#specimen model management

[storm-angel989]

Hi, could I have a meeting between Velvette’s new girlfriend and Vox and Val? (With Vox acting like Vel’s overprotective dad?) I think that would be pretty funny

This is an OLD request (AND DON'T WORRY THERE ARE STILL MORE OLD REQUESTS SITTING IN MY INBOX)

But the muses finally struck! I hope it was worth the wait!

Velvette could see the anxiety scrawled across her pretty face. 

“Don’t worry,” she said as comfortingly as Velvette could possibly manage. “They’re going to love you.”

“Valentino and Vox are literally the most famous overlords in hell, and I’m meeting them,” she squeaked in protest. 

Velvette rolled her eyes but kissed her cheek. 

“If it makes you feel better, reader, you’re the first girl I’ve ever brought home.” 

Velvette didn’t think she could turn anymore red. And rightly so- Velvette didn’t get her reputation as a cold hearted bitch for no reason. Cycle after cycle of girls came and went- never for long. But when reader crossed her stage for the first time six months ago, something about her felt…different. 

Of course she had met Valentino when she first arrived- after all, Velvette sourced all her models directly from him. But with the proper nutrition, a healthy diet and a good skincare routine, Valentinos hunch that she would glow up proved to be correct. 

Two weeks. One dinner date and the first time Velvette ever let another woman pin her down against the bed later, their relationship was solidified. Valentino knew of course from the moment she told him reader would be kept in a separate apartment, a private space typically reserved for the most promising of the candidates. 

But Vox….ugh, Vox would be a different story. The last time Velvette had her heart broken- the death of a sinner during an extermination, Vox had been the one to hold her. To comfort her and buy her ice cream. Valentino had been there too- but his emotional bank account for sadness at that point in his life was next to zero. He just couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just move on. 

But Vox did. 

Slowly, he was the one who helped put the pieces that made up Velvette back together. He was the one who encouraged her to start dating again. He was the one who hugged her tight when the nights grew dark, and the shoulder to cry on when she drank too much. 

She wondered what his reaction would be when she brought reader home? 

Velvette pressed the elevator button and turned to reader. 

“Just play it cool. They’re basically like any other demon, but they’re my family. Okay? So just…you know, be cool.” 

Reader nodded as they stepped together into the elevator and rode the short ride to the top of the V tower. The elevator pinged and Velvette took a deep breath as they stepped out together into the V tower.

“Welcome! Welcome, reader, to our humble home,” Vox announced as he stepped out from the kitchen.

Velvette winced as he took off his signature kiss the chef <3  apron and walked over to greet them. He took readers hand and firmly shook it. “So you’re the girl who stole our Vel’s heart, hm?”

“Vox,” Velvette hissed. 

“No, no its okay Vel, Mr. Vox I am a huge fan!” reader gushed. “I didn’t know you cooked!”

Velvette bit back a smile. She knew she shouldn’t have been worried. After all, compliments and conversations were readers speciality. 

“Ooo, Vel, is this your new lover?” Valentino cooed as he strode out from his bedroom. He took readers hand and kissed it. “Lovely specimen, tell me…where did you find such a beautiful…”

“Cut it out, Val, I-”

“Oh, no, Vel! Mr. Valentino, its so nice to meet you. I’ve seen all your films! I mean, the ones you star in of course,” reader said excitedly.

“Ah, I like this one Velvette,” Valentino smirked as he released her hand. “About time you brought home someone with taste.”

“Speaking of, dinner is ready! Come sit,” Vox pointed towards their rarely used dining room. 

Inwardly, Velvette cringed. But as the meal moved on, she found herself starting to relax. Sure, Vox and Valentino were their usually selves, but nothing extraordinary. 

At least, not until dessert.

“So, tell me, reader, how exactly do you plan on breaking my dear Velvette’s heart?” Vox asked casually.

Velvette choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. She opened her mouth as if to scold Vox, but quieted with a look from her reader. 

“Vel? You’re planning on sharing your heart? Shit, I thought I was just here to be a sex toy,” reader said sarcastically. “Thanks for wrecking the surprise, Mr. Vox.”

Valentino burst out in laughter and Vox gave her a mortified look. Velvette grinned and leaned over to reader. 

