#so I'm not sure where it is or if it exists

[seewetter]

I would say that looking at AI artwork and calling it a stolen good or perceiving the training or generating of generative AI as a process of theft is incorrect. The models don't steal anything, per se. Even the concept of "collage" isn't really applicable. The problem with AI art isn't that the artist or the company were thieves. The output isn't in any meaningful way "stolen".

Neither is the generation process theft. Nor is the use of the final product the use of a stolen good. Nor is display of the final product the display of a stolen good. The artist is not a thief. The AI itself is a statistical model so not only is it not a thief but also...it didn't steal anything.

The only part of the process that can be likened to theft is taking data without permission and repurposing it commercially. Take for example "This Person Does Not Exist", a generator for fake human faces. I'm fairly sure it was made by taking hundreds of millions of personal photographs without permission to make a image generation tool. The output isn't stolen at all and the process that generates the fake faces isn't a process of theft. But the way these photos were collected is, to my mind, equivalent of finding every publicly available source of images, regardless of the ethics of their collection and just feeding my machine all these images without asking. You could say that this cleverly skirts around the problem of being theft by only using what is shared publicly (and everything online is public in some sense), but technically the web crawlers used to create these models ignore requests to not take these images and the crawlers tend to try and circumvent security and safety measures to keep the images from the public eye. A similar thing happens with people using AI to rewrite existing fanfictions and publish them as YouTube videos: the technology isn't theft, the process isn't entirely theft, but theft is clearly involved when person A's fanfic is cheaply and without permission turned into a different medium for benefit. This is an exploitative process, where a person's painstaking and time-consuming creative efforts are used as a harvest-able resource to make money. It is the equivalent of finding a loophole in local bylaws to steal bricks from a brick road that doesn't technically belong to the municipality or the private owner -- who suddenly has to deal with a big gap in the road which can't be patched because someone will drive by to legally nab any available bricks. Just because technically no one "owns" something doesn't mean that person A isn't taking something from person B which inconveniences person B and wasn't agreed on. And if, after unsuccessfully trying to negotiate with person A, it becomes clear that person A will always take advantage of this "free stuff", then person B has every right, in my opinion, to employ the concept of theft. But that doesn't mean that using the innovative brick-grabbing tool is tantamount to theft and if the thief uses these bricks as a template to create new art and doesn't really look at or care for the stolen bricks, then the new art isn't stolen. Also if what is happening is less like "taking bricks" and more like driving by and creating a copy of each brick every day then perhaps this has more in common with harassment than theft...but I think the people could still have a point that this comes across as someone stealing the unique designs of their bricks.

the framing of generative ai as "theft" in popular discourse has really set us back so far like not only should we not consider copyright infringement theft we shouldn't even consider generative ai copyright infringement

[followthebluebell]

Hello! I was wanting to hear more about non-purebred brachycephaly in cats. This is my seven year old tuxedo girl, Miss Morgie, (shes biologically male but the rescue agency mislabled her). She was a rescue from Kuwait. I have no info on where she was found or if she was the product of a kitty mill or backyard breeder there. Do cats like this breed freely anywhere? I wouldn't say that her smushed snout impairs her as much as other cats that I've seen. She will make a honking noise when upse (it's extremely cute) but I've never seen her grow tired or wheeze when playing. She was active when she was young. She still play fights with our other cat.

Im also not sure if this is a "breed" characteristic linked to the mutation or nurture but she seems more... docile and even-tempered than other rescue cats I've had. She will let strangers pet her belly, she tolerates my gf's mom's hyperactive pom puppy and used to let the little doggy /h*mp/ her when we used to dog sit (I cut that out DW). I've also noticed she has next to no practical hunting instincts! Our other rescue who is just A Normal Kitty Guy chatters and gets murder crazy about birds while she just windmills her gigantic paws and meows. 😭😭 it's entirely possible that she's just a special lil gal, but I've heard the mutation affects intellect...? I wouldn't say she is a dumb cat by any stretch, she understand some basic commands and I've inadvertently trained her to recognize when I'm having panic attacks. She also seems to intuitively pick up on creative ways to get her humans to do her bidding (like slamming cabinets open and shut precisely when we are on zoom calls).

I included photos so you can see the extent of her brachycephaly. We call her a half-smush. I wanted to write a lot in defense of my girl's intellect because people said she looks "wall eyed" and like she has "no thoughts" and thar just made me really sad!!!!

I want to dedicate my cat ownership from now on to rescuing abandoned cats with brachycephaly bc of how much I adore her. I even adore brushing and washing her and all the other nonsense we cursed these poor, cute critters to need. She's just a joy. Ty ty ty for reading !! 😭😭

1. Picture of her at 2 years old 2. Her and her "prey" (my socks) 3. Tino (my gf's cat) and our dame 4-5. Mlem.

Aww, what a beauty!! She's gorgeous!

"Do cats like this breed everywhere?"

Yes, absolutely! tbh, every trait exhibited by a specific breed is naturally occurring within feral cat populations. By this, I mean someone, some hundred years ago, picked up a squishy faced cat from a naturally occurring cat litter and went, "oh, wow, I want more of this :)" and then set out to breed that particular trait consistently. But the squishy faced trait still exists within that original cat population, and cats are spread widely.

In addition, cats are beloved pets all over the world. They are present in EVERY continent except Antarctica (and probably some islands). I think Kuwait in particular has hosted a few cat shows.

While many cats are very beloved in Kuwait, it also has very... non-existent animal protection laws. Many cats are abandoned. It's entirely possible your girl is a Fancy Girl who was abandoned or got lost.

it's entirely possible that she's just a special lil gal, but I've heard the mutation affects intellect…?

To an extent, yes. It's a bit complicated. The mutation that gives brachy cats their unique look also affects their skull. Their skull shape puts pressure on the mesencephalon portion of their brain and this can cause issues with sensory, motor controls, reflexes, and impulse control. As a result, many owners believe their brachy cats are a bit slow to react to things, extremely tolerant of nonsense, and tend to fall off of furniture.

I can't say if this affects your cat.

This doesn't affect a cat's emotional intelligence, for lack of a better phrase. They are still very much in tune with their owners.

Thank you very much for loving her. Her coat is absolutely immaculate. It's clear how much you care and love this cat. It's reflected in everything she is. Thank you for sharing her too.

[fluidstatick]

I just started watching Trauma Dump with Lou Wilson, and Y'all, it needs to be said, this is GENIUS.

Trauma!Lou is the inverse of Host!Vic on VIP. He's unserious, glib, flippant. He's dedicated to creating Sick Rad Dope Fun Mental Health Content. He's a Walking Facade of Party Energy, approaching the deeply personal process of self discovery with no sense of transparency or gravitas whatsoever.

Anyone who's seen Lou in anything - Dropout, Crit Role, WBN, even Kimmel - knows he's a damn good actor and a magnetic personality. This project tests our understanding of Lou and asks us what we think we're seeing.

Vic said in an interview (which I can't find now, unfortunately) that they've encountered people who believe Host!Vic is the real Vic, and they have to explain that just because a character has their name doesn't mean it's Really Them. VIP is improv, but there's two comedians bouncing off each other in that environment. By contrast, Trauma Dump is also improv, but Lou's the only actor on set. Paul is, presumably, just doing his job. (unless he's an actor playing a therapist, but that's a whole different level of meta I'm not equipped to dig into here.)

The premise is awkward in its own right: Lou says he wants to get profound, but then dodges like his life depends on it. Paul is certainly taking the situation seriously; he's not sure whether he's meant to find Lou's behavior funny or not. It's tonally bizarre in a way that rhymes with VIP but also subverts the expectations of improv. You can already see the confusion in youtube comments, two hours or so after the stream. "This whole thing is a bit, right?"

This bit's game, to borrow a term from improv, is the gap between Lou and Paul, and How Lou works to maintain the gap while Paul works to close it. How much of Trauma Dump is Paul using his expertise on a fictional character, and how much of it is actually catching The Actor Lou Wilson off guard?

Actors put pieces of themselves into the characters they play; their perspectives and experiences. It's part of the mechanism of acting. Therapists remove their personal biases and feelings from their work environments; it's part of the mechanism of therapy. With these facts in mind, where are the lines? Where does Lou Wilson (sick rad awesome fun PTSDTF bro) end, and Lou Wilson (Actor and Human Person Who Exists) begin? We genuinely don't know, and that's what makes it an incredible soup of funny, scary, surreal, and magnetic.

I really, really hope this turns into a series.

[penny-anna]

#i love all these ideas#although i want to add the bonus idea#of a companion looking back through a list of past doctors and going#aw wow you used to be HANDSOME#and then it turns out they're pointing to an incarnation that wouldnt traditionally be seen as handsome or is typically too much of a gremlin @wromwood

YES excellent concept also. i vote Four for this.

#still think the funniest example of this is benny going from seven & their v fatherly vibes#like he did walk her down the aisle#to benny meeting eight & going damn i want a piece of that or else ill regret it#and then she does & you know what good for her @liria10

sometimes the doctor regenerates and goes from your father figure to ur problematic crush and you just have to deal with it <3

#love this and honestly they did kind of do this with tegan ace and 13#like of the classic companions to pair with 13 they really did pick the gayest ones#ace so had a crush on 13 and was so confused @infinityinakiss

lmao i thought the exact same thing watching power of the doctor, like this probably wasn't intentional but i can dream

#13 is sexy BECAUSE of the weird little gremlin effect#like you see her like that and then she blushes and stammers because you said she's pretty??#or#it goes worse for you because she smirks and flirts back flawlessly and winks and you trip over your own legs because WHAT IS THAT?!#I didnt know she is capable?? of that????#anyways yes#also fifteen absolutely sweeping the board with every and all companions and over half of them realising he's gay and just... sighing sadly @itsdawnforyou

absolutely valid re 13. re 15 i'm not convinced he is gay but he definitely seems to give people the impression he is glfdhgjk he's like why are women not interested in me anymore :(

#I get why you're picking Thirteen bc of her highkey Doctor Strangeness but I think you may be overlooking that missing Doctor#she's much more of a classic beauty than a strangely compelling wet cat sort but I think that could also catch companions off guard#apparently bunches of gods and demigods were falling at her feet all over so it might even be a slight reality manipulation power! @zorilleerrant

SO Fugitive is definitely sexier than 13, however I didn't include her in the post bcos 1) i was sticking w the mainline TV doctors and 2) due to being pre-Hartnell she wouldn't have an existing rapport with any classic companions so it would be a different scenario.

#i love ten but im so glad hes not included in this post like he surely would have been if it was made some years ago#i havent seen classic who (yet) but i am certain all of the companions would be like. who is this loser twink. where is the doctor. @volta-said-revolt

10 is definitely a candidate for this but frankly whatever he's got going on 8 and 15 can do better

#oh yeah fifteen would easily be my pick for most attractive doctor. I’m not personally into him but @mythologeekwriter

the thing w 15 is that in addition to being a very handsome man he is also as mentioned above a lot warmer & more openly affectionate than most Doctors and, superficially,* the most emotionally aware and self-actualised. i think there's a number of past companions w legitimate grudges against the Doctor who'd meet 15 and be like all is forgiven i can't stay mad at you and also i wanna kiss you on the mouth so so bad

*only superficially. he is a disaster he'd just subtler about it than other Doctors.

extremely underrated dr who scenario is pairing up classic who companions w later incarnations of the Doctor and having them be like 'wtf why is the Doctor hot now'. just like people who have never for one second thought of the Doctor as attractive suddenly having the most disconcerting crush of their life.

anyway here are my top picks for Doctors to do this with:

Three: listen im not into Three personally but I do think he's the sexiest classic doctor. if you are into older men just unbelievably charming & debonair & well dressed. definitely some guys n gals who would love this Doctor to sweep them off their feet and feel very confused about it.

Eight: something i love about Eight is how oblivious he is to his own prettyboy status. 'I am treating people the same as I always do,' he says. 'why do my companions keep falling in love with me.' they would all fall under his spell.

Thirteen: now i have to say i don't think Thirteen is a very sexy Doctor due to being some kind of weird little gremlin, however, great one to sick on any and all lesbian companions. thought you were immune to the Doctor's weird flavour of sexiness?? think again!

Fifteen: nuclear bomb!! nuclear bomb!! companions who've never experienced one iota of attraction to the Doctor are drowning in his eyes. companions are having their bi awakenings. honestly i think he is flustering everyone regardless of whether they're attracted to him due to his warm and loving nature. insanity inducing incarnation.

[slowdrawl]

| Material Interest | Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader | 7.5K words | {1/?} ✨INITIATION✨

Summary: You take an internship at Legacy Capital, where everyone thinks you’re a nepo baby. Harry Castillo. Your mother’s boss. The CEO, shouldn’t be paying you any attention. He wasn’t supposed to touch you. You weren’t supposed to like it. “When he sets his mind on something…on someone. He won’t quit until it’s his.”

this fic is going to go absolutely crazy. I'm so damn excited about it! |WARNINGS| slowburn/angst/eventual smut/obsession/power dynamics/age gap/alcohol/grief/corporate rot/pov swaps/inner voice spirals (duh)/sd/sb themes/

The worst part about being an intern isn’t all the men who look at you like you don’t exist. It’s the ones who look at you like you’re the only person who does. You worked your ass off in business school to get here. Graduated with a 3.96 in your finance program at Berkeley, for God’s sake.

You earned this. But that doesn’t matter. Does it?

Because your mother is the CEO’s assistant. And your father was one of the firm’s original founders. A name they quietly erased from the history books.

Your entire résumé might as well be blank.

Doesn’t matter how many nights you didn’t sleep. How many times you studied until your eyes burned. Doesn’t matter that you applied under your mother’s maiden name. Anyone who’s been here long enough remembers exactly who you are. You thought about just saying no. Thought about applying to a different firm. Hell. Maybe even leaving Manhattan altogether.

