to spray whenever needed and smell sweet and amazing the entire day <3

stop touching your face!! your hands have so much crusty dust and bacteria that can give pimples on your face.

keep hair away from your face. leave it out if you want, but try to make sure it doesn't touch your face too much- it also has tons of crusty musty dusty germs

keep a hairbrush in your locker. listen, i know how messy hair can get during school so keeping it in school is SO helpful to maintain the tidyness and cleanliness

waterproof makeup - if you wear makeup.

sunscreen!! keep. applying. SUNSCREENN!! i'm not going to elaborate further on this point.

ACCESSORISING YOUR UNIFORM!!

this is for the girlies who have a school uniform! i understand it can be so annoying so to have more fun and feel more confident, ACCESSORIZEE everything as much as you're allowed! here are some ideas!

♡ necklesses

♡ bracelets

♡ bows in your hair

♡ bows in your bag

♡ bows everywhere basically 🎀

♡ decorate your ipad/ pencilcase with stickers

♡ headbands

♡ rings

♡ cute earrings

♡ cute watch

♡ nails

♡ a cute clip!

the ultimate it girl series

xoxo, vanilla!

[aristoteliancomplacency]

You’re absolutely right that there’s clear hyperbole going on in that tweet thread, but you have to be feeling very uncharitable indeed to claim that the worry of ‘reverting to where AI is’ is an indulgent statement that ‘doesn’t mean anything.’ It’s really very easy to understand what the student meant - the exact meaning is explained within that same tweet (along with how they’re defining ‘dumber’). She is referring to loss of ability / practice in thinking critically.

Given that they’re doing this for an assignment I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re drawing that claim from an article like this. Which certainly makes it sound far less knee-jerk and more like a response which has some logical and calm thought behind it. Concerns about impact on critical thinking skills, it turns out, are indeed a totally legitimate concern to have. (Brain atrophy is another thing, of course, which sounds more like a term first year students might bandy around without fully understanding it).

Of course, you’re fully entitled to your interpretation but on that particular point I’d suggest you’re being as reactionary as you’re an accusing them of being and engaging in a very bad faith interpretation. They’re very, very clearly not talking about AI as a field of study. C’mon.

‘But everyone in my peer group that I know knows way more about this’ is a sentiment that will often be true (or its opposite will be). I am constantly surprised at what, in turns out, most people my age don’t know - or what I don’t know that supposedly most people my age do know. Anecdotal evidence is still just anecdotal evidence, after all. And it’s certainly not enough to extrapolate across an entire country, let alone the globe. And if you’re on tumblr you’re more likely to be Online, and far more likely to be aware of all tech issues. You specified you did an intro to computer science and learnt Java and wrote code for a basic AI: of course your experience is atypical for your generation. Most students don’t do that.

And on the other side of that - this tweet thread is also just one group of students! It’s not evidence that all students - or even the majority - were so unaware of the pitfalls of relying on chatGPT to generate accurate info. But from hearing academics talk about their encounters with students and chatGPT in other places, it’s also not a unique experience.

There’s a lot of discussion about chat GPT among academics. Some have students who understand the issues, are skeptical of it, etc. others have massive issues with plagiarism, with students not understanding how it works, etc. the situation can be so drastically different between different unis (or even departments, or even individual classes tbh). This is absolutely not a unique situation in terms of people reporting how little some of their students understand about chatGPT (and that’s not even getting into the issue of how little many academics themselves understand about it - recall that recent incident what a prof tried to fail a whole class bc he asked chatGPT if it could have generated their essays and somehow took its reply to mean that it had generated them?)

Tl;dr: I agree the language here is very dramatic. I agree privacy should be a big concern (though in this context I can also see why it didn’t come up - it’s not relevant to how accurately chatGPT wrote an essay). I think it’s also very dramatic to suggest that what the students understand now is worse than their previous total ignorance.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for turning someone in for academic dishonesty?

I’m an American IB diploma candidate, and this ask does center around that, so sorry if we all just sound unbearably seventeen-years-old.

If you don’t know what the IB diploma is, think of it as if you had to write a bunch of essays and take a bunch of classes and do a bunch of service hours and then take AP tests on all those classes and add the AP scores together, and if they add up to a certain number, you get a special diploma that looks good to colleges.

Only eight people in the entire grade (we’re seniors and our exams are happening so we’re at the very end) are left in the IB diploma program right now because we made it this far and are all hoping our exam scores and essays. The program isn’t super popular at our school so we tend to have to mostly prepare ourselves for exams and such, so we’re all very proud of ourselves for getting this far and hoping that when our scores come out we get the diploma.

In short, we’ve done TONS of work. TONS OF WORK. And we haven’t received the amount of support that some IB schools are able to give. And suddenly, one of the IB diploma candidates admits in the group chat, “yeah, chatgpt wrote all of my IB essays.” If you know stuff about IB, she explicitly admitted to cheating on her Extended Essay, TOK Essay, TOK exhibition, Chemistry HL IA, History HL IA, Literature HL Essay, and Art HL Comparative Study.

That’s hours and hours and hours and hours of work that the rest of the diplomats candidates did that she’s just flippantly admitting she let an AI do for her.

but…….it also wasn’t really any of my business. So I wasn’t sure whether I should tell or not—especially since I’m the known goody-two-shoes of the group and I didn’t want to be viewed as a tattletale.

I asked two of the diploma candidates I’m friends with what they thought. One of them said “don’t be a snitch,” and the other said she wasn’t sure and kinda felt like I should talk. So… split response.