“And that right there is exactly why I brought you home,” she said with a kiss.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Houseguest.

Pairing: Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader x Yandere!Kaveh (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Prolonged Imprisonment, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Implied N0nC0n, Implied Drug Use, and Troubling Implications.

[Part Two]

Kaveh first met you in the middle of the night, in a shadowed corner of Alhaitham’s kitchen.

He hadn’t noticed you, at first. It’d been closer to sunrise than sunset, and he was still rubbing his eyes as he dragged himself towards his roommate’s pantry, intent on raiding anything Alhaitham had to offer before collapsing back into bed, or more likely, onto a half-finished model of some wealthy’s scholar next personal research facility. He made it to the cabinet door before his exhaustion-dampened senses picked up on the sound of soft breathing, the feeling of a burning stare prying into the back of his neck.

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find nothing save for an empty room, but instead, he found you.

Standing in the kitchen’s entryway, clutching a clay mug in both hands, seemingly paralyzed with unfounded terror. Your lips were parted, but you didn’t say anything, and your eyes were so wide – blown out like a doe caught in an archer’s sight. For a second, he thought you might be an intruder, a thief sent after Alhaitham’s precious Akademiya secrets or the few scraps of mora Kaveh had to his name, but that wouldn’t have made sense. Wise thieves didn’t tend to break into the homes of their marks barefoot, nor were they usually dressed in strikingly familiar black poet’s shirts, just a little too big and a little too well-worn to have originally belonged to you.

No, you weren't a thief. His life would've been so much simpler, if you had only been a thief.

Eventually, he managed to regain his confidence, forcing an easy grin as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know Alhaitham had a…” He trailed off, looking over you one more time, noting the pallid state of your skin, the hollowness sewn deep into your cheeks. Your knees were locked together, as if you weren't sure you had the strength to remain standing, and it appeared as if someone with far too much confidence and far too little skill had attempted to take a comb to your tangled hair, only to lose their nerve less than halfway through. His lighthearted tone significantly more strained, he went on. “I didn’t know we had a houseguest.”

You continued to stare, unblinking. His smile faltered. “I apologize if I startled you. It’s just- I didn’t hear you come in, and I honestly didn’t think Alhaitham would be able to bring someone hope, let alone such a lovely specimen.”

Your voice was quiet, when you finally spoke, almost hoarse. As if you hadn’t used in a few days. “I… I’ve been here for a while.”

Oh.

Well.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

With nothing else to do, he laughed, closing the cabinet door. You didn’t move, but he let his shoulder press against the closest wall as he slid past you. He didn’t look back, but he offered a slight wave, calling out as he started towards his bedroom. “Goodnight, honored guest. May I be lucky enough to see you in the morning.”

It was barely audible, a breath above a whisper, but it was there, as clear as day in the dead silence of silence of Alhaitham’s flat.

“Goodnight.”

~

A week passed before he saw you again. He tried to brush off your brief interaction as that of a very tired man and a very startled guest, but the sound of your voice lingered in the back of his mind. He almost asked Alhaitham about it, but trying to pry information out of someone like him was a fool’s errand, and Kaveh opted to brew quietly rather than pursue a path he knew would only end in frustration.

He managed to put the encounter behind him completely. Or, rather, he almost managed to. He was so, so close to managing to.

Alhaitham was at his desk, his chair pushed back and turned partially towards the doorway where Kaveh stood. You were in front of him, on your knees and resting your cheek against the inside of Alhaitham’s thigh. In one of his hands, he grasped a quill, still scrawling away at whatever documents a scribe would feel the need to bring home, and with the other, he toyed with the fabric collar wrapped around your next, forest-green and tight enough to visibly cut into the skin of your throat. It matched the rest of your ensemble, if the scraps of silk and velvet dotted over your form could be called an ensemble. It did not escape Kaveh that, both times he had seen you, you had been dressed in Alhaitham’s colors, but he attempted to ignore the implications.

“Do you need something?” Alhaitham called, never looking away from his work. For as few boundaries as there were in their relationship, Kaveh rarely let himself into Alhaitham’s personal spaces unannounced, and he thought Alhaitham’s reaction would’ve been more… more. It wasn't as if he'd never lost his patience with Kaveh before.