But walking away from an opportunity at one of the most prestigious private equity firms in the state? That would’ve been suicidal. Career-wise, anyway.

They call it a fortress for a reason.

And Harry Castillo? He inherited the throne.

// The birds weren’t even singing by the time you woke up. Thirty minutes before your alarm was supposed to go off. 

First day nerves, you guess.

There’s been a pit in your stomach ever since the offer letter came in. Since your mom looked at you with that face and asked if you were really sure. As if anyone could turn down Legacy. You didn’t even have a choice. You rub the sleep from your eyes as the shower heats up, grabbing your toothbrush on the way into the stall. You let the water bead down your back and breathe deeply for a while; the warmth soothes your muscles, but it doesn’t do much to erase the tension in your brain. When you get out, your fingers are pruned, and you shiver at the sharp contrast of cool air hitting your wet skin. At least it offers a little relief. Fresh and clean, you drag yourself to the closet and sift through your limited options. Half of the tags are still attached. Three-quarters of them were paid for with money you don’t have. A credit card that you couldn’t even dream of paying off right now. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror and tell yourself you need to make sure you look the part.

Not that anyone in that glass palace would even care. They’ll take one glance and clock the difference immediately. You’re not like them. Not one bit. Even if your father's name used to be on the side of the building. 

He died before Legacy was even that. Before the name, before the fortune. Before the reputation. Your father, with the help of Henry and Harry Castillo, founded Castle and Co. a year before you were born. It didn’t start off with glass walls and coffee makers more expensive than your first car. No. It started as an idea between friends at a kitchen table. Eventually, that table would turn into a boardroom in an office smaller than this apartment. But they were eager, and they were smart; and between the three of them, they had just the right connections. The firm grew faster than any of them could have imagined.  

Your mother was hired at the beginning of year two. She was twenty-seven, without the slightest clue how to work admin, no knowledge of the finance world. She had been a hairdresser up until that point. Working at a Cost Cutters, just so they could make ends meet. But it wasn’t long before profits began to roll in, allowing your father to take enough of a draw every month to keep the bills paid without her needing to continue busting her ass for minimum wage plus tips. She worked reception, doing all the admin, acted as a personal assistant to the whole team, and then some. She worked endlessly through her pregnancy to prove to the men there that she deserved a place. 

And now here you are. Twenty-four years later. About to do the same thing.

Like mother, like daughter, you suppose. You take the first dress off its hanger, laying it out on the bed. Then the second. Then the third. And by the time the sun is bleeding through the blinds, your bed looks like a Macy’s clearance rack. Maybe something dark…Edgy, you don’t want to be too soft.Eventually, you settle on a grey sheath dress, throwing a matching blazer over top before strapping on your only appropriate pair of heels. They might be cheap by their standards, but hopefully nobody notices. They will. You do your makeup by muscle memory, a small black wing, still sharp enough to cut. The rest of your face practically bare, nothing too much, nothing too little.

Clean. Corporate. Pretty.The hallway is still dark when you head for the kitchen, your mom won’t even be awake for another half hour. ‘Interns are always expected to be early.’ Her words play over in your head as you press down the toaster lever. You’re out of margarine. Fuck my life. You grab your keys and bag, shrug on a coat that you pray looks expensive enough to pass, and head for the door, scarfing the toast down dry. The elevator groans when it starts moving. You stare at the number ticking by, your heart knocking against your ribs. The streets are surprisingly empty for a Monday in New York. It’s too early for traffic, apparently. It’s not too early for nerves, however. The whole drive is spent replaying your mom’s words. ‘Are you sure?’You weren’t. You still aren’t. Your fingernails are nearly folding over themselves from digging into the steering wheel as you pull into the parking garage beneath the building. Legacy Capital looms above. Glass and cold steel, harsh angles and hard attitudes. The fortress. Before you get out of the car, you flip your visor down and check your makeup in the mirror.

‘You have to look the part.’

A quick touch-up on the edges of your lip-liner, a bit of gloss. You re-curl your lashes and—fuck. The mascara wand slips out of your grip, smudging black across your thumb and onto the cuff of your blazer. Don’t panic!

You dab at it with a fast food napkin, with saliva, with anything you can find. It fades, mostly. You tell yourself it’s fine. The air in the lobby smells like freshly brewed coffee and money. People here move fast. They look fast, dress fast, all sleek lines and glinting watches. The heels you picked out click against the concrete in a rhythm that feels too loud for 7 AM. You hate how that makes you feel so small. A receptionist gives you a well-practiced smile while she hands you a security badge. 

You politely introduce yourself to the woman, Sherry, whom you learned has been here for 7 years. She gives wine aunt vibes. “I think you’re set to meet up with Fawn upstairs on the thirteenth floor. Have you met her? “No, I haven’t met anyone here,” you say nervously, “could you tell me what she looks like?”

She looks back at you and smiles again, and it reaches her eyes this time. “Short, blonde, you’ll know when you see her.” She gives you a wink. “Elevators are just to your left, good luck, darlin’” You thank her, with a voice tighter than you’d like. The badge feels like it weighs ten pounds on your chest. This elevator does not smell like sweat. It smells like citrus and cologne. It’s perfectly polished steel, you can see yourself in the door. Upstairs, the office is colder. Quieter. Floor-to-ceiling windows cast sterile, white sunlight through the clouds. Glass-walled conference rooms stand like cages, or maybe fishbowls. There is a tension on the floor that you can feel in your bones, dull in your molars. You’re looking for Fawn when you feel it. Before you even see him. Harry Castillo. He moves like a man used to being watched. Not loud. Not showy. Just…impossible to ignore. God. He even walks rich. His eyes meet yours. Your heart jumps to your throat. One look and he’s already made you nervous, scared. Intrigued. You’ve met Mr. Castillo a handful of times, maybe four or five. But it’s been many, many years. You were still a freshman in college the last time you saw him. When you were young, he’d come by when he was in California for work, he would come to your home and have dinner, drink wine, and talk with your mom about your father. He would ask you about classes, simple, easy. Conversation that you never thought twice about. He sent Christmas cards and gifts until you were a teenager. He and your dad had been close before his death, best friends even. Or so that’s what you were told. You’ve always figured that part of him felt guilty about your mom leaving the firm, about selling her shares, and taking you west. She had no idea that she was giving up millions of dollars by selling so soon. Nobody could have ever predicted just how much of a legacy Castle & Co. would become. Maybe that’s why he kept in touch. You don’t remember him being this handsome. Everyone else in the office looks like they’re drowning in starch and being strangled by their ties. 

Not him.

Dark brown suit, relaxed fit but tailored perfectly to his body. He has a lighter knit shirt under the jacket that’s cut barely low enough to show the edges of his collar. No tie in sight. The color palette complements his complexion so well that it should be illegal. His hair is brushed back slightly, curls falling perfectly messy… like he’s been brushing his fingers through it just right. He’s the kind of put-together that makes the rest of the floor look like they’re trying too hard. “Distracted?” You twitch, startled when a low voice drags you out of the daydream. And when you look to your left, he’s close, so close.  You feel your face heat up. “No, of course not, Mr. Castillo.” You immediately straighten your posture, “Good morning.” “Good morning. First day?” he asks, holding eye contact. “It shows.” “Yes, sorry. I’m just looking for Fawn.” You take the opportunity to break eye contact, scanning the office. You can still feel his eyes on you. It’s making your palms sweat, your pulse is kicking in your throat.

You try to slow your breathing. It doesn’t help. Now all you can smell is him. Cedar, grapefruit. Heat. “Ah. I think she’s just finishing up with a phone call,” he says, “Her office is down the hall on your right.” His gaze flicks down, slowly. Appraising. Your skin prickles under it. He doesn’t have to do anything more than look. Then his eyes stop on your blazer. Before you have a chance to react, his hand lifts. He wraps his fingers lightly around your forearm and draws it closer to him. Your breath gets caught in your chest. You go completely still. His voice is quieter now, less amused. “What's this?” he asks, dragging his thumb over the barely there stain. The mascara, the stain you thought nobody would notice. Your stomach drops. Of course he noticed, of course. Of course, you already look like a mess. Your first day and you’re already wearing your fuck-up on your sleeve. Literally. “Oh. It’s just…mascara.” Your voice just barely makes it out. “I—I must have missed it.” You so desperately want to pull your arm back. You cannot. Not until he lets you. He looks back at your face, his brow ever so slightly furrowing. “Be careful,” he says, thumb making one last slow pass before he drops your arm back down to your side. “Nobody will miss a detail in this place.”

Your skin burns where he touched it. He holds your gaze for just a second longer. Then straightens. “Good luck today, it’s nice to see you here.” You nod, “Nice to see you as well, Mr. Castillo.” And with that, he’s gone. 

Glides his way across the room toward the elevator. You exhale. It’s too fast, too shaky. Your heart refuses to slow down. Why does he smell good? Why does he feel like that? Why are you shaking like an idiot? Girl. Get it together. You square your shoulders and smooth your sleeve like that could undo what just happened. You do another sweep of the room, spinning now, just looking for anyone blonde at this point. You don’t see her, but you do catch one more glimpse of him. Just as the elevator door starts to close. Adjusting his lapel, still staring at you, an unreadable expression etched into his face. You need to find Fawn. Now.

// He couldn’t be in the same room anymore. He’d seen enough. Too much. She wasn’t supposed to look like that. Wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. She was frozen, still in his mind as eighteen. Spitting image of her parents. Michael’s daughter. The quiet kid from dinners with Janey in California. Not this. Not a woman who would stop him cold in the middle of the damn floor. First day. Of course it was. Of course, she was nervous. He should have walked past her. Should have let Fawn handle the introductions. Shake her hand at some formal moment, say something forgettable, keep the distance where it belonged. Instead, he waited for her to come in. Instead, his feet carried him closer before his mind caught up. Instead, he’d touched her, looked too long. Felt the kick of her pulse. A metronome under his hand. His fingers flexed against his side. Careful. That one had been for him. Not her. Harry reached the door to his office. Rested a hand against the handle for a moment, collecting himself. Then stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. And exhaled the breath he’d been holding since he smelled her shampoo. // The glass walls are half-frosted, half clear. The light filters through in bands. The Legacy insignia is etched clear, towers and all; clean through the center in a perfect strip of glass you can’t help but glance through. It’s hard to make out, but through those letters, you see her. Fawn is standing with her arms braced on her desk, palms flat. She’s leaning over her phone with her head tilted slightly, mouth moving fast as she speaks. She looks sharp. Focused. Someone used to running at this pace. You shift your weight around, waiting for her to finish. Being sure not to fidget too much. Trying to ignore the way that your pulse is somehow still climbing. Focus. You need to stop thinking about how he looked at you. Fawn sees you peering into the office, and you watch as she hangs up the phone and waves you inside.

Closer up, she’s a bit softer, but in an almost… artificial way. She must be in her late thirties; it’s hard to tell. Her face is half expressionless from the filler and Botox in it. Her cheeks and lips are full and youthful, teeth sitting in her mouth like they were manicured just for her. “Hello! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says, rounding the desk to walk toward you. “I’m Fawn, Janey said you’d be starting. You look so much like her!” She reaches a hand out toward you, and you take it, giving it a firm shake, trying to fight back the cringe from the mention of your mother. “Thank you.” You fight the cringe that hits your spine. “I’m excited to learn.” “That’s what we like to hear.” She picks up a stack of paperwork from the desk and shuffles it into a black Legacy-branded folder, and holds it out to you. “Your onboarding packet. Intro materials, HR paperwork. Your Slack info. Most of it’s digital now, but they still like burning ink, just for us to have something to hand over.” You take it, gripping the edges. Something solid to hold onto. You’ll take it. “Have you been shown around yet? Met anyone?” “Just reception,” you say, lifting up the badge Sherry gave you earlier. “Oh, and Mr. Castillo.” Fawn grins, but it's brief. When you mention him, her eyes narrow a bit. Furrowing. Confused. “Harry—Mr. Castillo’s rarely down here this early, someone here must have…” She trails off, mouth tightening for just a moment. You can see her weighing her words. Then she shakes her head, clears her throat. “Well. Doesn’t matter.” But it does. You can feel it in the way she straightens out her shoulders, the way her voice goes a shade cooler. “Come on then. I’ll show you around,” she says, ushering you out the door. You trail behind her as she walks through the hallway, briefing you.

“You’ll spend most of your time here in Portfolio Ops,” she says, swiping a key card to get through to a separate corridor, “You’ll shadow me, pick up some project work, sit in on some internal sessions whenever possible.” It’s going to take some time to get used to this place, to really learn the lay of the land. It feels like being in a snow globe. You’re trying to focus on what she’s saying, trying to make a mental map of the place, but you’re already fighting overwhelm. She hits the down arrow on a different set of elevators than you came in on. She presses the lobby button once you’re inside. “A few other interns were hired alongside you. You’ll be spending a lot of time with them, so play nice. I know it’s competitive out here—” The door opens. A man in a suit that probably costs more than your rent steps inside, coffee in hand, looking annoyed. Fawn slides you down to the corner of the elevator and leans closer to you, dropping her voice a bit. “Just don’t feed into it, we keep notes. It’s always going to be in your best interest to rise above.” The door opens up to the main floor, you’re on the opposite side from when you got here this morning. Sherry lifts her head and gives you a slight smile as you pass her. You return it and keep moving. You struggle to keep up. Her heels click like an angry keyboard through the lobby. She’s so tiny, how do her legs move so fast in those shoes? “We run fast here. I don’t expect perfection.” Fawn stops suddenly, you almost walk into her while she turns to look at you, “I expect effort.” You nod. Tight. She continues on. “People will watch you…you especially.” She raises a brow, knowingly. You can feel your expression tighten. Yes, Fawn. I know that people think I’m a fuckin’ nepo baby. Story of my life. “Ignore it. Just work clean. Keep your head down.”