I was leaning towards “don’t be a snitch,” but eventually I just felt really indignant that this girl and I might receive the same end result for doing wildly different amounts of work. And I had evidence that she cheated—she admitted it herself. So I went to the school’s IB coordinator and I talked. I showed the screenshot. I essentially betrayed one of the candidates in a very tight knit group of students who are all breaking our backs to get this diploma with little to no IB-specific support from our teachers (our classes are all co-seated with non-IB-test-takers, who take up most of the class, which is an entirely different issue), but now it turns out one of us wasn’t even doing the work the whole time…

So I did it and it went to the administration and they’re “deciding how to proceed.”

Reason I’m worried I’m TA: she trusted us with that information and I told on her

Reason I think I might not be TA: it feels unfair that we should have the same shot at getting the IB diploma when the nights I stayed up crafting the perfect extended essay were the same nights she asked chatgpt to write her an essay and then moved on with her life and somehow did it well enough to not get caught.

AITA?

[lalalian]

weird/uncommon genres | dr ideas

date: december 16, 2024

Im never making a joke again 😭 after talking to my friend abt it, i feel better, but im still too scared. I thought poop jokes were childish and funny, like “your mom” 😭 regardless, nobody's seeing a joke from me ever again unless it’s on tiktok-- just to be clear tho, even if I found it funny, if the other party didn't, obviously the fault relies on me

I saw a guy get canceled for saying “your mom” too— though tbf it’s bc in Confucian countries it’s really bad to joke about your parents

sjfhdhsks I wanna cry…

Anyway, I haven't done these in awhile; I'm not sure if yall like my aethergarde academy posts more, these kinds of posts, or both (equally).

it's been awhile-- here's some weird ass genres you could make a DR from.

disclaimer: I used chatgpt (out of curiousity for some of these genres, those genres are made up and are not actual terms. Italicized ideas are ones from chatGPT. Guys it's unfair how good chatgpt is getting.. my brother told me that the goal of the current model is to have the AI simulate proper critical thinking instead of simply spitting out information.. isn't that crazy)

futuristic

cli-fi - this genre delves not only into climate change itself, but issues relating to the sun disappearing, or the world freezing. I remember seeing a shifter somewhere saying that she shifted here bc in her previous reality climate change was getting really really bad.

social sci-fi - focuses on how humans interact and behave in a futuristic setting.

planetary romance - exploration of different planets + romance, especially with an alien. Also characterized by distinctive extraterrestrial cultures and backgrounds.

data gothic - cyberpunk x gothic horror; characters encounter malevolent AI beings, digital ghosts, and corrupted data streams.

cosmic agriculture - genre focused on growing plant life in outer space or on different planets. Can also including breeding alien organisms (bacteria).

psychic noir - solve crimes in a world where memories, emotions, and thoughts could be hacked, manipulated, or weaponized. I think I'd make the memory thing extremely hard to do, since if it was too common I think it'd cause way too much havoc.

eco-metamorphosis - kinda like alien stage, but if you'd like, it could be less dark. This genre centers around earth being colonized by aliens, but the goal isn't to reject these changes, but rather to coexist with the other species.

liminal

slipstream - "speculative fiction that blends together science fiction, fantasy, and literary fiction or does not remain in conventional boundaries of genre and narrative"

abandoned intentions - explore incomplete worlds-- as if the world was abandoned mid-creation.

fantasy

lost world - discovering a hidden civilization, like atlantis or lumeria.

subterranean - a world that is primarily in an underground setting; similar to the hollow earth theory.

mythic/mythopeia -  "fiction that is rooted in, inspired by, or that in some way draws from the tropes, themes, and symbolism of myth, legend, folklore, and fairy tales."; very similar to my wandering apocathary dr.

oceanic

nautical fiction - relationship between humans and the sea; "human relationship to the sea and sea voyages and highlights nautical culture in these environment".

wholesome/cute

furry sleuth - this is not about furries-- this is essentially a mystery where the main character is a household animal, typically a dog. Said animal would be the detective and solve mysteries.

cashier memoir - this genre always takes place in the head of a cashier. The goal is to come across as many different kinds of people as possible. This would be incredibly boring in this reality, but imagine if you were a barista in a fantasy or futuristic reality... you'd come across a lot of people without much effort or mental strain.

epistolary - a story told exclusively through fictional letters, newspaper articles, emails, and even texts. This isn't necessarily a genre of DR, but I think it'd be really interesting to guess/assume the plot of a DR through short snippets of letters or texts.

[nathaniacolver]

i feel like tumblr NEEDS to know about Dr. Ally Louks, and the term "Olfactory Ethics"

(long post incoming)

storytime/timeline:

on november 27, 2024, an excited English Literature PhD recipient posted a picture of herself with her thesis, titled:

"Olfactory Ethics: The Politics of Smell in Modern and Contemporary Prose"

as you can see (on the bottom row, above), the tweet has been viewed over 119 MILLION times, and has received over 250k likes. unfortunately, within days (most of the replies dating december 1st), she had garnered what seems like every possible insecure man with a twitter account to post their vitriol and rage concerning the fact that a woman is clearly more well-researched than them. regardless, she tanked it ALL with kindness and with a smile:

AND I MEAN VITRIOL (queen of making boundaries clear):

(inserting reading break for the timeline's space's sake):

here's her abstract:

and in case the abstract wasn't clear, she has since (date: december 16th) taken the time to re-summarize her thesis for the layman (yes that is a link! click it! 3min read!)