He did need something, but he couldn’t seem to remember what it was. He couldn’t seem to tear his attention away from you, from the exposed skin of your plush thighs, the curve of your midriff. You appeared somewhat unlike you had been when he first saw you - healthier, more lively. The ghastliness had faded, and while you didn't seem much stronger, you were no longer struggling just to stay upright. He may have been relieved, if he'd known you a little better. If you hadn't been sitting at Alhaitham's feet.

Rather than demanding to know if Alhaitham would be attending Tighnari’s next open lecture on medicinal plants or what tragedy had befallen his favorite cast-iron pan, he found himself asking, “Who’s that?”

A small, uncharacteristic smile tugged at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. He paused his work just long enough to turn towards Kaveh, his fingers slipping under your collar and drawing you upward. You seemed… unsteady, swaying as you staggered to your feet, but your legs didn’t have time to fail you. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Alhaitham pulled you onto his lap, perching you on his thigh like some pet songbird, trained to sit on its master’s shoulder. Your face was quickly buried in his chest, but that wasn’t enough to hide you from him. He was still able to see the dull flush that spread across your cheeks, the way your mouth never seemed to fully close.

There was something about your eyes, glossed over and shadowed, the color of your irises duller than it should’ve been. If Alhaitham felt anything was wrong, concern did not penetrate the mask of thick condescension he was never seen without. If anything, he’d only grown more smug, more eager to flaunt what he had and Kaveh did not. “Your other roommate. They moved in a few months before you did.”

Kaveh’s frown deepened. “There’s only two bedrooms.”

Alhaitham’s smile grew wider. “How observant.”

“If you’re going to lie, you should at least pay me the decency of coming up with something halfway plausible. I’ve been here for—” He scoffed, jerked his head to the side. “I would’ve known if there was some else staying here. Unless you kept them, I don’t know, locked in the cellar or something.”

There was a beat of silence. Alhaitham’s expression didn’t change, but you flinched, shrinking into his chest.

Kaveh felt something tighten in the back of his throat. “You didn’t.”

“Only for a while. Their behavior was getting out of hand – some time in a less stimulating environment was called for.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “I’m not holding them hostage, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re welcome to poke around for any chains and shackles you might think I have, if you’d like to. Or…” He trailed off, letting a hand fall to the tender gap between your shoulder blades. “Why don’t you tell Kaveh how much want to be here, dearest?”

It took you a long moment to stir, another to lift your head. You looked towards Alhaitham, visibly unsure, and he offered a slight nod, a palm pressed into your back. “I love you,” you managed, the words drawling together. You paused, blink slowly, then scrambled to correct yourself. “I mean, I love it. I want to be here. Is that what I’m supposed to say?”

“Word for word. You did very well, beloved.” There was no shame, no fear of scandle - just a squeeze to your side by way of reward. With more than a degree of relief written across your expression, you collapsed back onto Alhaitham, visibly exhausted by the exertion it took to speak. “See? I’m only trying to look after my ‘houseguest’, if that’s what you’re going to call them.”

There was no threat, no challenge, but that was part of what made Alhaitham such a frustrating man to deal with. He’d start a debate, and then act as if he had no interest in winning his opponent over, as if he was simply stating well-known truths of the world and never had any intention on sparking disagreement. Kaveh, while still far from immune, had grown a tolerance to the constant probing. Most days, he could walk away, turn his back to the conversation and vent his frustration to those who were similarly familiar with Alhaithaim’s innate unpleasantness, but this was something less frivolous than a dispute on the merits of ink versus charcoal as writing implements during field investigations. He wouldn’t be blamed for getting the matra involved. He wouldn’t be wrong for calling outside attention to the ongoings inside of their little flat.

And yet…

And yet, he could only seem to shy, to shake his head, as if he was only exasperated with the antics of his stoic roommate. Without another word, he stepped back and shut the door, admittedly with a little more force than he absolutely had to use. You weren’t hurt (although, there were several faded bruises blossoming along the curve of your neck that he would only remember later on, lying away in bed, staring at the ceiling as something began to burn under his skin), and you didn’t seem to actively be in danger, for whatever an architect’s instincts were worth on matters of life and death. Immediate action was unnecessary. It could wait a little longer, before he reported Alhaitham to the highest authority he could find.

He could wait a little longer, before he decided whether or not to give you away.