“And this is the cafe,” Fawn says, nodding her head toward the far side of the floor past reception. “Don’t expect privacy. Everyone passes through here eventually.” She’s calling it a cafe, but it feels a lot more like a stage. More glass walls, black marble, and steel. Nowhere to hide, the kind of place people go to caffeinate, heat up something fast, and get the hell out. Unless you’re into being watched by everyone who walks through… It’s tucked near the east windows, the espresso machine looks like it belongs in a Bond villain’s kitchen. There are a few low black tables and too few seats. It was designed to be functional, not comfortable. There's a long polished bar along the wall with high stools and a very intimidating-looking microwave. “This is where our interns usually eat,” she says, pointing to the higher corner table. You nod again, still trying to absorb it all. Before you can say anything, a woman approaches from the far side of the floor—dark hair pinned back slick, a crisp white blazer that contrasts beautifully against her skin. She has a tablet balanced in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. Fawn looks toward her, waves her down. “Perfect timing. This is Patel—she’s been with us a few weeks. She can help get you settled in, yeah?” She looks at her and nods her head as if she’s already accepting the offer for her. Navleen looks at you for a moment, then a smile tugs at her lips, maybe a bit forced. “Nice to meet you,” she says, reaching out. “I’m Navleen, you can call me Nav, or Patel, whichever.” You shake her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s a lot at first. You’ll catch up.” “Thanks.” Fawn checks her watch.

“I’m going to leave you two to it. I’ll see you back upstairs, first meeting is at ten.” She goes to turn toward the elevators but stops and looks back at Navleen, “Patel, there's a free desk next to yours. Go get her settled in.” And just like that, she hands you off. “So, how’s your first morning going? Need coffee?” Navleen asks. “Actually, yes. I haven’t met my caffeine quota yet.” She grins. “Good. You’ll need it if you’re planning on surviving the rest of the day.” You glance around while you wait for your coffee. No one here looks relaxed. Even the way people sip their coffees feels performative.

She leans in. “There’s a Nespresso on Port Ops, the coffee from it tastes like burnt plastic. Most of us just get it down here, it’s no fun pulling a ten-hour day running on bad coffee.” “Good to know,” you say, smiling back at her.

You order, and Navleen leans back against the marble bar while they make your drinks. “So. You already met Harry?”

Your stomach twists. “Mr. Castillo?”

She raises a brow. “Saw you two talking earlier.”

You steady your voice. “He just said good morning, introduced himself. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” Navleen sips her drink, eyes flicking to you. “Takes a few days before you stop feeling like you might faint in front of him.”

You look down at your cup, “I didn’t expect to run into him.”

She shrugs. “No one ever is.”

Another sip. “But hey—it looked like you handled it. Not everyone does.” You grip your cup and give her a smile you don’t quite feel. She hums, tilting her head. 

“Just sayin’. People watch. You’ll figure that out.” A second passes, and her smile turns into a smirk. “Not always for the reasons you think.” The nerves you’d managed to calm set back in as you sit and drink your coffee.

She glances at her watch. “We should head back up. You’re in the bullpen for now—across from me and Isaac. You’ll meet him. He’s nice. A little too nice sometimes. Never shuts up about his partner. You’ll see.”

You laugh softly. “ he sounds harmless.”

“Harmless is usually where the real stories start.”

She pushes off the bar, coffee in hand, and heads down the hallway, looking back at you to encourage you to walk with her.

“Biggest tip? Keep your head down this week. Make friends,” she pauses for a moment as you step into the elevator, “Don’t outshine anyone.”

The door opens, and she nods for you to follow her. “Walk faster. We don’t linger in the halls. It’s a thing.” You speed up. “This section’s mostly juniors and interns,” she says, quieter now. “You’ll sit across from me, which is tragic for you, but good for me.” You pass through the offices, and a lot more people are here now. Most of the doors are closed, a few open just enough to offer a glimpse of someone hunched over a desk, whispering into a headset. The layout of this area is too open to feel safe, too quiet to feel casual. It feels like the kind of place that everyone could hear it if you fucked up.

Navleen gestures at a clean workstation, the desk is minimalist, and dual monitors are already set up.

“Here you go. Welcome to the fishbowl,” she says. “We pretend we’re not watching each other, but we are. It’s part of the fun.” Okay so it’s not just me who feels like a fucking beta fish. You give her a polite smile, pulling out the plush, leather office chair and putting your purse below your feet. Okay, this is fine. I’ve got this, I didn’t dissociate the entire morning at all. You drop into the chair at your new desk, coffee within reach, fingers twitching against the edge of the folder that Fawn handed you earlier. You take a few deep breaths and open it.

The first page is a welcome letter printed on heavy cardstock. The Legacy Capital logo is embossed into it with gold foil; the cardstock probably costs more than your printer back at home. The wording is formal and robotic: “We expect excellence, discretion, and professionalism from all of our team members, regardless of tenure.” It’s just a letter, but it feels like a warning. You turn the page. Org Chart. You freeze for a second. His name is printed right there at the top of the pyramid, also in gold foil. Harry Castillo. Your mother’s name is there too, tucked near the bottom under Executive Assistant to the CEO. You scan through the names, nobody notable, not you or Navleen, just a block labeled Intern Pool.

Figures. Next is a sheet of systems and logins—Slack, internal drives, and different formatting guidelines. Specific brand fonts for decks, company colors, black, gold, and white. There’s a section of file naming protocols that’s two damn paragraphs long. Communication Guidelines: ‘Transparency is key. Digital communication is monitored.’ You hum to yourself. Most of this certainly reads like a threat.

The HR packet is next, there’s benefit info that doesn’t apply to you yet, a copy of the NDA you already signed before starting, and an Ethics Compliance Form. You close your eyes tight for a second, then push past it. A small black and gold enamel pin slides free from one of the inner pouches. Legacy’s tower insignia stamped into it like a seal. A talisman. Did I just join a cult? You set it aside.

Lastly, on the bottom of the stack, there’s a Legacy-branded notebook—satin black cover, thick paper. On the inside of the cover page, written in gold: ‘Build your Legacy. Leave your mark.’ A bit ominous…but very on brand for this place. When you flip to the back of the notebook, you see your mother’s handwriting. ‘Proud of you. Keep your head down. — Mom x’ You stare down at the notebook for another few seconds. Build your Legacy. Leave your mark. The floor still feels like it's buzzing beneath your feet. Your head is still swimming. When you glance up, Navleen is already in deep conversation across the room, headset half on, fingers flying over her keyboard. You should be doing something. You pull your laptop toward you, tap it awake, and start clicking through Slack. Channels. Messages. Too many messages already. You try to focus. Try to look busy. A message pops up on the screen. Fawn: Ready? Meet me at Conference 2. Ten sharp. Instantly, your heart kicks up. You straighten your blazer, shove the onboarding folder into your purse, and pick up the notebook. And stand. First meeting. Deep breath. Don’t fuck this up. Conference rooms are on the floor above Port Ops. The floor layout is basically the same, a little more spread out, fewer people crammed in there, bigger rooms. You walk down the hall, all half-frosted glass walls like everywhere else. Your mother is already inside the office. Through the tower emblem, you can see her, seated perfectly upright, laptop already out on the table in front of her. Next to her—Harry. He’s standing, his jacket off now, the shirt he’s in is short-sleeved, he looks almost scandalous compared to the folks in crisp suits and dress shirts around him. He’s talking to someone on the opposite side of the table. Your stomach knots. Of course. First real meeting, and my mother and him are both here. Please kill me. Just as you start to force your feet forward, Fawn appears beside you. “Hey!” she says from behind, “you ready?” “As I’ll ever be.” You push down the nausea and clear your expression. Both heads turn toward you the moment Fawn pushes the door open. Your mother gives you a soft look, her lips ever so slightly curving up. Harry’s gaze slides over to you, slow. Then he steps back, casual, hands in his pockets. “Here she is,” Fawn says. “Our new addition.” You force a polite nod to the room. “Good morning.” “Morning,” your mom says quickly, like she’s trying to fill the space before anyone else can. She gestures lightly. “Have a seat, sweetheart.” The word hits your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Fawn motions for you to sit, conveniently across from Harry. Why am I sweating? He doesn’t say a word. He just watches for half a second too long before sliding into the chair beside your mother. The meeting begins. It’s part orientation rundown for the other interns and yourself, half schedule discussion.

You do your best to pay attention, writing down meaningless notes in your notebook, but your pulse keeps doing something weird every time Harry shifts in his seat. Every time your mother mentions “Legacy culture” or “building relationships within the firm,” your skin crawls. You can feel Harry’s eyes flick toward you again and again. You don’t dare meet it. When he finally speaks, i’ts low, calm, and smooth. You nearly drop your fucking pen. “Intern schedules can stay in Ops. Let's keep it clean.” Fawn just nods along. Your mother types something on her computer, brow furrowed in concentration. You stare at the words, leave your mark inside your notebook cover, and fight the urge to laugh. Or cry. The meeting starts to wind down, and people begin to gather their things. Harry stands up first, shrugging his jacket back on, movements smooth as ever. When he passes your chair, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t say a word.

But as he rounds the glass door, you glance over. He’s already looking back. The door clicks shut behind him, and your shoulders sag before you can catch it. Around the table, chairs scrape, and voices pick back up. The meeting is officially over. Fawn gives you a quick smile as you reach for your notebook. “Good first round,” she says under her breath. “You’ll get used to these quick.” “Thanks.” Across the room, your mom is still gathering her things up, just taking her time. Of course. She crosses to you just as the others file out. “You okay?” she asks quietly, her voice is bright, too practiced, too corporate. Then it drops lower, “You looked a little nervous.” “I’m fine. First day jitters.” You say, forcing a smile. Her gaze lingers a moment, searching your face. “Just keep your head down,” she says softly. A repeat of the note she left. “Don’t let them see you sweat.” You nod at her. She exhales. Then, says, “Come on then. I’ll walk you back up.”

You fall into step beside her, both of you moving through the halls like it’s normal. Like you’re not being watched already. Like people aren’t already thinking it. The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Emails, Slack messages, and system tutorials you could barely absorb. Patel tried to pull you into a few casual chats after introducing you to Isaac, who seemed nice. But she was right, he might actually be too nice. Fawn threw projects at you faster than you could even begin to process them. You smiled. You nodded. You didn’t breathe. Your stomach starts to growl loudly. You look over to the clock at the corner of your screen and— Shit, how is it 5 PM already? No wonder you’re hungry, you survived the day on dry toast, two cups of coffee, and a handful of hopes and dreams.

//

By the time you finish up your onboarding checklist and reread through the code of conduct four more times, it’s 7 PM. The office has thinned out considerably. Only a handful of people remain on the floor as you throw your blazer over your arm and walk out the door. The parking garage is spookier in the evening light. Emptier too. Before you’ve even buckled in, your cellphone starts to ring. You put the key in the ignition and turn. Pulling your phone out of your purse and smiling when you see the photo lighting up the screen. Emeryl. You slide to answer and slap the phone into the dash mount just as their face fills up the screen—grainy, 480P calculator quality, garage reception already choking the call. “Hey! I’m so glad you’re done at wor—oh my god, you look exhausted.” “Thanks, jerk. I am.” You throw the car into reverse, one hand braced on the wheel. “I survived the day. Just barely, but I survived!” They grin at you through the lens. “You better spill. Full report. I need this.”

When you start to speak, you get distracted before the first sentence is out. Out of the corner of your eye, headlights flash, and you hear the doors beep unlocked. Adrenaline shoots through you. A very shiny, very expensive-looking, very black Bentley. In a reserved spot. You mutter under your breath without thinking, “You have to be kidding.” The door swings open. And Mr. Castillo is right there, sliding into the driver’s seat. Still terrifying. Still too good-looking for your blood pressure. “...Hello?” Emeryl’s voice cuts in. “Why aren’t you talking? What’s happening?” “He’s here,” you whisper. “WHO?” You don’t answer right away. “Who is there? Jason fucking Vorhees?” they yell through the receiver, “You look like you’re about to be murdered.”

“My boss. The CEO. He’s…here. In the garage. Getting into his car.” Silence, then— “WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Their voice pitches up. “TURN ME AROUND. I WANT TO SEE.” . “I’m not turning you around, Jesus Christ,” you say, stifling a nervous laugh with your hand. “You’re so rude! I demand visuals. This is crucial information.” Your eyes dart back toward the Bentley just as it pulls into motion. “He’s leaving. It’s fine.” Emeryl groans. “Fine? You sound like you’re going to pass out. What the hell happened in there?” You grip the wheel tighter. “He just walked out when I was leaving. That’s all.” “You’re so full of shit. Start from the top. Did he look at you? Did he say something? Why are you being cryptic?” An exaggerated sigh heaves its way from your chest as you rub at your temple. “It’s nothing…I think. I don’t know.” “Girl.” “Okay fine. This morning, when I got in, he was like…staring at me.” “Okay, I’m intrigued, go on.” “I dropped my mascara wand on my blazer this morning and it stained it.” As you pull onto the street, the call audio crackles, clearing. You glance down, and Emeryl is now in at least 1080P. “This seems super irrelevant right now.” “Sorry. When we met, he got weirdly close to me and grabbed my wrist to look at the stain.” “In like…a hot way, or a murder way?” “Both?” You make a face, “anyway, he also told me to ‘be careful’ and it kinda made me feel some sorta way.” “Is he hot?” “He’s…old.” “That doesn’t mean anything. How old is old?” “Well, considering he was friends with my dad before I was born. I’m gonna have to say, he’s at least fifty-ish.” Emeryl repeats themself, “Okay, but is he hot? You sound like you’re still shaking?” “He’s definitely better looking than I remembered. He’s kinda giving—” you pause. “Wait, did you ever watch NARCOS?” “I don’t think so?” “Oh, okay. Never mind,” The line is silent for a solid thirty seconds. “So he’s hot?” “Oh my god, yes. Yes, Emeryl, he’s hot.” “Sorry, I’m just trying to live vicariously through you. I need office romance drama in my life somehow.” “You’re dumb.” “NO. You’re dumb. What did he smell like?” You’re blushing now. “Rich. Next topic.” “Of course he does,” Emeryl mutters.