she has repeatedly shown just the perfect amount of kindness and understanding for those who are simply Not Comprehending (mostly december 1st):

(the chatGPT hate in the next one is my favorite:)

has upheld an incredibly high moral standard of how she interacts with the situation (december 2nd):

ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS: regardless of this crap, she made it clear that as a professor, her FIRST priority at the end of the semester would be taking care of them (december 3rd)

(CAN SHE GET MORE BASEDDDDDDDDDD)

she stays both 1) educating the masses, and 2) engaging with pop culture as much as a normal person would (december 9th-17th):

she also supports a free palestine (WHO IS SURPRISED. NOT ME.) ((december 15th))

here's the BEST FREAKING THING ABOUT THIS. since this all has happened, RANDOM TWITTER USERS, UNKNOWINGLY, have REPEATEDLY proven her thesis to be true,

again,

and again,

AND AGAIN.

EVEN CARDI B DO YOU HEAR MEEEEEEEE

COMBATING MISOGYNOIR WITH HER OWN BARE HANDSSSSS

oh she knows she's mother

here's some more she never saw/commented on (INCLUDING SOME FROM TODAY. IT IS STILL GOING ON. EVERY SINGLE DAY LIKE CLOCKWORK SOMEONE POSTS SOMETHING THAT PROVES HER POINTS ABOUT OLFACTORY ETHICS):

THE WICKED MOVIE REFERENCE HELLO

apparently, OTHER academics are mad at her for being so famous and influential, but she stays unbothered (december 16th, and TODAY, december 19th):

and she's partially getting her post-doc on how people's sense of smell has been altered (december 1st):

and the best part is!

all of these screenshots i've collected are only a SAMPLE, illustrating dr. louks' indomitably kind and ethical character.

anyway. i want ALL of y'all to start saying, out loud, "olfactory ethics", or even better, "dr. louks was RIGHT" (something something women's names are erased something) every time you see something that plays into her thesis. never let her influence die. THINK THROUGH what you're REALLY saying when you comment on the smell of something, or how your perception has been shaped by society. USE THIS PHOTO IF YOU HAVE TO:

follow her on twitter (@DrAllyLouks) or bluesky (idk her handle, if someone tells me i'll edit it in)

AND SAY HER NAME!! DR. ALLY LOUKS

[justasadlittledoctor]

I know there’s already a lot of actual factual information out there about how ChatGPT is bad and students shouldn’t be using it and I know I don’t really need to throw my opinion in too, but here it goes.

I really think kids who are growing up with access to ChatGPT to do their schoolwork for them are losing out on an important development in decision-making ability, and I am particularly talking about the ones who think it’s ok because “I don’t use it for EVERYTHING, I do most stuff myself, it’s just when I run out of time to do an assignment so I have to use it” <- direct quote I’ve heard from many, many, many students.

Because we used to end up in situations like that back before ChatGPT too. We would also run out of time, either through poor planning or through underestimation of our workload. We also ended up with a 20 page paper that was due the next day that we hadn’t even started.

And that was when we had to decide. Either write something rushed and probably poor quality and turn it in on time, or take a little more time and make it better but turn it in late and accept whatever punishment there was for late assignments. Or you could try to talk to the teacher about it and she if there’s any chance in hell they’ll award you an extension.

The point is, we had options, and none of them were very good, but we had to pick one. There was no way out. We had no escape door. We had to make a decision when none of the options were great, and I think that’s an important experience to have. By not having an escape route, we had to just take our punishment and hopefully learn from the experience. But even if we didn’t learn a damn thing and we ended up in the same situation for the next assignment, we still made a tough decision.

I see all these medical students justifying their use of ChatGPT to do assignments under the explanation that “they don’t do it for everything, it’s just because this time they had no time to do this assignment”.

I just can’t help but wonder if there could be some negative consequences to them always having an easy way out and never having to make a difficult decision between two bad outcomes.

[probablyasocialecologist]

The programmer Simon Willison has described the training for large language models as “money laundering for copyrighted data,” which I find a useful way to think about the appeal of generative-A.I. programs: they let you engage in something like plagiarism, but there’s no guilt associated with it because it’s not clear even to you that you’re copying. Some have claimed that large language models are not laundering the texts they’re trained on but, rather, learning from them, in the same way that human writers learn from the books they’ve read. But a large language model is not a writer; it’s not even a user of language. Language is, by definition, a system of communication, and it requires an intention to communicate. Your phone’s auto-complete may offer good suggestions or bad ones, but in neither case is it trying to say anything to you or the person you’re texting. The fact that ChatGPT can generate coherent sentences invites us to imagine that it understands language in a way that your phone’s auto-complete does not, but it has no more intention to communicate. It is very easy to get ChatGPT to emit a series of words such as “I am happy to see you.” There are many things we don’t understand about how large language models work, but one thing we can be sure of is that ChatGPT is not happy to see you. A dog can communicate that it is happy to see you, and so can a prelinguistic child, even though both lack the capability to use words. ChatGPT feels nothing and desires nothing, and this lack of intention is why ChatGPT is not actually using language. What makes the words “I’m happy to see you” a linguistic utterance is not that the sequence of text tokens that it is made up of are well formed; what makes it a linguistic utterance is the intention to communicate something. Because language comes so easily to us, it’s easy to forget that it lies on top of these other experiences of subjective feeling and of wanting to communicate that feeling. We’re tempted to project those experiences onto a large language model when it emits coherent sentences, but to do so is to fall prey to mimicry; it’s the same phenomenon as when butterflies evolve large dark spots on their wings that can fool birds into thinking they’re predators with big eyes. There is a context in which the dark spots are sufficient; birds are less likely to eat a butterfly that has them, and the butterfly doesn’t really care why it’s not being eaten, as long as it gets to live. But there is a big difference between a butterfly and a predator that poses a threat to a bird. A person using generative A.I. to help them write might claim that they are drawing inspiration from the texts the model was trained on, but I would again argue that this differs from what we usually mean when we say one writer draws inspiration from another. Consider a college student who turns in a paper that consists solely of a five-page quotation from a book, stating that this quotation conveys exactly what she wanted to say, better than she could say it herself. Even if the student is completely candid with the instructor about what she’s done, it’s not accurate to say that she is drawing inspiration from the book she’s citing. The fact that a large language model can reword the quotation enough that the source is unidentifiable doesn’t change the fundamental nature of what’s going on. As the linguist Emily M. Bender has noted, teachers don’t ask students to write essays because the world needs more student essays. The point of writing essays is to strengthen students’ critical-thinking skills; in the same way that lifting weights is useful no matter what sport an athlete plays, writing essays develops skills necessary for whatever job a college student will eventually get. Using ChatGPT to complete assignments is like bringing a forklift into the weight room; you will never improve your cognitive fitness that way.