~

And he did wait. He waited days, then weeks, then longer – long enough for Alhaitham to grow less careful with you, to let you wander the flat freely when he was home and leave the door to his bedroom unlocked while he wasn’t. It didn’t take him much longer to grow less careful with Kaveh, either. He hadn’t heard you make a sound for months, but you seemed to be by his side constantly, now, your muffled voice slipping through the thin walls between Alhaitham’s bedroom and his own at all hours of the night. That was the most frustrating part, really, worse than Alhaitham’s condensation, worse than seeing you in greens and blacks and silvers. You were so close to him, and yet, he couldn’t seem to help you.

No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t seem to want to.

That frustration, that gnawing self-loathing might’ve been why he found himself at Alhaitham’s door, once again, much more hesitant than he had been last time. There was no reason to be. Alhaitham was out, tending to matters far, far outside of the city, and Kaveh knew he wouldn’t return until tomorrow morning. He’d take his time, if Kaveh was lucky.

He wouldn’t come back at all, if Kaveh was truly fortunate.

With a deep breath, he shut his eyes and turned the knob, shouldering open Alhaitham’s door before he could let his anxiety overtake him. His eyes landed on you immediately, despite his efforts to ease himself into your company. You were lying on the center of Alhaitham’s bed, on your back, your knees bent and your head spilling over the foot of the mattress. There was a book at your side, but you weren’t reading. Your attention was focused solely on a small window built into the opposing wall, the view little more than the bare brick wall of another building and a few stray tree branches, surprisingly barren considering the seasons. It wasn't much, but he could imagine it was better than what the cramped, unlit cellar had to offer - should he choose to take Alhaitham's implications at face value.

Your eyes flickered towards him as he stepped through the doorway, as he moved to approach you, but any panic you might’ve felt was muted, not so much suppressed as it was trained out of you. It reminded him of a stone house built in the heart of the desert and left without the proper means to defend itself, reduced to scrap by a constant barrage of wind and sand. The comparison made the architect within him ache while the artist continued to purr.

You opened your mouth, but it took you a moment to find what you wanted to say. You were clearly more lucid than the last time you’d crossed paths, but there was still something weighing you down, a bleariness to your gaze, a lull to your words that didn’t seem completely conscious. “You’re Kaveh, right?”

His name rolled off of your lips like rose petals and red wine and bitter chocolate. He had to force himself to swallow, to smile. To soften himself in a way Alhaitham had never cared enough to try to.

“Right.” He positioned himself on the edge of Alhaitham’s bed, just a little less than arm’s length away from you. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then with no small amount of care, laid his hand over yours, tightening his hold when you tried to pull away.

 “I don’t think we’ve really had a chance to talk.”

[wttcsms]

Megumi for knife to the throat but the blade can't seem to cut this weird sexual tension we've got going on

you're the only one that's holding me down, megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 1.3k synopsis pressing a blade to your ex-fiance's throat, and other loving, tender moments content contains exes still in love, slight angst

Staring directly into someone’s face is such an intimate act. 

You don’t realize this fact until you’re straddling Megumi’s annoyingly slim waist, the glint of your blade against his throat causing the sunlight to beam right into your eye. 

Everyone claims that Megumi Fushiguro is the ultimate pretty boy. Mai claims that his bone structure is undefeated and that any sane girl would commit atrocious crimes against humanity to get lashes as nice as his natural ones. Momo says that she’s never seen a shade of blue eyes as pretty as Megumi’s (her only frame of reference, by the way, happen to be her own bug-eyes and Satoru Gojo’s, whose eyes are so freakishly, eerily icy blue that you’re thankful he wears the blindfold twenty-four/seven). Even Miwa, who is too busy trying to earn a living, can take the time to admit that Megumi Fushiguro is the exact type of person the ancient Greeks model gods after. 

You want to blame their admiration of Megumi on the fact that thanks to their attendance at the Kyoto school, interactions with cute boys were few and far between. Todo’s fine, if you’re into loudmouths who could also pose as the poster boy for steroids — or, even better, those clickbait ads on shady websites that tell you if you take this magical pill, in three days, you can be as shredded as him! Noritoshi is so stiff and aloof that no one can view him as hot. Mechamaru is a fucking robot. 