“Everyone there looks perfect, too. It’s nauseating. My desk is literally in a glass box, people can see everything, including my $150 Nordstrom Rack blazers.” Emeryl snorts, “Sexy corporate surveillance kink, love that for you.” You say nothing, just shake your head. “Baby, you dress perfectly fine. Don’t worry about that part,” they say. “No, you don’t get it. I already want to burn half my wardrobe. Everyone there looks like they’re on the cover of Forbes.” // Harry all but peeled out of the parking garage. Took the corner too fast, fingers curled tight around the wheel, knuckles white. He hadn’t meant to watch her leave. Tried to look away, failed. She’s in his head. The whole damn drive home he’d barely seen the road. All he could think about was her face, tilted toward him in the office. Her profile in the meeting. The curve of her jaw. Her lips. That little sound she made when he took her wrist in his hand. Idiot. Fucking idiot. Don’t do this. Don’t do this again. He shouldn’t have let Janey convince him to give her the internship. Should have said it was a conflict of interest. Because this is a fucking conflict of interest. He gripped the wheel tighter. Had half a mind to pour a drink when he got home. Maybe two. But even he knew that wouldn’t wash her out. Because that feeling had already crept in, and he knew. It’s going to take more than the top shelf to stop it. When he sets his mind on something…on someone. He won’t quit until it’s his. Regardless of how terrible an idea he knows it is.

//

At this point, you’ve been in the car for 45 minutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Getting back has been a total nightmare compared to this morning's ten-minute commute. Emeryl’s been grilling you the entire time about your day. Asking for every single detail. “So. I have a proposition.” “Oh god. Do I even want to hear it?” you groan. There's a small pause, then they say it so casually, like it's the most normal thing in the world. “Have you ever considered just…making one of these rich assholes pay your bills?” You blink. “Pardon.” “I’m serious.” Their voice perks up. “Join one of those sugar baby websites. I had a friend from Twitter in Oakland who did it. They made enough bank to pay off their student loans in like…three months.” You laugh, half-horified. “Em. No.” “Why not? Look at where you’re working. They’re all walking mother wounds with expense accounts. I think you’d be perfect.” “Absolutely not.” “Just look. At least I’m not like…telling you to sell toe pics again. Just make a profile. Window shop. Empower yourself!” “You’re out of your damn mind.” “You love me.” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Maybe.” “That’s not a no. I’m texting you the site.” “You are not.” “Too late.” The phone buzzes with a new text notification from them. Of course, they sent that. You shift the mount a little, watching the traffic crawl. “Why are you like this?” “Please. You knew what you were getting into when you left me here for the wolves.” “God, I didn’t leave you for the wolves.” You protest. “You left me for New York. Same thing.” They lean in closer to the screen, grinning.

“You’re the only bitch I know who could ace a finance degree and still get tangled up with half the wolves on Wall Street. I’m just trying to make sure you survive it.” Your throat tightens, just a little. You missed them more than you let yourself think. In your first year at Berkeley, you met Emeryl. You were both at the same awful Halloween party. Neither of you knew the host. They found you smoking a cigarette on the balcony and said, “You look like you hate everyone here. Me too.” And that was that. Been each other’s lifeline ever since. This isn’t even the first time Emeryl has suggested you sign up for a website like this. They told you to make an account on Feetstagram a month ago and said, “You have nice arches,” like it meant anything. You considered it. Briefly… But unfortunately for them—and for the internet, you don’t do feet, don’t do feet stuff. Not that you’re gonna yuck anyone's yum. But for you? Nope. Not your thing. You finally make it home and park. Still both caught in conversation, yapping away as you walk into the apartment. One hand is still on the phone as you kick the door shut behind you. “I swear to God, LA traffic is miles better than this place, there are too many fucking bridges.” you groan. “Maybe you should carpool with your mom,” Emeryl suggests, holding back a snicker. “Maybe you should shut the fuck up.” They cackle. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you go. But—” their voice drops, teasing, “don’t forget what we talked about.” You roll your eyes, kicking off your heels. “I’m literally not doing that.” “You promised you’d look.” “I didn’t promise anything, I just said maybe.” They wink at you, grinning. “Let me know what username you choose!” You sigh—half laugh, half exhaustion. “I’ll call you tomorrow, love you.” They blow you a kiss and end the call. When you make it up to your room, you strip off your clothes and drop them straight into your hamper. You pull on an oversized tee and some PJs. You grab a glass of water from the kitchen and flop down on the couch with your laptop. Then you open a blank incognito tab, already shaking your head at yourself. You grab your phone and look at your text thread with Emeryl. Gilded. That’s the website name. It sounds…expensive.

You sigh, murmuring to yourself as you begin to type. I can’t believe I’m doing this. The URL auto-fills, and you exit the page before hitting enter. I am not doing this. Instead, you open Slack. Check your messages. Stare at your onboarding checklist again. Close it. You tap your fingers on the side of your laptop. Emeryl’s voice itches in your brain. ‘You promised you’d look’ You stare at the screen for a hot minute, debating, holding your face with one hand. “Fine.” You type it back in and actually hit enter this time. When the site loads, it's black and sleek and a little too inviting. You hesitate. I’m just looking. Just for fun. Not serious. When you finally click Sign Up, your heart flutters. Do I doxx myself completely? Or do I not… Instead of choosing a photo that shows your entire face, you pick a very sexy, very ominous photo that one of your film major friends took of you in school. It’s you posed leaning back on a sofa. All silhouettes in red light. Only your side profile is showing. Dark enough to stay relatively anonymous, visible enough to pass the website's standards. Now a username. You look around the living room for inspiration, There's a stack of your textbooks on the shelf. FinanceNerd? Nope. Absolutely not. Your eyes land on the old film camera sitting on the table. ShutterBaby? God, that sounds like a cartoon character. No. You chew on your lip, fingers tapping away again. Alumni hoodie. BerkeleyGrad? Kill me, I should give up while I’m ahead. Your gaze drifts toward the bookshelf again. Tucked between your other reads is a battered copy of Inferno. You’ve been slowly working your way through it again, mostly because Hozier sent you through a literary rabbit hole with his last album. You tilt your head. Francesca. Rimini. You hum. Both pretty. But… Your eyes shift to the fridge. There's a crooked little I <3 LA magnet—half a gag gift from Emeryl before you left, half a reminder of home. You laugh under your breath. La Rimini. It’s got a ring to it. A little mysterious. A little old-world, smart. You type it in. LaRimini. Click. You enter your ID information, then check the box that assures you that your full name is only ever made public if there’s a court order. You hit enter one more time and exhale. The profile accepts, and the screen instantly floods with profiles. Men in suits. Men on yachts. Men with smiles that they definitely bought. You scroll. Why did I put myself into this circle of hell right now? You scroll again. And then—

You pause. A profile catches your eye. Your pulse ticks a little faster. You lean in closer to the screen. No way. No FUCKING WAY. If you liked this please leave a comment! it really encourages me to keep writing these fics for yall. if you want to be added to the tag list also comment or send me an ask!!! love you all sm. -Liv

[nullicaput]

firsts, seconds, and thirds. III (final)

Pairings: Geum Seong-je x Reader, Wolf Keum x Reader

Tags: Minor College AU, Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Language and Profanities, Seong-je being mentally unstable

Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, you found yourself rejecting yours when you learned who it was.

Word count: 3877

previous chapter.

You did not know how long you were waiting outside the door of your neighbor Hwangmo. Curled up with your head on top of your folded knees, you patiently sat on the dusty floor of the hallway.

"Yo." 

"Senior," the guy you were waiting for said, causing your terrified heart a bit of relief. "What are you doing outside?" 

You lifted your head and made a sushing gesture. 

"Hwangmo."

He knelt in front of you and carefully pulled you up. With him present, the tears that you were keeping from spilling poured like a dam breaking. Your hearing stopped working due to your brain being to concentrated at the threat that was hiding inside your home—you did not notice that it was not just Hwangmo with you. 

"You cryin'?" Wolf teased. "Oh, fuck, you are."

"What happened?" the orange-haired male asked, concern evident in his face. 

"Someone's inside," you muttered, too scared to be heard. "The doorknob's busted."

"Amateur," Wolf interjected.

As if you were not even aware of his existence, you simply kept holding his underling's hands tightly. To Wolf's irritation, you even pulled his subordinate into an embrace, searching for comfort and asking for help. 

"Hwangmo," you sobbed. 

That almost drove Wolf over the edge. 

His eyes darkened at the sight of you confiding to his right-hand man instead of him, when he was the first one to approach you and not Hwangmo. The same man he was always with when he was doing errands from the big boss, assisting him with sweeping the garbage, having the same face and knuckle wounds—Hwangmo was a violent guy like him, and yet, you do not appear to fear him the way you did with Wolf. In a way, he envied Hwangmo and desired to switch places with him. For a reason he knew too well, he was frustrated that even Hwangmo could be capable of softness—and you even let that softness in. 

He craved your attention as though it was a necessity, as though it was his right—as though it was right. Perhaps, it was. After all, you were his, as he was yours.

Vexed, he went inside in your stead. The reason was unknown, even for him. He was uncertain if it was due to your display of clinging onto someone else, him just caring for your sake, or him wanting to be praised for his heroism—he was unsure. Hell, this was his first time feeling this way. No less for a person who seemed would hate the idea of being his. 

"Where's he going?" you panicked—again, not addressing him directly. 

"Seongje's got this," Hwangmo assured you. 

"Who?" 

"Wolf."

Inside your unit, Wolf switched the lights on and wore your plush indoor slippers. Light on his feet, he attempted to walk the pace you have and located the rat that made your door useless. He checked every nook and cranny, practically turning your flat upside down just to find his target. Not so long, he heard a rustling under your bed.

"Idiotic fuck."

From outside, you heard a sharp scream followed by a bone-chilling crack. The main door was opened, and you watched Wolf dragging a person by the hair.

Your stalker.

"Didn't I tell you that this is my turf?" He scowled, taking his glasses off and giving it to his right-hand man uncharacteristically gentle. "Specs."

You closed your eyes and covered your ears, but the sound of his fist hitting the man against the railings of the apartment reached you. 

"I'll tell the police!" your stalker threatened. 

"That you stalked and broke in in someone's flat then got pulverized?" He laughed. "Sure, you will."

You heard something hard hit the metal rails. Your stalker grunted each time it did.

"I'm sure you can survive the fall," Wolf exclaimed with mirth dripping from each word. "This is the third floor, you know?"

"I...won't," the rat pleaded. "I won't come here again! I won't bother her again!"

With Wolf's last punch, your stalker passed out, his head hanging limply. You soulmate let his victim fall onto the floor without any ounce of care. Instead, he scanned his bruised knuckles drip with blood.

Removing your hands from your ears, you ran straight to your unit with urgency. 

"Not even a verbal thanks?" Wolf teased. "You're cruel, Senior."

"Senior, where are you going?" 

"I'm checking for cameras."

Hwangmo exhaled, feeling the tension, which almost grew but did not.

"We can lend her one of the empty units," he suggested, returning his superior's eyewear. 

"Those shits are dusty. Can't have her gagging again after a display of charity, can we?" Wolf wiped his glasses with a portion of his shirt that did not have any blood. "Just guard her door tonight. We'll buy a replacement knob tomorrow."

You woke up to your lungs dry and heavy.

You opened your eyes to see light passing through the small gap of your bedroom door. 

"Why are the lights on?" you whispered. 

"Ah, yes," you talked to yourself as you went out. "Hwangmo's sleeping here because the doorknob's ruined."

You were walking to get yourself a glass of water when you saw a familiar purple hair through your peripheral vision. 

"Seongje?" you said, still half-awake. 

"Seongje?" He took his jacket off and fixed his sitting posture. "Where'd you learn that name from?"

Did he notice? 

"It was a slip of his tongue. Hwangmo's."

"Yeah?"

There was silence that hung thick as you took a step back away to reach the kitchenette of your apartment. It was a clumsy attempt to distract him from the fact that you uttered a word—your first word as his soulmate—directly to him, and you were hesitant if you could actually pull it off. You were not even sure why you were trying to grab a knife from the few pieces you had, but your gut was telling you to have something that could protect you. The small of your back made contact with the sink, while he remained sitting on the couch—he was not physically blocking the exit but could grab you easily if you were ever to attempt to make a dash for it—and yet, there was a shift in the air. It was malicious, territorial, famished—predatory. 

The seriousness that he typically had returned to his face; he was far from being entertained, which he usually was when he was messing around with you against your wishes. He appeared to be calm, like he was calculating the time he must take to close the distance between the two of you, which was not difficult considering how small this apartment was. 

"Since when have you known?" he said, his head tilting to the side—a habit of yours he adapted.

He has speculations that you did know all along, especially since you have been acting so avoidant with him whenever he was around, but there was something that told him that you knew the truth a lot earlier.

"Since when did you know?" he repeated, placing his glasses onto your coffee table. 

Your breath has been caught in your throat; you knew that this was the end of your year-long, one-sided masquerade.

"Why are you here in my unit?" you pathetically inquired.

"I asked you first."