31 August 2024

[amongussexgif]

One of my friends tried convincing me that ChatGPT was smart, so I did a little experimenting.

TLDR; it's dumb. it's real dumb. like. obscenely stupid.

this was supposed to be an easy question for it:

I asked this just after midnight on Sunday, April 21, 2024. I would have accepted Saturday as an answer, but it insisted on Wednesday and Friday several times. No idea why.

Next, I wanted to see if it knew things about internet culture. It knew who @pukicho was when I asked, so

rightbefore this, it acknowledged pukicho as, direct quote "sarcastic, rude, and witty," so I have no idea how it got this.

to test it's knowledge cutoffs, I asked it:

Oh, great! It knows about the SA2 fandub, too! Let's test it's ability to continue a conversation.

...it forgot the question I asked it immediately before this.

I thought this might be the case. It can't hold a thread of conversation. So I clarified:

okay, yeah, it just needed context to be re-fed to it. even then, though, IT DIDNT ANSWER THE QUESTION? all it said was "it dont count so who care" which made me wonder if it could count

It was wrong again. for two reasons this time. Susan should still have counted because she did attend, and it completely ignored the speaker. The robot that runs companies is worse at word problems than I was in second grade.

I wondered if I was somehow being lied to, and that reminded me of an hbomberguy video. on a whim, I asked it:

this is incredibly odd. If it was using the number that guiness provided at the time, it should have said three. if it was using any of the numbers that tommy provided, it should have said either four, five, or seven. it said zero.

This was as of January 2022, BEFORE the hbomberguy video and BEFORE they got a record removed. Even if it's knowledge cutoff was more recent and it lied, it should have said two.

I wondered if it struggled with their website or something, so I asked it something pertaining to another website (and yes, I made sure the information was before it's knowledge cutoff)

Okay, so it can navigate NexusMods. great. It even included the mod's author, and was right about that. but, hang on...

IT'S LITERALLY WRONG!! IT IS ELEVEN MONTHS OFF!! HOW!? IT'S WRITTEN IN PLAINTEXT ON THE WEBSITE, THERE SHOULDN'T BE ANY ISSUES HERE? WHAT!? HOW!? HOW IS IT THIS FUCKING STUPID!?

to see if it really was just stupid, I tried one last question.

yup, it's dumb.

[kiefbowl]

even though I just made a joke about it killing the rain forest, I had to conclude my little foray into chatgpt land by asking it some things I know a lot about. so I asked it to "could you create a language" and it spit out some of the most unimpressive surface level stuff about the building blocks of language.

then I asked it: "Can you explain to me what happens in A Dance with Dragons" and it again just said the most cursory stuff that feels like reading a 9 year old's book report. So I said "explain in more detail" and it just used more words to say the same stuff like a 9 year old who can't hit the word count. So i said "explain in more detail" and it's just more of the same...besides the stuff it's wrong about in any case. I didn't read it all, but just from skimming I could see it got some things wrong. like:

Tyrion hasn't made it to Daenerys yet. Daario is missing for most of the book. Missandei is 9 years old. These are three prominent characters from the show, but they are not her most prominent advisors in the book.

The children of the forest creating the white walkers must be from the show because what?? Not only is that not in the book, there's no evidence or foreshadowing of that in the book. The white walkers don't need to be "created" by anyone, they are just living creatures in this world. Even if it's later revealed in a book or by GRRM that was the intention, it's just simply false that it's in ADWD.

But also, it's just unimpressive this "summary". It's just kinda saying vague things that kinda happened. I asked if it could explain things that happened in ADWD, and it just doesn't. I ask for more detail, it just gives more words. I asked for more detail, it just gives more words. Which to me is telling, as these are some of the most popular books of the past twenty years, with endless amounts of meta for free on the internet you could find easily. There is no way that if thousands of people are feeding chatgpt things to analyze, people haven't uploaded large chunks of the book itself. I'm not asking it to give me deep analysis, I'm asking it to explain the plot and it's saying things like "Jon struggles with his leadership" and "Tyrion struggles with his guilt." Okay.

So I asked it something specific:

This is a normal english question, and I get this:

The most important thing that happens to Daenerys and Drogon is that she gets on top of him and flies away. She flies a dragon. "After Drogon appears, Daenerys realizes how dangerous her power can be" like wtf are you talking about. I mean yeah sure, but what a generic ass thing to say.