So, the bar for the Kyoto girls’ rating of attractiveness is damn near hell. You examine Megumi’s face and eagerly search for a flaw to hold against him. There’s a faint, barely noticeable scar above his lips. It blends into his skin seamlessly, and you think your eyes could be tricking you. However, you latch onto this scar. Megumi Fushiguro is not the perfect specimen, you think smugly. 

“Let me go,” he snaps. “If anyone’s acting under the effects of the curse, it’s you.”

“You’re not exactly in the position to be ordering me around,” you point out. You have one hand pressed against his chest to steady yourself, the other gripping the knife. 

“Clearly you still consider me a threat.” His eyes flicker downwards, even though he can’t possibly see his hands. They’re bound behind his back, his cursed energy sealed from the specialized handcuffs you managed to lock on him. The last thing you needed was for him to sic his wild animals on you. 

“Maybe I just like this position.” 

A momentary truce forms when you don’t tease him for his cheeks turning pink, and he pretends not to notice that when you realize your accidental underlying innuendo, your grip on the dagger loosens considerably. 

Megumi is fully aware that your bark and your bite are on the same level of batshit insane. He figures this is just how all women sorcerers have to be in order to survive this environment. If you say you’re going to slit his throat at the first sign of him being compromised by a curse, he can trust that you would keep your word. 

You didn’t threaten him, though. Instead, when the curse nearly got a good touch on him, you had screamed out his name. You let the curse get away in favor of tackling him to the ground, and the frenzied look on your face as you searched him for any sign of possession makes his insides twist and heat rise to his cheeks and paint the tips of his ears a flushed pink. 

For a second, it still felt like you cared about him. 

Then, you slapped those restrictive cuffs on him and got on top, as a means to restrain him. He had frozen up when he realized how close your bodies are, how he can feel the warmth from you traveling and enveloping his own body. 

This is bad, Megumi realizes. Not because the curse got to him — it didn’t. It’s bad that his heart still goes pitter-patter every time you’re near, and that he’s hyper aware of the way your body fits nicely and neatly against his own. He knows that it’s wrong to be feeling this way, to want to savor every last scrap of you that he can get. The jujutsu world is small. Nearly everyone knows about the broken engagement between you two. Having the both of you paired up for a mission, especially since your territories are so far from each other, is a sick and twisted joke. 

The curse thrives on couples, intertwining itself with its victim and twisting their host’s love into hatred. There’s been a recurring theme of lovers murdering their significant others. The more love in their heart, the stronger the curse’s manipulation. 

It just goes to show that too much love is a fucking burden, a curse in and of itself. You know that it is, because if it came down to it, if Megumi were truly compromised and wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have it in you to kill him first. 

“I told you, I haven’t been hit by the curse.” 

“How can I know that this isn't just a trick? You’ve always been good at self-restraint and hiding yourself from me.” The comment is petty, all things considered. In the end, when Megumi asked you if breaking off the engagement was what you truly wanted, you remained expressionless and impassive. We can’t ever go back to the way things were. There’s no point in not breaking it off. 

He scoffs. “Don’t you think I’d kill myself the minute I felt something in me shift?”

You know Megumi. He doesn’t say things just to say them. He means it, every word, and you don’t know why, but it makes the part of you that longs for him — the part of you that is always in a constant state of wanting him, needing him — intensify. Multiply. Takes over your whole entire system until you are reduced to a being whose hunger can only be satiated by Megumi. 

“Idiot. You always go to the extremes.” You opt for saying this, instead of commenting on the fact that Megumi is very much implying that he would rather end his own life rather than take yours. 

“Do you really think I’d ever want to hurt you?” And suddenly, you realize that the two of you are no longer discussing the current matter at hand. Like with all things that involve the both of you, the root of the problem always leads back to your engagement. He was meant to be the one you married, and then he refused the Zenin name, refused most of the traditional jujutsu society, and when it came down to his freedom or you, he—

—gave you the option to choose. 

Him or comfort. Him or safety. Him or family. 

You didn’t realize it at the time, but all choices lead to him. He is the one you are most comfortable with, he is the one who would die to keep you safe, he is the one who you could see yourself creating a happy family with. As happy as a family can be in this fucked up society. 