"Thank you for dealing with him, but you can go now." 

"One more bullshit, and I'll knee you." With few steps, he closed the distance between the two of you to a single meter. "Don't think of grabbing that knife."

You did not listen to him and blindly picked one of the knives. It was the thinnest yet longest one. You pointed it at him, gripping the handle so hard your knuckles have turned lighter.

"Leave," you said. 

"Not before you tell me why the fuck would you hide this from me."

"Leave, Wolf." 

He hissed in pain and grunted, "How the hell are you not feeling hot?"

You were.

All this time, you were.

You were just hiding it, because having this pain was better than having him. 

"I don't want you."

People with sadistic tendencies experience enjoyment when seeing others react to the pain or violence they inflicted them, while those who are masochistic in nature find pleasure in receiving actions that are typically considered as violent and derogatory. 

Wolf was not a clueless young man who was oblivious to his sadomasochism. If anything, he knows himself so well he actively seek indulgement to satisfy it. As his journey to search for anything to give him the appropriate stimulation, he has heard insults after insults after insults that they have stopped affecting him the way he intended. After a few years of constant fighting, verbal arguments do not feel enough—they do not feel like anything anymore. 

Still, he knew all too well how to distinguish insults from the otherwise. 

What you said was not an insult at all.

So why did it feel like one?

"Say that again." 

"I didn't tell you, because I don't want you." You sighed to calm your nerves, you fingers tensing around the handle. "You won't get any merit from doing this. Just stop." 

"Where is the mark?"

"I'm not telling you," you insisted. 

"I'm losing all the patience I saved just for you."

"Why do you think I don't want you? Why do you think I would want you?"

You wished your words of rejection stung him—they did.

"Keep running your mouth, and I'll close it for you." 

"How? Are you going to beat me up the way you do with those people unprovoked?"

"Keep testing me," he warned.

"Even if you hit me, it wouldn't even be a shock to me." 

He stepped close to you.

You changed your initial grip and swung your dominant hand to stab him with the knife.

"Crazy bitch—"

He grabbed you by the wrist. You did not let go of the blade. Your nails dug deep into the flesh of your palm. You kept pushing. He kept holding you back. You used your other hand to increase the force. The wedge approached his eye; only an inch remained before it punctured him.

"Hah," he exhaled.

Wolf Keum has been known by those like him to have a three-second rule, which states that anyone who holds eye-contact with him for three seconds or more will be kissing his fist. Of course, not everyone was aware of that—and he adored the fact that there are individuals who do not—and they unfortunately get obliterated before they could even realize that they have broken that unsaid rule. 

Those who have mentored you and watched you speak in front of the crowd have known your own three-second rule. It refers to your habit of staring at a particular person in the audience for no more that three seconds before looking away to glance at the other ones. 

Right now, you have broken your own rule. Right now, he was not punishing you for breaking his rule, too.

From his position, he could clearly see the fullness of your intention to rob him of his ability to see with both his eyes. He cackled at the view of your fear vanishing ang becoming replaced with something more brave, of something more dangerous. For such a stupid reason, you were so prepared to take him down just so he would not be able to touch you and to claim what the divine beings have given to him. He never assumed that you could ever be more beautiful now that you were glaring at him with eyes filled with resentment and adrenaline than when you were smiling peacefully as though there were no threats in this world that could ever make you feel afraid for your life.

If it were anyone else, they would have been cowering in fear in front of him and begging for his forgiveness, and yet, there you were, staring at him straight in the eye as though it was the rightest thing in the world.

"[Name]," he said so quietly you could mistake it for a purr. 

His free hand moved to your neck and grasped the soft flesh that filled the hollowness of your airway. He could feel your pulse against his thumb, beating, throbbing, telling him to let go. However, he did none of the sort. He did not take his hand off, nor did he loosen the grip he had around your wrist.

"Senior."

He smiled, and then, he punched you straight to the gut.

"You—ack!" 

The knife fell from your hands, while you fell onto him. You coughed. You wheezed. You cried in pain.

"Bastard," you gasped, your breathing ragged. "You lunatic!"

"You kept blabbering about me being violent and shit, and yet you almost took my eye out."

You clawed his shirt in order to gain some stability, and he could feel your nails digging into his skin despite his thick shirt. He kicked the blade away while you latched onto him. Your vision swam due to the impact of his punch against your body, and you could only assume that the moment you let go will be the moment you would fall onto the floor. He did not stop you, but he pushed you away just a tad bit so he could still see your face. Your head hung behind while your back was now supported by his left forearm. He lifted your shirt up just below your chest, and he saw the letters peak through the waistband of your bottoms and undergarments—he tugged them down. 

Just low enough to see. 

Just low enough to feel. 

Just low enough to make you feel.

"Don't," you threatened. 

Wolf—Seongje—Geum was not kind.

He was not going to stop just because you told him to.

"Hm? What are you gonna do about it?"

He used his thumb to trace the words on your stomach, internally laughing that his firsts were nothing graceful, just like he was.

"So you knew a year ago."

He grinned, but all it seemed to you was an animal baring its teeth.

"I said, don't." 

"And I asked you, what are you gonna do about it?"

Before he could touch the last syllable and end the process, you slapped his hand away from you skin. Using the heel of your palm, you hit the bottom part of his jaw with all your might. Without any missing beat, you bolted to the door, not paying any mind to your still bare feet. You bit the inner flesh of your cheek as your vision darkened; you would not possibly stop your escape just because you were still nauseous from the hit.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Just an arm away from your door, your feet were then lifted from the ground. Before your mind could register it, you were thrown onto the couch with such force that could knock you out. He moved on top of you and placed himself between your legs. Horror has enveloped your whole figure, yet you did not let it petrify you. Even with your vulnerable position, you mustered all your courage and kicked him on the side. Not letting him recover, you curled your fist and hit him with the back of your hand. You pulled yourself together and attempted to get away, but Wolf pulled you by the ankle. He locked his arms around you from behind, and even when you elbowed him so many times, he did not set you free.

"You little shit, let me go!"

You inhaled a lungful of air—

You headbutted him.

"Fuck!" Wolf shouted, his arms losing strength. 

"Senior!" The door was kicked open to Hwangmo's horrified expression. "What the hell's happening here?"

"Help me get up," you said. "Quick!"

He complied to your request without asking any unnecessary questions first. He guided you to your divider furniture, and you leaned your whole body weight onto it for support. The adrenaline that kept you standing has dispersed, and the initial rush you had has left you. You panted as you pulled your bottoms, eyes squeezed shut while you felt the aftermath of your squabble with the infamous rabid dog himself. 

"That thing's my soulmate," you answered without being asked.

"Oh," Hwangmo said, pitying you. 

"Shouldn't you be rejoicing that I'm yours?" Wolf huffed, finally regaining his full consciousness after your attack. 

You did not reply to his mocking and fixed your appearance. You massaged your hands, their first time being used to fight and all. While him, he gazed at you as if you were the most ethereal being in the universe. He looked so drunk, his liquor being your rage and disgust.

"So what's your plan?" Hwangmo voiced out, not wanting to further fuel your impending wrath. "I mean, you two are not exactly the most compatible pair." 

You nodded, agreeing fully. 

"We'll trace each other's first words." For the first time, you looked at him calmly. "After this, let's just pretend not to know each other."

"Nah."

As fast as the word left his mouth, you picked up a picture frame from the displays and threw it straight to your other half's forehead. Lucky for him, he dodged, and the frame landed onto the couch with a thump. 

"Then what's the point of you asking me where my mark is if you didn't even want us to trace it?"

You clicked your tongue. 

This is why you never liked being angry. You automatically throw everything you put your hands on before you could even rationalize your feelings.

"I never said anything about us not tracing each other's marks, sweet." He even had the gal to shrug. "I just don't want to pretend that we don't know each other after this."

The vein on your forehead bulged and on the verge of popping.

"What are you, a romantic?" you hissed. "Just burn yourself to death, would you?"

"I'm burning, alright?"

Hwangmo sweatdropped, feeling awkward that he was there with the two of you, like a child watching his old, divorced parents argue for the nth time today.

"When are we gonna buy the doorknob?" your underclassman shifted the conversation. "Wolf." 

"Maybe tomorrow," he replied. 

"I'm buying it myself, so don't bother." You pinched your nose bridge in annoyance. "And give me back my first aid kit, Wolf."

He wore his eyes glasses before shooting you a cheeky wink.

"Call me Seongje."

It did nothing to appease your negative feelings. In fact, it only made you more furious. However, you were too tired to deal with any of this any longer. 

"Hwangmo, return my kit at the morning."

"Will do."

Extra:

There was a young man who was sitting at the students' lounge with his eyes watering in fatigue. His purple hair was being secured back by a wire headband, and his glasses, which he usually wore, was neatly folded along his uniform collar. He had a lollipop stick in between his teeth, the candy already melted not too long ago, and his right hand, still bruised, was holding a mechanical pencil. If one were to check his upper arm, they would see a nicotine patch plastered against his skin. He yawned, exhausted from doing all the duties he had for the union and having no complete rest for a week now. To top it all off, he just finished a fight an hour or two ago with a guy whose name he did not even know but managed to tick him off.

"Hey," he tried catching the attention of the personsitting across from him—you. "Hey." 

"What?" you snapped.

"What's this mean?"

Without even looking up from your notebook, you pushed his own back to him. 

"That's for you to figure out, dumbass."

Normally, he would punch the person who has insulted him, but he just zipped his mouth since he was aware that you could just ignore him for a year without feeling any guilt. He did not want another surge of nagging from you, knowing how accurately your words could hit him as if there was a target drawn on his back. Maybe it was his influence rubbing on you, or maybe this was your real personality all along, but you really had the knack on making him feel ashamed for not being a good citizen. Yes, you never actively tried to convert him into a kind person altogether, yet being around you makes him doubt if he really was as unbothered as he claimed himself to be since his middle school years.

"I will, damn."

You popped a soft candy in your mouth and quietly chew it. You then heard Wolf grunting before saying something incoherent under his breath.

"What now?" 

"I've been reading this shit for thirty minutes," he complained. 

"And? Is your program mine?"

Defeated, he rolled his eyes—again, a habit he learned from you.

"You know, you should act a little sweeter with me." 

"Why? Because we're soulmates?" You flipped though your own notes. "You knew that If I had the choice, I would ask for a smarter other half, but here I am. I get what I get, and you get what you get, no?"

At this point, he knew that opening his mouth would be a self-trap that would lead him to a knock-out. 

"If you can't figure these out, drop out," you said, not realizing that this was the same thing he told you some time ago. "I'm not helping you with your studies, especially when I didn't even force you to transfer here."

A year has passed after the revelation, and it has been months after this guy has switched programs and colleges just for you—or whatever he meant by that. The two of you never acted the way soulmates would, being loving and all, but that connection would be obvious in moments where Seongje would glare at those people you call friends whenever they linger too long. You never touched him after the time you traced each other's marks, and he never did, too, yet the space he maintained when he sat beside you would be too close for comfort, if it were not for the fact that the two of you were technically made for one another. Anyone with eyes could see that although you do not see Wolf as someone important the same level he sees you, he still stayed and even changed slightly for the better because of you. One could argue that it was because he was growing older that was why he has become more tamer compared to how he used to be in the past, but that would be untrue. No other viable reason could explain the change in his overall behavior except the soulmate link.

"[Name]."

From under the desk you both shared, he nudged your leg with his right foot. When you did not glance at him, he lightly kicked you again; this time, on your thigh. 

"[Name], let's go on a date after this."

"I'm not your girlfriend."

"You could be." 

"No."

He stood up, his demeanor undergoing a whole one-eighty-degree switch. Before he could take another step, you rose from your seat and pulled him back. 

"Fucking hell, Seongje." you seethed. "Are you serious?" 

"Date?" 

"Finish your activities first."

With that, he grinned deviously, enjoying his victory over you.

tag section.

@pookynknowntranger @hoshzz @wagawana @iquietone @yuuuumii @ruruyiin @kunikei

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 1x19, "kids"

or the one where cameron's absence is so obvious that it causes a meningitis outbreak.

i'm qualifying this one as another stepping-stone episode for me, personally. i liked a lot of pieces of it, and obviously we get some major plot movement with cameron and house at the end, but i think we've entered Full Speed Ahead to the finale atp.

we open and close 1x19 with house and cameron, offering us a framed narrative that gets punched straight through at the end when cameron makes her shocking demand: a date! that's what it will take to get her back into PPTH. even without any foreknowledge, we can safely assume it's a loaded request with some pretty disastrous results incoming. but still, i have to say - i really hated this.

i see the plot and character resonance here. if i'm pretending like i haven't seen the resulting date (which i don't hate, despite disagreeing with the initial premise here), i still understand that a "date" will function more like a forced confrontation/dissection between 2 characters who have been struggling against the social norms of Having A Crush. it's not a role that either performs well, so good for cameron for trying to find a middle-ground, i suppose, but i sincerely can't get past the 2000s tv of it all. surely there could have been a more interesting way to do it. it's one house md's most daring attempts at breaking and/or redefining a trope, and i think this time it just falls flat.

i wish we didn't get to know cameron through this season-long dynamic with house, and i cannot wait for the deeper forays we get next season. i apologize for that negativity lol i just had to come clean about it. my patience has all but worn thin for this saga between them.

though i did like the visual representation of cameron being unable to progress forward by running in place on a treadmill to open the episode. she wasn't really going anywhere, was she?

as well as how house's acquiescence (HEAVY on the acquiescence) to her demands to come back mirrored how he asked her why she liked him. there are always bits and pieces to be appreciated, even amidst what i'd call rubble lol.