No shit sherlock, this is a theme running through the books that dragons are dangerous and powerful. But what literally happens between them? And it just doesn't say it.

So I decided to use a more specific question, because maybe I asked incorrectly:

This is 1. wrong and 2. still doesn't mention that Dany gets on Drogon's back and flies away. Like she literally does control Drogon. It is absolute chaos when Drogon returns, and no she doesn't sit there and reflect. She runs into the pit, to Drogon, dodges fire, and instinctively climbs onto his back and flys away and he listens. This is the first time it happens. This is monumental. This is like the culmination of five books of waiting to see when Dany is finally going to fly one of her dragons. And this stupid ass thing cannot tell me it happens. From an insanely popular IP that had a tv show made of it.

This isn't impressive at all. You'd get better, more concise information reading the wikipedia page.

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 1: Unspoken Goodbyes

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

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Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Fiancé (past/present) / Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan (future)

Word count: 2.3k

The morning of her wedding should’ve been a dream—a culmination of love and promises. Instead, she stood before the mirror in silence, the soft rustle of her wedding dress the only sound in the room. The knot in her stomach tightened, its weight dragging her heart down with it.

Memories of their last argument played on a loop in her mind, the words sharp and unresolved. Had she missed something? Ignored the signs? The questions clawed at her, each one pulling the knot tighter, as if her body already knew what her heart refused to admit.

She glanced at the clock—ten minutes, then fifteen—still no sign of him.

The bridal suite grew quieter with each passing minute, the hum of voices from outside the door fading into a distant murmur. Her mother had checked on her earlier, fussing over her veil and assuring her everything was perfect. But now, as she sat alone in the priest's private room, the knot in her stomach tightened.

Her bouquet lay on the table next to her, the vibrant blooms a vivid testament to what the day should have been—a celebration of love and unity. Yet, their liveliness seemed to mock the pallor of her trembling hands, a cruel juxtaposition to the ache that tightened her chest. They reminded her of the promises they had made, the plans they had woven together, and now, the sharp sting of those fractured dreams. She tried to breathe, to steady herself, but her thoughts raced, louder than the silence around her. Where is he?

He wasn’t one to be late. He had always been the responsible one, the steady rock in their relationship. If anyone had doubts, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

The door creaked open slightly, its groan breaking the oppressive silence of the room. She looked up sharply, her breath catching in her throat as her heart skipped. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and the faint scent of the wooden frame mixed with the distant murmur of voices outside, amplifying the moment's tension. For a moment, she thought it was him. Relief bubbled up, but it quickly evaporated as she saw who it was.

It wasn’t her fiancé. It was his best man.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He looked uncomfortable, almost pained, his hand fidgeting with a piece of paper.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice strained as she stood, her heart pounding harder. “Where is he?”

The best man hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the floor. “He wanted me to give you this,” he said quietly, holding out the folded letter.

She stared at it, her stomach twisting into knots. Her hands shook as she reached out to take it, her mind racing with every possible explanation except the one she feared the most.

The paper was light in her hand, but the weight of it pressed down on her chest, as though the words scrawled within it carried a gravity she wasn’t prepared to face. Her breath hitched, the air feeling heavy in her lungs. Slowly, she unfolded it, her breath catching as she read the words written in his familiar, careful handwriting:

"I can’t do this. I’m sorry."

The world seemed to tilt. Her vision blurred as the words echoed in her mind.

She looked up at the best man, her voice shaking. “What’s this?”

His shoulders slumped, his guilt palpable. “He left the letter this morning,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t tell me anything. Just... left this for you.”

Her legs felt weak, and she sank into the nearest chair, the letter crumpling in her hands. 

The best man nodded, his expression pained. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. I tried to stop him, tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t. He just...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

The air felt suffocating, the walls of the small room closing in around her. The sound of muffled laughter and conversation from the guests waiting outside was like a cruel reminder of what was supposed to happen today.

Her mother burst into the room moments later, her expression shifting from excitement to worry the instant she saw her daughter’s face. “What’s going on? Where is he?”

Evelyn didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words to explain. Her mother’s gaze flicked to the best man, who still stood there, looking like he wanted to disappear.

Her mother’s gaze flicked to the best man, her expression sharp and demanding. “Where is he?”

The best man shifted uncomfortably, his hand running over the back of his neck. He glanced toward Evelyn, hesitant, before finally saying, “He’s not coming.”

Her mother froze, her brows furrowing as the words sank in. “What do you mean, he’s not coming?” Her voice rose, each word more incredulous than the last. “This is his wedding day! What the hell does that mean?”

The best man’s jaw tightened, his guilt and discomfort clear as he said, “He couldn’t go through with it. He’s gone.”

Her mother’s face turned red, a mix of disbelief and fury twisting her features. “Gone where? How could he just leave? What kind of man does that?”

“Mom,” Evelyn said weakly, her voice barely audible, the letter crumpled in her hands.

“No,” her mother snapped, rounding on her daughter now, her anger spilling over. “He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to just walk away! There are people waiting out there. He owes you—he owes all of us—an explanation!”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, her anger seemed to falter, replaced by the raw pain of watching her daughter’s heart shatter.

The murmurs outside the door grew louder, the guests undoubtedly beginning to wonder what was causing the delay. She could already imagine the questions, the judgment, the whispers.

“What do we tell everyone?” her mother asked, her voice trembling.