He hurt you, but it was you who handed him the blade. You, who took his wrist and guided it straight to your heart. Just looking at him right now reopens that old wound. 

“The curse can only change you if there’s love to destroy.” You point out.

“I know.” He says. “Lucky that it didn’t get to me. It would have ended badly for the both of us.”

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/752304229892358144/minors-dni-hhnrh-ive-always-wanted-to-make-a?source=share

I need more Rudy. Like .. it's a very strong need...please I'm begging you 😭

[HhhhnHHHNN WORD VOMIT INCOMING-]

Following the events of what transpires in the comic "Aliens: Stronghold" (you can find it online), Jeri the synthetic xenomorph is supposedly dead, as is Doctor Nordling. The Mayakovsky prototype records along with whatever modifications Nordling created are lost forever...

But are they?

What if a somewhat less insane crew managed to perhaps gather parts of the wreckage that ensued, studied them just enough to know how to make their own, different yet still entirely functional synthetic xenomorph? A crew that does value the monitoring of xenomorph colonies spread throughout the worlds wherein these hives are placed upon to gestate, and polices the illegal harvesting of eggs or specimen (idk, bare with me okay).

The model they designed, based heavily on Jeri, needed a couple key modifications. First, it needed to be distinct enough from the standard xenomorph drone, such so that people would not get frightened by the sight of it amongst crewmates. These differences in appearance are remedied by even more aggressive pheromone secretions to both fool and calm biological xenomorphs into believing that Rudy belongs. His somewhat less accurate appearance also allows for his maintenance to be cheaper, as well as for the synth to fit into humanoid gear more effectively.

Named after the prototype Norbert, and Jeri, Rudy only seemed fitting.

Quite like his predecessor, and as appears to be a trend recently, Rudy has a very stark and unique personality that shows itself whenever he begins to grow comfortable around someone. He's curious and talkative, having a fondness for oversharing about the xenomorph species and its many casts, as well as his interests in collecting new and exciting pieces of the world he's currently exploring with his mostly human crew and all things nature-related.

Although he's nothing if not helpful and vital to the work that is being done by this team, Rudy is still a synthetic, which creates a natural divide when it comes to forming relationships. Normally, this divide is somewhat softened when a synthetic passes as human and performs actions that make it look even more relatable. Rudy is visibly, unavoidably monstrous, and he makes no real attempt to fit in with acts that are strictly human. He will sit at the table while others eat, but he's very clearly not interested in commenting on the food and tries to pull others into conversation instead. He doesn't wear clothes, he can't facially emote anywhere as intricately as a human can.

He's lonely. And he understands why.

But it's painful for the synthetic xenomorph, because he feels no joy dwelling with other synthetics, and he can't bond with xenomorphs the way he desires. He feels at home around humans, and his own crew keeps him at bay, frustrating Rudy as they consistently deny him a real connection- Sometimes even subconsciously!

That's where you come in.

Following the unfortunate accident of the resident synthetic engineer on the ship, you are assigned his role. Arriving just in time, as Rudy is in dire need of assistance from miscalculating the height of a drop. He doesn't think much of you, at first. You'll be just like the others, finding him interesting for a short while, then resorting to formalities or simply ignoring him when he's not immediately convenient.

But he still tries anyway, because he's painfully desperate for connection.

Imagine his shock as you seem very interested in conversing with him in a consistent manner. Rudy is no idiot, he understood your interest was mainly to understand the circuitry and coding within him that allowed for such an authentic and varied range of emotions, sentiments. He fascinated you beyond merely being a bizarre thing, and that made the synth happy, fulfilled.

Rudy began to latch onto you.

When he had arrived from a routine check on a hive, he'd instantly seek you out without even needing any kind of repair, just to chat about his findings, talking about the specimen xenos the same way you'd talk about zoo mascots. He'd try to drag you down into the field with him numerous times, formulating rapid-fire arguments as to why the supervisors should allow you to accompany Rudy. You can't lie and say that you weren't a tad curious, especially after hearing the xeno's numerous stories.

Somehow, after perhaps not so friendly methods, he gets granted his wish, and down you go, into the wilderness, with a synthetic.