BUT! cameron's absence from this episode was very impactful in a way that i really enjoyed. after flubbing another attempt at soothing things between them, house is confronted with his worst nightmare: a clinic full of people who genuinely need his attention. watching chase and foreman fumble around, lacking the sensitivity that cameron carries so naturally in her practice, was an odd moment of solidarity between them, especially when they were so thrilled when house relieved them.

no such solidarity exists long term, however, since house dials his beef with chase up to 11. to me, it felt as if he was preaching cameron's noble high-road tendencies to chase, but vindictively, thus missing the point, when he forces chase to go through a medical glossary throughout the episode. of course it doesn't take - nobody can be like cameron, despite house's greatest wishes. house even dismisses the ingenuity of one of chase's ideas, which gets him the most upset, in the same way that cameron's ideas were often dismissed.

overall, he's clearly goading chase to crack and lash out in anger, like he's been so quick to do lately, and though chase gets increasingly aggravated, he maintains his cool.

i also really enjoyed the subtle callback to chase being raised catholic. he's replaced a bible for a medical textbook, replaced a stringent teacher and/or father with his surrogate father figure, who so happens to be the figurehead of chase's career in medicine, analogous to a church. good stuff.

it's wilson's preaching that breaks through to house on 2 fronts, both of which implicate cameron in the scene i've already mentioned. during fruitless interviews, it's very clear that house is looking for nobody but cameron, a way that he can a) preserve his normal and b) be around cameron, ofc, because he likes/cares for her. superficially, wilson is motivating house to be honest with cameron for once so he can stop indulging his habit of pushing people away.

but wilson also makes the point to broaden the conversational horizons (love you and your moralizing platitudes, honey). he clarifies that house has "a history" of pushing people away and that he's talking about "every woman you've ever given a damn about!" in the face of house's jabs over perfection, he warns that "you're gonna wind up alone, house."*

this speech doesn't solve the problem entirely, ofc, but it points house in the right direction, and he finds solace/confirmation of his next steps in the patient, mary. mary is steeling herself in the face of horrifying circumstances - being traumatically pregnant at 12 years old - and insists that her parents, her team, don't need to know what she's going through. house preserves her privacy, but sees her give in to her parents just before he goes back to cameron's house:

house sees the strength in mary and, due to this show's hilarious habit of equating life-altering medical trauma to petty interpersonal issues, is inspired to be honest and "ask for help" in his own way. with that in mind, i like what house brings to the table when he returns to cameron. he's reflected and grown and saved a kid's life along the way. the understanding that, though he may technically be strong enough to subsist alone, he doesn't always have to, is pretty profound. too bad he won't hang onto it lol.

i need to shout out cuddy, like always, for 1) managing this absolute hellacious situation in her hospital; 2) putting up with house and wilson's shit the entire time; and 3) immediately understanding the urgency when house explains that the patient is bleeding into her brain and forcing open an operating room for her. i love that cuddy's strong instincts are such an integral part of her character, such that i find myself taking them for granted sometimes.

overall? neat episode. again i apologize for the splurge of negativity in there. i like what the house/cameron arc says for them by its end, but it is Taking Too Long for me.

major hilson posting below (i would put another 'read more' section break if i could!):

*okay so what's crazy about the "you're gonna wind up alone, house" exchange is not that it ends up being just NEARLY true, but wilson's emphasis on women. idc if i'm grasping at straws that haven't even been manufactured yet because it's still season 1. in the conversation, they're talking around each other; wilson is trying to pin house down amidst all his attempts at obfuscating, but wilson is physically moving through the scene, working, driving the dialogue:

i have made MANY posts (lots during my live blogging era) of how house and wilson often invert visual shot compositions/dynamics. in their case, usually whoever is seated and looking up is in charge of the conversation, and the person trailing behind is usually the subject of the conversation (think 4x14). and here's how the conversation plays out (with some omissions for brevity):

"you always find some tiny little flaw to push people away."

"...when i do decide to push you away, i hope there's a small person kneeling behind you so you fall down and hit your head." this is crazy btw. think of all the people house subsumes in wilson's life.

"you had the perfect person. and you blew it."

"cameron is so not perfect."

"well nobody's perfect."

wilson being house's imperfect "good side" holds weight here. nobody is perfect, admitted by the faulty personification of that perfection meant to contrast house at every turn but, again, forever failing in that regard. even visually the roles have been assigned - wilson's prestine white coat vs. house's sloppy black coat.

we have also now firmly established that these 2 have seen each other thru many failed relationships, and in an episode defined by the loss of one (house's relationship to cameron), i think this is relevant. in a conversation about house's tendency to remove people from his life, the audience has a subtle laugh about how these 2 seem to be eternal friends despite that tendency, and it's wilson who genders things. wilson introduces the subject of women, even though they interviewed a male candidate earlier.

what i'm getting at is that wilson is house's perfect person, of course. i think 1x19 builds a funny, unimportant setup for this subtextual joke really well, actually, but if i break my own rules and invite outside context into this post, this joke stands the test of time.

[ecrivainsolitaire]

Well good for the Diné. I'm sure they have the millions of dollars to spare in order to make sure their particular database, which is meant to serve a tiny group of people with limited political power, will never be taken down. I, on the other hand, would prefer it if instead of having thousands of tiny databases following fuck knows how many different data protocols and security measures, we had every piece of human knowledge as a free open source database wilfully maintained by the rich until the day we figure out how to dispose of them. The Maya glyph database has been under construction for decades and it's only now that it gets money from Microsoft and other tech giants to speed it up for a 2029 release, explicitly so its data can be used to train LLMs. And Mayan languages are not a small family, it's practically all of Central America. But because nearly everyone personally invested in it is a disenfranchised minority, that project has been fruitless for a long time. And I'm sure there are more cases like the Maya than like the Diné around the world. But I also don't want it to be stuck in a dusty library with a decaying server maintained by a single volunteer, because then it's only accessible to academics, and someone already offered to foot the multi million dollar bill that it will take to do all the work and put it on everyone's phone. Which our governments sure as hell weren't going to.

Also, have you heard the saying "Cs get degrees"? We don't need the output to be perfect. We just need it to be better than humans. If the machine submits a B- level work, it's already a victory, and in many fields we're already past that.

My disdain towards anti AI fan artists is not because of the validity of their art. It's because they don't seem to understand that their entire hobby is built around copyright infringement, and that defending the intellectual property monopoly is shooting themselves on the foot. Every argument I have seen so far against theft from AI to copyright holders is equally applicable to theft from fan artists to copyright holders. Which is what fan art is. I personally support that form of theft, because I do not respect impositions on the ideas one is allowed to have and use, but by falling for the "plagiarism machine" propaganda and not even bothering to understand what it is they're fighting against, they're just doing the dirty work of the IP landlords for them. This is the Satanic Panic all over again except now instead of cult pedophiles they're going against The Evil AI Artists, because they have the stupid idea that derivative art can't be real art based solely on it being derivative. You can't be pro fanfic and anti AI. The entire copyright system is fucked up, and it's only thanks to the rise of stuff like tiktok audios and stitches that corporations have relaxed their lawsuit hands a little. Taylor Swift, the most successful artist in modern day by any measurable standard, cannot afford to buy back her own art so she chose to remake all of it instead. If she isn't protected by the copyright system, but rather exploited by a corporation, what chance do the rest of us have? And why are we maintaining a status quo where the billionaire class can decide what art one is allowed to exist, to the point not even the millionaire class can confront them?

Holy shit. Gemini Pro 2.5 can, on the basis of a (very incomplete) grammatical description + dictionary of one of my conlangs:

compose novel, grammatically correct sentences in this conlang

understand sentences I have written in the conlang (even when I make grammatical errors myself!) and reply with its own novel, grammatically correct, and contextually appropriate sentences

write a (mostly) grammatically correct short story in this conlang

This is from a written description of the grammar, together with a dictionary. This conlang is nowhere online, so it's not in the training data. The grammar description itself has relatively few example sentences, it's mostly morphological tables and written descriptions of grammatical features.

Wow! That's really something to me, above and beyond what I already knew LLMs could do.

The language has some quite subtle features involving things like animacy hierarchy based morphosyntactic shifts that involve thinking about the semantics + pragmatic relationships between certain words (in a conlang! not words the Gemini base model already knows!) and selecting different constructions appropriately. I guess that's what all of grammar is, but the animacy hierarchy stuff impressed me especially.

The biggest errors the model made were due to weird text encoding issues in the grammar PDF that confused it, but it usually managed to figure out how to make a correct sentence in the end.

This is pretty impressive to me.

[ghasel]

💞 tarot pick a pile - Meet Your Soulmate 💌

[image description: the three piles, each with their respecive number]

Hi! If you don't know me, I'm Ghasel, a witch who does tarot and past lives readings!

This is my weekly half and half reading, which means that the first part will be in this post for free and the second part will be on my patreon for the members (a membership is 2$ and you get one extended or extra reading per week, basically 0.50$ per reading!). As always, though, if you do not wish to spend money, this free reading is accessible as a standalone too!

Today we are meeting one of your soulmates! Our soulmates, or soul family members, can have all the types of relationships with us, so don't think only romantic! In this free reading we will meet your soulmate and see who and how they are, then on patreon we will receive a message from them to you!

Reminder: whatever the cards and your soulmates say, you're not forced to do anything. The responsibility and the freedom for your choices are always 100% yours!

How to use this reading: pick the pile that attracts you/resonates with you/calls for you, then scroll down and read the respective reading!

Where to find me: my kofi my patreon my instagram DM always open for chats and readings!

pile 1

[image description: a tarot, a zodiac oracle and a crystal cards shown and three other tarot cards covered; on these there's the text "unveil this cards and receive the message from your soulmate on my patreon!"]

9 of wands in reverse → your soulmate is someone who knows how to work hard, but is not really interested in working to perfect one specific thing and they rather explore and see more different things - knowing more in quantity rather than going deep in one thing; they may have developed this attitude after they spent quite a lot having no other chance than working hard and continuously, so now they have devoted themselves to see and explore what they couldn't explore once; a jack of all trades master of none, but who knows that sometimes doing something different not only can open your mind and deepen your knowledge, but is also a privilege, because you have the conditions to do such

jupiter (18)→ this is the card of expansion, of knowledge and wanting to discover more, of curiosity and of learning about new things for no reason other than they exist; your soulmate seems a wise soul, someone who learned something - on the personal or human level - while discovering and exploring more; it makes me think about visiting a foreign country and learn a philosophy that makes you think about your own life too;nowadays your soulmate has very clear ideas about their thoughts and beliefs but at the same time part of this ideas are to believe that you can always change your mind - they're sure, but they also keep their mind open for anything new they may learn and may add to their personal baggage

rose quartz (48) → your soulmate is a lover, but for life; they love life and love and want to enjoy it and they may be a firm believer of the fact that we're born to be happy and fullfilled; they always strive for more - exploring more, learning more - but at the same time it's not like they're unhappy with what they have and have explored right now; they have a genuine curiosity for learning and exploring, they don't do that to day they know more than others, but because it's genuinely what they like to do, so they keep doing it whenever possible; they may be one of those people who make friends after like one day in a new place; possibly very community oriented;

READ NOW THEIR MESSAGE FOR YOU!

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[image description: a tarot, a zodiac oracle and a crystal cards shown and three other tarot cards covered; on these there's the text "unveil this cards and receive the message from your soulmate on my patreon!"]

7 of coins in reverse → they were a guardian of something, not in the sense of keeping something at bay but in the sense of keeping something safe; they may have been a patrolling soldier or a high priest/priestess who took care of the communication with nature and spirits for their group; they may also be a very old soul, someone who has learned a lot and is now more aware than sometimes we're scared of things that aren't really scary or dangerous; they know the feeling of being nervous so well and they may have experienced the nerve wrecking experience of wanting to do something, but being scared/nervous because it wasn't what everyone did and wanted for them; at the same time I feel that they were lucky and they had a lifetime in which people around them understood them - they weren't like them, but loved them enough to want them to live as and for themselves (especially a female figure, perhaps a mother); they may have been one of the few people to leave their birth community to go somewhere else

the moon (14) → this card makes me think that this soulmate is presenting themselves as a woman, but it's not necessary; they are someone who knows their shit, they reflect a lot, but even more, they interrogate themselves and are very introspective; they know that to go on in the best and easiest way they need to be balanced with themselves and this means facing every issue and every doubt as soon as they arise; this soulmate may also be very prone to psychic abilities or generally speaking to magic and witchcraft; i don't feel that they are a witch, i feel that they're more someone who has the same knowledges witches and spiritual practitioners have, but isn't walking the path of a witch; they have the knowledge, but they don't call/feel themselves a witch, because their dream and path is something different

spessartine garnet (53) → they are an unicum; as true as it is that no human (or soul) is an island, your soulmate knows themselved intimately and in the detail; they have a clear concept about who they are and what they want and everything they do is according and for it; their soul may really be older than most - so they have had more experience - or they had one specific lifetime in which they have been this type of person - and this is how they're coming through now

p.s. i asked the pendulum if this soulmate is a spirit guide of yours and said no, but i think it's very possible that they're coming through as the person they have been in a specific past life - perhaps with you, perhaps without you

READ NOW THEIR MESSAGE FOR YOU!

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[image description: a tarot, a zodiac oracle and a crystal cards shown and three other tarot cards covered; on these there's the text "unveil this cards and receive the message from your soulmate on my patreon!"]