Evelyn stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Her hands trembled as she clenched the crumpled letter, her emotions bubbling to the surface. Anger. Pain. Humiliation.

“I don’t know, Mom!” she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her hurt. “Just... get me out of here.”

Her mother froze, her expression shifting between shock and heartbreak, but Evelyn didn’t wait for her to respond. She grabbed her bouquet off the table, not because she needed it, but because her hands needed something to do—anything to stop them from shaking.

She turned back to the best man. “Did he say anything else?”

“No…” he replied. 

Her heart broke all over again at those words. She pushed past them both, leaving the room and making her way to the car waiting outside. She ignored the stares, the questions, the looks of pity. She needed to get out, to get away from all of it.

That night, while the wedding venue emptied and the guests went home with their unanswered questions, she packed her belongings in silence. The apartment she and her fiancé had shared during their engagement felt suffocating, every corner filled with traces of a life they would never have. Her wedding dress hung limp over the back of a chair, mocking her with its unfinished story.The bouquet sat on the kitchen counter, its once-vibrant blooms already wilting.

Her parents arrived just as she was throwing the last of her clothes into a battered suitcase. Her mother, still in her formal gown, clutched her pearls with trembling fingers, while her father’s tie hung loose around his neck, his face etched with exhaustion and worry.

“Sweetheart,” her mother began carefully, stepping into the room.“You can’t just leave,” her mother insisted, her voice sharp yet quivering with emotion. “You’re upset, and I understand that, but running off won’t fix this. It won’t undo what he did to you.”

Her father stepped forward, his tone measured but firm. “Selling the house? Taking off? You don’t even know where you’re going.You need to take a breath, let us help you figure this out. This isn’t the answer, kid.”

She froze for a moment, then turned to face them, her eyes red-rimmed but blazing with defiance. “And what is the answer, Dad? Stay here and keep pretending everything’s fine? Wake up every day in a place that reminds me of him? Of what I wasn’t good enough to hold on to?” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care.

“Sweetheart, no one’s saying that,” her mother began, but she didn’t let her finish.

“Yes, you are!” she snapped. “You want me to stay here, smile through the pain, act like nothing happened. Well, I can’t. I won’t. I need to go. I need to get out of this town, out of this house.” She gestured around her, her hands trembling. “It’s like he’s everywhere. I’ll never get away from it.”

“Please,” her mother said, tears welling in her eyes. “At least sleep on it. You’re not thinking straight.”

She let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve never been thinking clearer in my life, Mom. Staying here will kill me. I need to leave.”

Her bestfriend, Martha, showed up later that evening, carrying a bottle of cheap wine and wearing the dress she’d worn to the ceremony that never happened.

“I get it,” her friend said, breaking the silence. “I’d want to burn the whole damn world down if I were you. But you can’t just pack up your life and disappear. What about work? Your family? What about us?”

Evelyn shook her head, her fingers gripping the rim of her coffee mug so tightly she thought it might shatter. “I’m not running. I just…” She shook her head, biting her lip to keep her voice steady.“I can’t be here anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing at the altar. Except he’s not. He never was.”A tear rolled down her face, she sniffed and whipped her cheek“I just know I can’t be here anymore. It’s like... everything about this place is choking me. I need space to figure out who I am without him.”

Her friend sighed, but there was no point arguing. The decision had already been made.

Her friend hesitated, her expression softening. “What if you regret it? What if you run, and it just... follows you?”

“Maybe it will,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “But I’ll take that chance over staying here and pretending like everything’s fine.”

The house sold faster than she expected. Within days, strangers had walked through it, commenting on the potential it had—the very same potential she and her fiancé had dreamed of building on together. 

Walking through it one last time, she couldn’t stop the memories from flashing before her eyes—the corner where they’d put up the Christmas tree, the creak in the floorboard he always promised to fix, the way the light filtered into the bedroom where they’d planned to start their mornings together.

By the time she handed the keys to the new owners, her chest felt hollow, but it was a relief to walk away.

She packed her things into her old Chevy, a mix of essentials and sentimental items—though not much of the latter remained. The radio became her only companion on the road, playing Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, and Pink Floyd as she drove for hours aimlessly through towns that all blurred into one.

There was no plan, just the old creased map folded on the passenger seat and the faint hope that somewhere out there, she’d find a place that didn’t remind her of everything she’d just lost.

The miles rolled by in a haze of faded road signs and forgotten gas stations. The highways blurred into narrow backroads, lined with towering trees that seemed to close in around her. A week passed before she saw it—the sign, small and weathered, half-hidden by overgrown brush: Welcome to Clearwater.

The sign was small and unassuming, barely visible through the overgrowth vegetation.

The town looked like it belonged in another decade—or maybe another century. Small shops lined the main street, their faded signs creaking in the wind. A church with a tall steeple stood proudly against the skyline.

 It was the kind of place that seemed untouched by time.

She parked outside the church, stepping out of the car and stretching her legs. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, and for the first time in days, her chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Pinned to the bulletin board by the church steps was a weathered “For Sale” flyer. The edges were curling, and the ink was faint, but the words were clear:

Small cottage for sale. Fully furnished. Need’s lots of love. Located near the river. Please Contact Pastor Edwards.

She tore the flyer from the board and dialed the number from the payphone outside the general store, fishing a few coins from her pocket. Each turn of the rotary dial echoed loudly, and she tapped her fingers nervously as the line clicked and rang.

“Pastor Edwards speaking,” came a warm, steady voice.