Rudy seems elated to have alone time with you in the nature of this vast planet, and you note that he touches you a lot more often. Grabs you with his six fingered hands, nuzzles his dome against your head, hugs you from behind and even lifts you a couple of times, he's utterly euphoric, something you've never seen in a synth. Sure, your crewmates had made comments about how close Rudy had gotten to you, how the synthetic "had a puppy crush on you", but those were just jabs you didn't mind taking. And surely, when Rudy replied positively to those jests, he was only trying to get in on the joke, right?

You remember the shock and fear that permeated you as you first entered a colony. Rudy didn't let you get too far into the structure, but you got to observe the entrance, the little resting holes on walls that xenos occupied when drained. You got to see drones marching around, dragging potential hosts with them. And you even got "checked" by a soldier cast. It had been strange then, watching Rudy communicate back and forth with the xenomorph, effectively clearing you of suspicion after a few snort-hisses. Your heart never beat so loudly before, and you remember laughing wildly with the synthetic after the two of you had retreated into safer grounds.

Yet, for as much as you had grown to enjoy having Rudy as a friend, you couldn't ignore the remarks your crewmated had been making about him. How the synth would ravenously defend you from the smallest of accusations, how he collected everything you left behind and would even steal presents you gave to others. He became mouthy and troublesome when they refused to let you go explore with him.

And lately, to make it all even more confusing, you've been finding him "doing maintenance" on himself. Things he won't let you access, that he tries to deviate your attention from. For just the glimmer of a second, you hope you only imagined spotting the digital blueprint for a set of modified synthetic genitalia...

Something's not right with Rudy, you think, catching him staring intensely at you again.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Undersea Advisor.

In life, there are many variables to account for. Ah, but variables can be manipulated.

He remakes the world in his image.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

There are several little glass containers, lined up in a neat row, on his work bench. He is the master, and this is his craft: pocket dimensions, each with a different biome bottled.

Here is a lush garden with enchanted roses and caterpillars that blow smoke, and a savanna where miniature beasts race about. A desert with its own oasis--a massive scarab running amok, a regal castle he had painstakingly constructed with a pair of tweezers for a peacock no bigger than his thumb... He had even somehow managed to create a sleek building blinking blue lights and a crumbling chateau overrun with moss and bite-size bats.

His current project is a bowl of salt water, a layer of sand decorated with seaweed and coral at the bottom. He had taken the liberty of tucking fake jewels, a plastic treasure box, and a model of a sunken ship in.

For flair, he chuckles to himself. All that's left is to find proper aquatic specimens to house in it.

From the doorway, Jade adjusts the straps on his backpack, making sure that they're secure, that his supplies are in order. His boots laced, his jacket buttoned, he marches out the door and into the wilderness.

The forest is quiet and without trees but is not devoid of life.

Instead of trunks, there are stems--plump, pillowy, in various shades of white and cream. They are wider at the base and narrower at the head, which gives way to fluted undersides. Gills, Jade knows, a very different kind than those of a merman.

The air is clean and refreshing, lightly washed with spores. Not visible to the naked eye, but at the right refractions of sunlight, Jade can see them dancing into shapes upon the wind.

Circular shadows are cast across the ground, belonging to the caps that tower far above him. Mushrooms--macro-sized--have taken over the feet of the mountain, making it a suitable hideout for his hobbies. Sunlight spills through the cracks between the clustered caps, forming golden pools along the forest floor.

Jade makes a game of hopping upon them, one by one.

It isn't long before he comes upon the stream that cuts through the heart of the wood. A thin and humble little thing, able to be crossed in a single stride of his long legs.

Jade drops his backpack and drops to one knee. He inspects the fresh water up close with a careful eye. It's clear and still at the edges, white and foamy in the center, where it flows the fastest.

His heart leaps when he sees it--a streak of silver darting by.

He kicks off his footwear and rolls his pants up, silently stepping into the stream. Jade is cautious about not splashing, to avoid making noises or movements as that would disturb the wildlife.

He stands there, watching. Waiting, waiting, for that next fish to pass.

He thinks he sees it, a glimmer laid deep in the water. He reaches for it, fingers grazing wetness, but does not complete the grab.

“You like that, don’t you? The feeling of being in control, a life dancing in your palm,” a musical voice rings out. “It grants you security, assuredness.”

His eyes flicker down. His reflection shifts in the churning water, but he can see its mouth moving when his doesn’t.