7 of wands → they value knowledge, but at the same time they're not too strict on what they know and what they don't; they forgive themselves if they are not aware of something and they think that the most important thing is to act according to your values once you know; they may be a heavy researcher, someone with their nose always stuck in a book (or in a wikipedia loophole), and they probably are the type of person who learns for fun, the curious type that goes on a tangent about something that they will never need to know in their concrete life; they also are a bright person, someone whose curiosity has not been minimized by the idea that some things are "childlike": they do what they want, they learn what they want and they probably live their life in their own, unique way; there's the energy of a jester, in a sense, doing in adulthood something that some think it's childish - I don't think they were a jester, tho

libra (7) → they care about justice and even if people around them may not realize, they do have a strict personal moral and ethical code; they seem to be doing things randomly, but actually everything has a meaning - and sure, sometimes the meaning is only bc they're curious, but that's still a reason! They seem to be completely careless, but actually they put thought in what they do and they avoid doing what goes against their values and their morals; they may actually happen to have a stronger sense of justice than most people

euclase (23) → they are a strong soul; again, it may not seem at all, but they are a more well rounded person than many people who look like they have their shit together, but actually are just going with the flow without thinking for themselves; this soulmate has a bit of shakesperean fool energy, they're the ones who can tell the truth to the king, meaning that they are known as someone different, so they can be completely and authentically themselves with no issues because people expect it from them; they may also be wiser than they seem and they may use sometimes their reputation as someone unserious to … make things go exactly like they want

READ NOW THEIR MESSAGE FOR YOU!

[affogato-analysis]

Susie and freedom

Deltarune is consuming me, the symbolism around her is eating my brain and i love her to death. so, Susie.

spoilers ahead all the way to chapter 4's ending and potential speculations for the future.

I did write about that in a reblog like, two days or so ago but i wanted to detail it.

Susie is Freedom and it's so obvious.

she does not abide by the prophecy: there's the first switching side moment, when she decides to be a bad guy with Lancer instead of following the prophecy, there's also her asking Ralsei to take off his hood even though he's represented wearing it in the prophecy (could be linked to him not being the prince from the prophecy too). There's obviously the clear "we're not gonna let that happen" when she finds out about the prophecy's ending too and her refusal to accept the tragedy.

there's the freedom she brings to Kris by her friendship (see the actions that are so obviously theirs, like the drinks at church. see also the mirror dialogue "for some reason, seeing susie standing with you… You feel like things might actually be ok." (and yeah there's the whole question of who 'you' is in these lines but i'm pretty positive these are about Kris even if the Soul is in control).

there's the Dark World adventure where she constantly is the free and freeing one: in Lancer's castle, Noelle in Queen's tower, Toriel in chapter 3 and almost Undyne (she's certainly the one fighting the most out of her own freewill), then chapter 4 where she delivers a letter on Gerson's behalf to his son, therefore delivering one of his guilt and the other of his sense of duty (kinda, not exactly sure what to call it because insecurities feel too tame for what it is).

She also challenges the rules of the Dark World. In chapter 3, despite Tenna's comment on censorship, she can and does write ass as her name and has a "kiss the my ass" on her apron. Instead of just throwing Kris at the Titan at the end of chapter 4, she jumps with them, even if they are the only one able to seal the fountain. She learns a healing spell and refuses to give up despite not being meant to.

In the Light World, she's constantly defying expectations (see Alphys thinking Susie will make fun of her for her juice combo when she's just kinda curious about it) and also is the savior: she fights Berdly and Mayor Carol for Noelle's freedom. Also, in a way, since she's the one distracting Noelle, she's the one to give Kris freedom of action (or tries, because Kris does not have half a second's worth of freedom in this god forsaken game).

MEANING! the great power of contrast, Susie has so much more freedom than ANYONE ELSE. She fights for a lot of them though!

Kris is trapped by many things, including the Soul, that small town where they obviously don't fit anymore and that voice on the other side of the phone, and the promise they made. Which Susie fights every time: the freedom she brings through her friendship, the reaching them even at their worst (see the "Kris is surprisingly good at flirting" which stops them from their trying to murder the Soul and the mirror dialogue again).

Ralsei is dutifully abiding by the prophecy and unable to escape his role, at least partly because he doesn't try until Susie makes him (when he tells her he'll try to be more honest with her and Kris in the future in chapter 4). He doesn't even try to exist for himself ("we must not make the lightners worry", "i don't need a room") and every time she reaches out to tell him off (telling they're real friends, planning a surprise for him and trying to arrange him a room).

Noelle has her father at the hospital, her strict and potentially abusive mother, Berdly's creepy behavior towards her, her own expectations, even Queen's obsession to trap her. Susie fights all of these, by being there at the hospital (even if we bring her), telling her mother off, telling Berdly off and literally rescuing her out of Queen's grasp like a romance novel.

Herself. No one frees Susie. She breaks out of jail and the mold on her own, encouraged by her own will to do just that. She sees freedom and reaches for it, all on her own (well, we're with her, but she goes for it out of her own volition). She learns piano, her spelling is bad but she writes the letter for Gerson, she goes to church and immediately ditches the church clothes when she feels trapped in them.

I love her your honor, she is so brave.

And yeah, that opens an entire conversation about can she subvert the prophecy or is it going to catch up with her dramatically? Is she even the girl from the prophecy? Can Ralsei and Kris escape the prophecy? Can Kris and the Soul escape each other? (because we also did not choose Kris. We specifically didn't choose Kris actually, but our vessel was discarded.) And from there, we expand to the rest of the Light World: can Kris and Susie escape their own backgrounds and families, can they grow past their circumstances, can she lift Kris up the same way she does when they're climbing, offering a safe spot and tossing them up towards greater heights?

Or is this all going to end in tears with the prophecy overpowering her freedom? 'cause i would cry so bad

[nevermore-mourn-official]

I don't know how Merry convinced me this was a good idea

This blog is run by Headmaster Mourn of Nevermore Academy. I accept inquiries, as I'm sure you would have questions about how this all works.

-Rules and guidelines-

• I will be assigning merits and demerits where I see fit.

• No NSFW asks. I know how utterly.. repulsive you students can be. I will be having none of that on my blog.

• No trauma dumping in my askbox. I say this for the same reasons as Merry.

• No fastpass spoilers. They ruin the game. I may know many things, but the future is not one of them. (mod is not a fastpasser)

• I will do my best to not act oddly, or as some might say, "out of character", but I am only supernatural, and thus I may make "characterization" mistakes from time to time.

😒//

Feel free to ask me about (almost) anything and everything!

Also feel free to tell on the students (and Merry) so I can give them demerits!

Note that I will try my best to act in character, which will most likely result in scolding and/or giving demerits.

Please just block this blog if it makes you uncomfortable.

Dividers:

@sisterlucifergraphics

@bernardsbendystraws

Nevermore rp blogs-

Staff:

Dean Merry- 0 @nevermore-merry-official

Poppet- 0 @your-favorite-teacher-poppet

Dolly- 0 @nevermores-only-nurse

The Wisps- 0 @wispsofthenevermoreacademy

?The Kid who is totally not in our basement- 0 @a-boy-in-a-void

Students:

-Misfits-

Lenore Vandernacht- 0 @lenorevandernacht

Duke Laurent- -10 @duke-laurent

Pluto- 0 @purr-of-smoke

Eulalie- 0 @imtheghostnow

Berenice- -35 @berenicenevermore

?Morella- -5 @angel-in-green

-Clusterfucks-

Annabel Lee Whitlock- 0 @annabelleewhitlock

Montresor- -30 @asshole-cowboy-devil

Ada Lovelace- 0 @adaa-lovelace

Will- 0 @diary-of-a-willy-kid

Will doppelganger?- 0 @wontwilson-realwilliam

Prospero- 0 @rats-of-death

-Other students-

The Manor Girls- 0 @victemsoffical

Theo Vandernacht- 0 @theo-vandernacht

Animals:

Prospero's Rats- 0 @rats-who-eat-you

Prospero's other Rats- 0 @squeak-squeak-bitch

The Stag- 0 @youcantrunfromthewildhunt

The Hounds- 0 @theloyalhoundsofthewildhunt

The Raven- 0 @a-raven-thats-not-so-raven

Aristro Cat Catterina?- 0 @aristro-cat-catterina

Worthless Mutt- 0 @a-worthless-mutt

Flashback Characters:

Prospero's mother- 0 @motheroftheratman

Montresor's Mother- 0 @blessedangel666

Luca- 10 @way2rich4this

Egaeus- 0 @egaeus-exists

Johnny- 0 @johnny-kicking-up-dust

Sallie- 0 @the-kansas-kutie

Thomas- -5 @mastertamerlanethomas

Percy?- 0 @teaandcheckmates

[vsa-pieldepapel]

what do you think Susie’s background is like? I saw you had a few drawings of Susie’s mom, have you changed your mind on it?? Btw lovely art :)

imma get real with you anon, those were just drawings about my own mother LMAO Susie just happens to have enough seeming mommy issues to be a comfortable conduit for that Well, the obvious is obvious. hunger and the state of her room suggest poverty, her attunement to complex moral situations and hope suggest emotional or material parentification (likely both), the aggression and fear of being insufficient suggest neglect at best and abuse at worst (again, likely a mix of the two). I also still think she fixated on Toriel because probably part of the distress is directly mom related and I also think that is why she is so strongly compelled to spite Carol! What is new and I found very compelling and relatable was the moving around a lot. Something that I have gradually learned that also comes up in deltarune is that a lot of people don't... move around that much. I used to wonder why cartoons as a kid showed moving as so traumatic for the protagonists that there has to be a lesson about how it's not the end of the world, because jumping between cities was so ubiquitous in my life i thought the cartoons were being dramatic... it was only as I grew up that I realised that people often spend 5-10 years in any given place obviously, this brings its own set of problems. On one positive-ish hand it makes you resilient to instability, you bounce right back and grow up fast. When I got kicked out of the house I simply figured out where to stay and in a week all my stuff was gone, the impact of it didn't hit until months after. On the other hand what she says is true. You don't quite ever get to belong anywhere. Nothing is taken for granted. People you know have studied their whole lives in the same school and have years of shared lore that you're not entirely privy to or included in. You have nostalgic attachments strewn all about. From my own experience, jumping around happens in two situations: your parents are separated and you're jumping between living with either of them, and your parents are finding better work/ opportunities. Given the implications of poverty it could easily be both. When your parents fight over who will take care of you you feel like a burden. You feel like you have to prove to them that you're worth keeping. It makes you feel left behind. This is even without speaking of the other socialisation stuff w/peers. Being a gnc girl and woman without ever caving to expectations of femininity is a grueling thing to do for little gain. You're constantly pulled between yourself and expectations. At times your mother will put you in uncomfortable, impractical dresses and bows and flatter you for conforming. Other girls treat you as either a pet to civilise, something to take pity on, or an alien, and where a gnc effete gay boy has at least the potential of girls taking pity on him and including him in their activities, boys in their cooties phase don't want you either and to have male friends that involves wrangling their sexism and proving your worth. Regardless of your sexual orientation you will be subject to lesbophobia. Its infuriating. The piano monologue made me cry because I too kicked and dented an instrument that belonged to another girl in extracurricular music classes that my mother paid for despite struggling to afford them, because when your existence feels precarious, anything better than you that makes you feel abandoned and incompetent makes you rage (I was 6 years old, so a kid that can't regulate its emotions). My mother had to pay for it and she asked me if I knew that I deserved to get physically punished for what I'd done and after I said yes she spanked me quite hard. I'm quite surprised at how similar her upbringing seems to be to mine. Not exact, but close enough to be resonant, which I'm sure is true of a lot of other people and is probably the point toby was making.

Ditto with not being chosen for anything, even stuff like P.E. class.

Feeling that someone loves you and will stay by you after years of feeling disposable and unstable is one of the most spiritually healing things ever, and in that regard krusie is about as satisfying as ralsusie, both platonically and romantically. Meeting who I love as my best friend saved my life. I also like that with Ral there is this parallel theme of not feeling sufficient-- both of them feel the same about themselves, but cherish and elevate the other... its good influence for both.

Everything given, Susie's tough as nails for a 17ish year old.

So no, not much has changed tbh. Other than me finding all this even more interesting.

[hotwaterandmilk]

So here's a sample of what I'm currently working on scan/edit-wise: both Wedding Peach LD box sets + 4 DX LDs and the Akihabara Dennou Gumi LD box set (plus all booklets/bonus content). There's other things too but these are my main focus.

This project is proving to be very difficult and I've probably bitten off more than I can chew given my health (I started ADG in March after pottering away on WP for 6 months). My scanner is also starting to fade a bit (literally, on one side) which is extremely frustrating now that I'm trying to redo some scans to improve edges etc.

I'm strongly considering throwing caution to the wind and trying to track down a better quality though more expensive scanner, but the $750-ish for The Scanner everyone recommends is out of my price range (thanks to considerable recent medical costs). Not sure I'm at a point where I'd request support from others to achieve this financial goal (I am never comfortable with asking for support, as anyone who knows me will confirm), but I'll be honest I haven't ruled it out.

In the meantime I'll try to keep sharing the odd scan and photos of some random cute stuff I own so you know I still exist.

[bluedandylyon]

Rewatch Rambles (tm)

Season 1

PRINCESS PROM PRINCESS PROM WE'RE GOING TO PRINCESS PROM

(pt 1. Listen, u don't understand. I wrote SEVEN pages of notes while watching this episode dude)

The way this show deals with propaganda, I stg. Phrases like this make Scorpia's defection hit so much harder. The way the Horde just fed complete lies to this really sweet and kind person to destroy her self-esteem and prevent her from looking deeper into the colonization of her home that took place.

The destruction of the Scorpioni people's culture and home is horrible. Scorpia desperately holds on to the propaganda that her family just "handed over" the land to Hordak to deal with the cognitive dissonance of being part of the Horde. It breaks my heart every time.

RAH just the way that Catra has internalized Adora’s abandonment and compartmentalized that She-ra and Adora are two different people to cope with her abandonment bc she is so angry at Adora but she loves her and the only way those two can co-exist is if she turns She-ra into a different person than Adora and dump all of the anger she feels towards She-ra. 