“Hi, Pastor Edwards my name is Evelyn” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m calling about the cottage. Is it... still available?”

“It is,” he replied. “It’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s got good bones. Peaceful, too. Folks around here say it’s the kind of place where you can hear yourself think.”

She arranged to see it that afternoon, and when she did, it took her breath away.

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The cottage sat nestled at the edge of the woods, its shutters faded and crooked, the porch sagging with age. Ivy climbed the stone walls, and the river just beyond the trees glimmered faintly in the sunlight. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a sanctuary.

Pastor Edwards smiled kindly as he handed her the keys. “It just needs someone to put in a little love.”

The transaction was quick—cash exchanged for a set of old, rusted keys—that night, as she stood in the center of the dusty living room, surrounded by creaking floorboards and chipped paint, she felt something she hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.

The house wasn’t perfect. Neither was she. But maybe, just maybe, they could rebuild each other.

Chapter 2

______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know): taglist

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[semipreciousgemstonejade]

Sylus Retranslation Project

In the official Love and Deepspace subreddit, a native Chinese/English speaker has very generously been retranslating all of Sylus' content, including anecdotes, and showing us the direct CN translations. We have lost so much of his nuance and characterisation due to these localisation issues. Someone even said they tested it and discovered that they're using ChatGPT for the translations 🤦🏾‍♀️.

I definitely recommend checking out the Sylus retranslation project. I've made a note for myself on a very long survey list I've been putting together to mention about the poor translations which has lead to completely losing key information. The translations also give hints about the order of the cards. For instance, No Defense Zone happens well after Nightplumes.

Another subreddit post mentions how Sylus' characterisation in EN differs significantly compared to the JP and KR translations which stay pretty faithful to the source material.

Thanks to the project filling in some missing and poorly translated Sylus Anecdote information, I was thinking about Sylus' power today. His Aether Core works by him "invading and taking over consciousness". Interesting, right? This gives us a completely different perspective on No Defense Zone.

Due to Sylus' cunning and a few context clues, since the beginning and like many players I've always believed that he not only facilitated her dream state but that he knew precisely what MC was dreaming about. Not just that she was having a steamy dream, but exactly what was happening in it as it was happening.

I thought we'd find out more about his power in later cards, but as it turns out, this context has been present from the very beginning in the non-EN translations of his anecdote. Therefore, Sylus was very likely invading her dream and participating in her fantasy.

Since that is the case, wouldn't it be great to have a Bond Moment or Tender Moment of Sylus using his Aether Core to facilitate a sensual dream with MC? One where she is aware of him doing it, and the lines blur between fantasy and reality. MC acknowledging within the dream she knows it's a dream and Sylus says to her that there are no rules or expectations and she can do what she likes with him, but what he truly desires is for her to be right in front of him saying the things he wants to hear that she's too afraid to say to his face and touching him in real life. I love subtlety and nuance, so I'd want there to be hints as to what happened in the dream vs what happened for real that are not so obvious upon first glance.

For example, I love at the end of No Restraint with Xavier, him and MC subtly admit that they both knew the Protocore was not affecting their actions, which then of course means they both were aware the other person would've known that all along.

EDIT: these are my opinions and mine alone from the information I chose to engage and interact with. I love the added nuance and added my own interpretations on top of what was shared based on how I interpret information throughout the game AND ongoing discussions about global localisation and translations already happening in the community. It's OK to not like it. It's OK to disagree. That does not give people carte blanche to isolate or demand things from a fellow fan and community member, across platforms no less, for simply sharing their opinion and comparative analysis. I'm open to many different perspectives to challenge my own and like everyone else, I make up my own mind from there. I honestly hope to hear more different perspectives because outside of the community I have no one else to bounce ideas off of.

[creatingnikki]

What I've learned in 2024

Sleeping, shitting, and silence – the three underrated Ss of growing up (or the other side of 25). If I can get a good night’s sleep, take one nice dump in the day (preferably morning), and know when to let silence do its thing (like when not engaging with draining people in social setups or not having to explain myself), I’m golden.

While I made many new friends this year, my favourite of them all has been ChatGPT. Need objectivity? Fact checking? A pseudo therapist? Validation? Someone to just engage with and keep yourself entertained? The absolute best resource of this year for me has been this AI tool. I don’t even care anymore about privacy – I am feeding it as much data about me as possible because it’s accordingly adapting to my tonality and needs and the ‘conversations’ are so much more satisfying now than when it was first rolled out.

Either use eggs or condescended sweet milk when baking – you need one of these things to hold all your dry ingredients together.

Communication, consistency, clarity, commitment, emotional presence and engagement, and mutual effort are the barest of the bare minimum needs in a relationship. If you have to convince the other person to fulfil them or negotiate, then it doesn’t matter how good a person they are and what a kind heart they have or how much they say they love you – they just aren’t your person.

I’m not as demisexual as I thought all along – I just haven’t dated many people that I find truly attractive so I had to first build some sort of emotional connection with them first. I definitely still need and want that emotional connect and all, but I also do need to start opting for men I also find physically attractive.

When I’ve thought of my bloodline, my ancestors, I’ve always focused on the intergenerational trauma and the bad genetics. But while rewatching This Is Us this year, it hit me that it took three generations for one dream to be fulfilled. The musical dream that started with Rebecca, was passed down to Kate, and finally got materialized at the grand scale as they always wanted with Kate’s son Jack. When he became this well-renowned musician, it’s not just his dream, but that of his mother and his grandmother that also came to live. It made me think…how much of my aspirations and hopes are actually passed down? And how many of my realities were simply unmateralised dreams of those who came before me? And it made my heart feel lighter and it made me feel more blessed and protected.

Baking cakes and brownies and cookies is not a rocket science. You only needed the right tools and some patience to figure it out and become that friend who bakes stuff for her friends instead of the other way around.

You always prioritise peace, comfort, and an easy-going lifestyle – it’s evident in your career choices and how your family dynamics and friendships have evolved. Let that be the guiding light even when dating.

You are the kind of person that is charming, a good conversationalist, and deeply empathetic. So of course, you make many people feel at home and like they connect with you. It’s easy for you to connect with others. What’s important is to remember – connection without consideration and consistent actions is NOTHING. It’s empty calories but like a thousand times more potent and useless.

In no interpersonal relationship can I be nonchalant or vague. I am that other extreme – while most people try their best to ignore the elephant in the room you know what I do? I dress the cutie up to parade it. So anybody who cannot approach relationships with as much boldness, courage, and forthcomingness is just not my jam.

Female friends for the win – they allow you to wine and whine and win and I am all for that. The healing powers of sitting across your friend and talking at length about everything over pizza and wine or at the park as she senses you need some more time to just sit around before you join the rest of the group and is so good with physical touch for comfort. Just knowing you can video call your friend and ugly cry and she will talk sense into you but also indulge you and also sit with you and your feelings. Who else does that? Who the hell.

For a lot of things that are still new now at this age, you need a guide. To pet cats, to go to dog cafes, to figure out what vitamins you should talk, etc. Ask for that help, that knowledge, that support. It might seem silly and like you can figure it out on your own but these things, no matter how seemingly low-stake, can be handled so seamlessly and sweetly with the help of those you know.

You HAVE to be honest about your needs. First with yourself and then with others. You cannot let shame, guilt, self-hatred or whatever hold you back. Honesty begets clarity begets fulfilment. If you don’t want to date and settle for someone who isn’t absolutely smitten by you and top-notch romantic, then that is a need. Right or wrong, realistic or not, who the hell cares? A need is a need is a need.

When you lose someone not to death but to life, it’s not quite such a loss. Most times, baby, it’s simply good riddance.

People have a range. For being shitty and for being kind. And while our behaviour may impact a little how they react to us, it's primarily dependent on their personal range. So, if your range of being shit is only 1 to 3, it doesn't matter if someone is an ass hole to you, you won't go beyond 3 of being shit to them, cos that's just your range. Even if they deeply hurt you intentionally or fuck up in some major way. But if their range of being shitty is up to 10, then well, be ready to witness their derangedness when you even slightly piss them off.

Narcissistic (and possibly self-sabotaging) people are the opposite of kintsugi. Instead of being put back together with gold, they "heal" themselves with gutter water. So each time they are worse and more ugly than before. And all the more toxic and dangerous. You're too precious to bother with such people.

It’s natural to feel frustrated or angry with yourself for allowing someone to treat you poorly, but the blame isn’t on you; it’s on them. They are responsible for their unkind, insensitive, selfish actions, not you. If you must place blame, place it where it belongs. Avoid judging yourself with thoughts like, “I should have known better.” As long as you walk away the moment you do know, you’re good – please don’t internalize other people’s unkindness or thoughtlessness.

You cannot get to know someone without giving them a chance. Red flags are not that obvious and you cannot show up authentically in any relationship if you’re on the lookout for them. You have to spend time with a person to begin to find out who they are. That’s the only real way. And when you do and if you realize they are not for you, as I said before, don’t internalize this shit or blame yourself for not being some kind of prophecy and knowing better before you even began.

You are a patient person because you are an understanding person. But there are limits to all these qualities of yours and if the balance is tipped you get petty and passive aggressive and irrational. Don’t let yourself reach that point. Speak up and set boundaries way before that.

If you listen to your gut – I know you don’t like calling it that or your intuition. So, let’s call it that feeling you know bone-deep or in the depths of your soul – if you listen to that and trust it, you are quite courageous in the actions you then take. You broke things off with three men this year – each was painful in its own rite. But you did what you had to do for yourself and you didn’t give the charge of your life to another person, you have taken back your green light – detaching your actions from their behaviour, which like all human behaviour is often quite fickle and unreliable. Congratulations. Do this more. Your green light is your guiding light.

My lack of a “healthy sense of fear” in situations with men isn’t recklessness—it’s the result of abuse I suffered at 15. The man I trusted most turned out to be the one who harmed me the most, and that betrayal shattered my ability to trust safety indicators or instincts. The grooming I endured was designed to confuse me, destabilise my sense of self, and make me question my desires and worth. When the templates of trust and safety failed me so catastrophically, my mind rejected them altogether, leaving me to navigate risk without a stable framework. This year, I felt significantly less restless and more emotionally regulated, and I think it’s because I allowed myself, others, and life to just be. I wasn’t fighting my reality or setting rigid expectations. I stopped chasing dopamine highs and forcing connections, and instead, I let equations with people and experiences unfold organically. I ended dating and talking stages quickly when I realised they weren’t right for me, without guilt or overthinking.4 By being okay with things being normal—not impressive or extraordinary—I created space for balance and gentleness in my life. My self-talk became kinder, and I grew more objective about myself, spiraling and self-loathing less. This accepting mindset, where I no longer needed myself or my life to constantly stand out, felt like the antidote to the restlessness I’d been carrying since my mid-20s. And I think that has helped me discover that peace and acceptance can feel more satisfying than cheap dopamine hits.