And also this phrase

Is so sad because it just goes to show that Catra fully believes Adora asked her to come with her as an afterthought after meeting Bow and Glimmer and thinking they’re better friends bc they “fit in”.

She thinks Adora is embarrassed of their past connection and again, it stems from the “you are kind of disrespectful”, at least the sentiment behind that statement. To Catra, Adora sees her as inferior and a person who is so disobedient and socially weird, that that’s why she gets mistreated and doesn’t get what she wants, cuz she doesn’t “fit in”. 

The way I fucking LOVE extremely neurodivergent Adora planning for the ball, I love her so much. It feels like that thing I do where I practice what I’m going to say to a person and like possible conversation topics before a hang-out but cranked to 300. 

The way Adora is so freaking uncomfortable throughout the makeover sequence bc she only feels safe in her clothes. It’s so transmasc coded,  being forced into dresses and feeling like it’s ur only choice and like,,, disappointing ur female friends when you’re not into makeup and dresses and nails AURGH. I know Adora is comfy with dresses later, in the future vision, but I just relate to her discomfort on very femme presenting clothes in the early szns a lot. 

This transition from Adora’s room to the FZ using Catra putting on her jacket is so GOOD.

Also holy shit she's so hot, suit Catra HELP ME. Listen they don't call me the Masc Catra CEO for nothing, I will go FERAL over her during all of these rambles. U signed up for this.

I gotta admit that Catra did go thru gay panic looking at Scorpia in that dress.

I mean, same. Scorpia is fucking ripped and she WORKS that dress.

Also maybe I’m reading too much into it but this transition of Scorpia walking to grab Catra’s hand into Adora ready for the ball could symbolize that Catra is only thinking of how jealous Adora is going to be? Like she’s grabbing Scorpia’s hand but she’s really thinking about Adora and how she’s going to get a rise out of her. 

This frame just symbolizes Adora’s coping mechanism since she left the Horde so well. She’s just leaned completely into She-Ra and feels completely dependent on her bc she will just break down with so many emotions if she takes like a single second to process all that’s happened to her.

Huh, you know what? I'm pretty sure this is the first episode in the series so far where Adora doesn't turn into She-Ra throughout the whole run.

I love Entrapta just being so completely sure of herself here and loving her own company, I would be talking about “the social experiment” with her for hours lol.

This really shows how much of a show Catra is putting on. She looks around for Adora and then grabs Scorpia's pincer. Her #1 goal tonight is make Adora jealous. Kidnap her friends for her master plan is a close second.

This whole transition is peak, when she notices Catra entering the ball right after saying that is RAH. It's a good wake-up call, that at the end of the day she did leave Catra behind, even if she tried to get her to come with. Idk, I just like that she is made aware of the loose ends in her past. That even though she is starting to fit in with the alliance and crafting a new identity for herself, she shouldn't forget where she comes from and the relationships she left behind.

Especially because this is the first ep that highlights Catra and Glimmer’s parallel struggles with fitting in and dealing with their abandonment issues. They actually deal with it very similarly, trying to get a rise out of the person they love by showing "they’re so much better off without them".

Bow doesn’t really rise to the bait bc he’s much more emotionally mature and secure, but Adora totally falls for it bc,,,, she doesn’t really know how to deal with most emotions. 

This is Glimmer’s first time really seeing Catradora interacting and I love her confused ass face like “why is Adora being really intense with this specific horde soldier rn” also Catra’s mlep is 10/10

The way Adora IMMEDIATELY falls for Catra’s bait. like, it’s actually kind of embarrassing for her how fast she folds shkdjshsaj there is NOTHING in that party except for Catra as soon as she arrives.

Also the special Adora smirk, love to see it.

literally SO unnecessarily sensual. She did NOT have to caress the pole like that. Girlie is working overtime.

I am also obsessed with thinking that Catra made the lil paper ahead of time and even put in a little doodle. My blorbo doesn’t mess around, she clocks IN to her shift as #1 ex situationship menace.

Also arghhh as a person with abandonment issues, I feel this fucking episode so hard with Glimmer. I know Bow is frustrated and annoyed, which is so fair but it’s also kinda mean how he doesn’t take a second to validate her feelings of fear of him moving on from their friendship.

Like Glimmer's feelings are valid as hell. When you are used to having a best friend u do everything with, that dynamic changing without any warning is scary! Especially if you struggle with feelings of inferiority.

I just LOVE the parallels between glimbow and catradora in this ep. And I like how glimbow’s way of communicating is slightly better but it’s still unhealthy and invalidating vs Catradora’s,,,,, not communicating at all

Bow straight up ate with this line tho.

I'm gonna save the dance for pt 2 bc I have 5 pictures left on this post and y'all know there's gonna be a LOT of dance screencaps.

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

Drabble Request from ao3: post canon jayvik, fluffy? maybe a day in the life? maybe with a focus on their bodies and how they get around (loved your last Drabble)

When Viktor wakes up, he knows it's going to be one of those days.

The kind of day where even if he takes his medication, his leg will simply not cooperate with him, nor will his lower back and hips. So, turning in bed, frowning when his left leg ends up tanged in his right, he reaches for his pill container, pours out two pills, and dry-swallows them.

Beside him, Jayce, who'd been awake for some time it seemed, stretched, pulling him into his side when he was sure Viktor was alright to move without choking. Sighing, he rests his head on Jayce's chest, ear over the bigger man's heart, and tries to level his own rate with Jayce's.

"One of those days?" Jayce asks, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, me too. Knee is killing me, woke me up about an hour ago. Took my meds and wrapped it."

"It is likely the cold rain," Viktor replied, trailing his fingers up and down Jayce's arm. "But I think I overdid it yesterday. I lifted a lot more than I should. And you don't need to say-"

"I did tell you," his partner replied, less teasing, more warm. "But I get it. We needed that project done before the weekend. I just wish we were able to spread it out longer, but Peter loved it either way."

Viktor hummed as he angled his head up to meet Jayce's eyes. "Quite the good pay, as well. We can finally afford the new headboard and have enough left over for a new gate on the farm. I am sure if we do not replace it soon, the girls will get out, and we will be playing 'wrangle the animals' for a week."

Laughing, Jayce sat up, helping Viktor to adjust on the pillows. "I'm sure Callie would do a good job of herding them back. It is in her DNA."

"Callie would attempt to herd them all back, but the minute Jollie moos at her even slightly menacing, she's running home, tail between her legs, quite literally."

"She's sensitive!"

"She's insane. No wonder they let us have her for free. Perhaps the farmer knew she'd be the shyest herd dog in existence."

Jayce snorted as he slipped out of bed, reaching for his own brace and slipping it on. Viktor watched, eyes softening, as Jayce tightened the straps and stood, a little unsteady. He felt awful for Jayce, going through what Viktor himself had lived with, even if Jayce had taken it in stride.

Well, he felt more awful that Jayce had gone through it alone, traumatically. At least Viktor was born with his-he never knew what 'normal' was. Jayce knew loss, knew the difference, and even if he was okay with it-Viktor still felt bad.

"You need yours today?" Jayce held up Viktor's brace, the one they'd remade together once they got settled in the town. It was much like his old one, still with the foot and hip support, but Viktor shook his head. They had nothing to do today, not with the rain pouring outside. "You sure?"

"I'll just use the bandages," Viktor replied, reaching into the side table and pulling out a spool of fabric. "Can you-"

"On it."

Before walking out the door, Jayce smiled at him, leaning to press a kiss into his hair. Viktor hummed, happy, and his eyes followed Jayce out their bedroom door-expanded to accommodate his wheelchair, same as the rest of their doorways-and moved back to his leg.

With all the strength and coordination he could muster with his pain meds barely kicked in, he lifted his leg and slid a pillow under it, keeping it propped as he unspooled the bandages. Practiced, he began to wrap his leg from the thigh down, enough pressure to provide some stability without cutting off blood supply.

As he worked on supporting his leg, there was a sound of soft scratching, a leaping bound off wood, and suddenly a weight behind his back, purring loud. "Oh," he smiled, finishing wrapping the end on his ankle. "Hello, Rio."

The tabby purred as she came around, rubbing against his thigh, and crawled into his lap. "I was wondering where you were."

Following, as always, was Callie, panting heavily as her paws clicked against the floor. She jumped up enough to place her front paws on the bed, huffing until Viktor was able to lean enough to scratch behind her ears. The Collie's tail wagged at the touch, and increased in speed as Rio crawled off Viktor's lap and began rubbing her body and face against Callie's snout.

"I am glad both of you get along," Viktor said, using his arms to push his body towards the side of the bed. Callie moved to accommodate him as he was able to push his left leg over with ease, and moved the right leg-again, using his hands-over as well. Rio leapt off the bed, still purring, and onto the side table, as routine. "I have heard the saying about cats and dogs."

"Yeah, I think they're the exception to the rule," Jayce said, pushing in his wheelchair as Callie moved away. Both animals knew the routine by now-likely due to being raised around them-and waited patiently. Viktor could tell, though, that Callie was eager to get the day started, her front paws tapping back and forth in excitement. "My family's cat, Peter, hated my turtle."

Viktor snorted as Jayce pushed the chair closer, angling it on the side so Viktor could ready himself. "I think your cat Peter hated everyone though, no? All the stories you've told me..." He trailed off, hands and arms strong as he reached for the armrests. In a steady motion, he pushed himself up, holding most of his weight in his biceps and left leg, and settled into the chair. "I think that cat of yours hated life, Jayce."

He grinned as Jayce rolled his eyes, undoing the breaks of the chair, and allowing Viktor to roll past him. "Peter liked my Ma and that was it. He hated everyone who wasn't her, though I'm sure he would have at least tolerated you, since all animals love you." As if to corroborate that sentence, Rio leapt from her perch and onto Viktor's lap, chirping as she soared through the air. "See? They go where you go."

Viktor shrugged. "The animals like you too, Jayce. It is just that you are very big, so you can be intimidating to small creatures."

"Oh, whatever. I think you just have something special that makes all animals, even the grumpy ones, like you. Remember John's bull? He said it hated everyone, yet when we went to go get Jolli and Jamie, it walked right up to you, mooed, and let you pet it for ten minutes before it walked away."

True.

Viktor pushed into the kitchen, reaching for the coffeepot, and pressed start. Even though they'd stayed up late and hadn't cleaned up, there was one thing neither of them forgot, and it was readying the coffee for the morning. It was something small that made their days easier.

Next to him, Jayce reached for his own cane, a thinner, simple design. His knee must be bothering him, Viktor thought. Jayce didn't typically use a cane daily, only brought it out in emergencies at home and only packed it when they went out for the day. Damn the rain-it made both of them sore in their bones too often.

Plus, they had been hard at work.

"I think we should do breakfast here," Jayce said, reaching for the egg basket and examining one of them in his free hand, the other steady on his support. "It's pretty dark out now-usually means the storms going to be bad all day. I went ahead and sent a message to John and Felix next door-Felix is going to stop by the farm and make sure all the animals are good."

"Oh, that's good," Viktor handed over a mug. "I do not think that I can make it out there today-not until we get that path fully paved or the other chair with the adaptive wheels."

Jayce took the mug with a smile. "Same here. I don't want to take a bad slip out there, and my outdoor cane still needs some tune-ups before I feel good in this type of weather. Felix needs the volunteer hours anyways, so he'll stop by and we can sign him for about two to four, depending on what he needs to do."

"Good."

They fell into comfortable silence as they began prepping breakfast, calm against the raging storm outside. Callie found herself interested with a few toys from her basket, as Rio continued to lay in Viktor's lap, a comforting weight. Though Viktor could still feel the twinges of pain in his spine and leg, and knew from Jayce's tiny expressions as he moved that his partner was feeling worse for wear too, Viktor knew everything would be alright.

They had each other, they knew what the other needed, so everything, as far as Viktor could ever hope for, was perfect.

With Jayce, it always would be.

[nekropsii]

Happy 6/12!!

I started this blog several years ago. I was going through a lot at the time, and I was younger, dumber, and more ignorant. I was largely using Homestuck Analysis as a way to cope with... Life, in general. Though I'm still very much so a Work-In-Progress, and have definitely fumbled majorly both online and off, even somewhat recently, I like to think I've become smarter with age and distance from The Horrors. May this new chapter be a beautiful one!

All of this to say... In honor of this special - though oft less celebrated than 4/13 - day, I am beginning my Homestuck reread!!

It will be tagged #HSLB 2025 for Organizational Purposes (as always), though this also helps if you wish to Follow or Mute it. Though that acronym reads "Homestuck LiveBlog", rest assured it's not going to be Page-By-Page. God forbid. I'll just be posting whenever I have Thoughts, though... That may be frequent.

Me, personally, I'm very curious to see where my perspective and preferences change(s). It's easy to wallow in one's past shortcomings, but it's not productive, either. I prefer to find beauty in growth and change; after all, why shouldn't I? #TransAlly.

If I wind up with new Favorites and new, uh... Detesteds, I'll be sure to make note of it.

Thank you all for sticking by me these past few years! I'm eternally thankful for those who had enough faith in me to give me grace when I misstepped, and for those smarter than me who have been willing to call me on my bullshit. This blog has been an absolutely amazing way to help put both my ego and my anxiety in check - both were out of control in their own ways, and the amount of socialization this blog has given me has really helped. Again, still working on it, but I feel a lot more comfortable in my existence now, so that's progress! I've grown so much as a person alongside this blog, and I know quite a few people who have grown a lot beside me, too! I'm proud of you, too!! Yes, you!! Even you!!

I can't wait to keep growing, and to look back on this post and laugh to myself, wondering how I could've possibly thought I had been cooking long enough to make such a declaration, lol!

Thank you all! Let's keep growing! Let's do this!