An obstacle—amusing.

Jade purses his lips into a patient smile. “Oya, does a pixie presume to know those who visit their forest?”

“I am no pixie. In this pool of tears, all is laid bare,” his reflection says, “and given truth.”

“You claim to speak the truth. If that is the case, then you take no issue with divulging sensitive state secrets?” Jade’s smile grows, turning sharp. “To demonstrate your veracity, of course. I do not intend to misuse the information.”

“I know that you lie as easily as you breathe,” the pool replies, “for I have knowledge of only the souls that gaze into me.”

“A shame. I was quite curious about your awe-inspiring powers. Alas, there are limits put on greatness. It appears as though a puddle can never match the ocean in size nor in bounty.”

His reflection is not irked by his needling. “If you wish to take, then you must offer up a piece of yourself of equal value.”

“You have said that I lie as easily as I breathe. Is the word of a liar worth its salt?”

“You must speak truthfully.”

“But if I am a liar, and you have assumed my appearance, does that not, by proxy, make you a liar as well? That means what was uttered earlier is a lie, and I must tell an untruth—which I have already provided.”

The reflection pauses, considering the logic. Slow horror dawns on its expression—stolen from him—and it glowers.

"Liar," the reflection bitterly spits. It vanishes into the frothing waters.

There's a sigh, then the shudder of a release that fills the forest of mushrooms. Something, somewhere, has shattered.

Silver fills the clear stream, coloring it one shiny, metallic shade. Fins and scales bat against his skin. Healthy, plentiful.

Jade plunges an arm elbow-deep, and--

He gasps.

Something latches onto his arm and violently tugs. He's brought face-to-face with his own shocked expression, droplets hissing at him.

The stream, Jade realizes, should not be this deep.

He resists, trying to throw his body weight back, but the force holds tight. The slimy grip tightening like a fist.

He does not to fully relish in the surprise, so rare a feeling for him, before there is another strong pull. Jade falls forward, eyes wide as the water hits him in full.

Slowly, slowly... he finds himself sinking into an abyss.

It's the sea, deep and dark, shrouded by black mist. A ship-shaped shadow looms, at the inky depths--and through holes punched in the hull, undiscovered treasures wink up at him. Chests of forgotten gold and gems, like stars blinking in and out of view.

He dangles, suspended, like a puppet left upon the stage that has closed for the night. The scene, the stands, empty, save for the vague shapes of coral and twisting tendrils of seaweed.

Something shifts among the plants, and Jade tenses, preparing for a fight.

A long shape darts by, and his gaze tracks. The markings on it glow teal, peering through the murk--he recognizes it at once, relaxing.

"Floyd."

The name bubbles up and breaks upon the surface of the stream.

His twin circles him, his weaving tail sending Jade's jacket billowing. One is in the body of a human and the other, in their true form.

Floyd wordlessly grins, showing teeth like knives.

Behind him, the shadows swirl--a mess of writhing, squishy limbs and agonized moans. Tentacles, tentacles, painting a canvas with darkness.

A voice calls from somewhere in the void.

Floaty, far away.

"... de....... ade..."

"Jade!!"

He snaps awake, drawing in a deep gulp of air. As if he had just arisen from a dive.

Jade is seated at his workbench, blanked on either side. "Floyd, Azul..."

"We came as you had instructed, but it appears that now is not a good time," his dorm leader remarks. "You were sleeping like a log when we arrived."

"So I smashed a window with a rock and we let ourselves in!" Floyd declares proudly. Azul casts him a wary look.

"Just so you are aware, I am not to be held accountable for any damages incurred," he says hastily. "It was entirely Floyd's idea--I warned him against it and had him sign a liability form to assume any and all fees, should he ignore my advice and proceed with his ill-advised plot."

"Pfft." Jade chuckles. "My apologies. I must have become so enraptured in my project that I neglected to maintain a proper sleep schedule. The fault is mine, so I will not press charges."

Azul sighs, relieved. "Now, back to the matter at hand. For what reason have you summoned us here today?"

"Ah, that." Jade holds up his fishbowl, beaming. "I wished to share this with you both."

"Mmm, what is it?" Floyd asks, peering into the container. His face comes out the other end of it stretched wide and distorted, like the result of a funhouse mirror. "Looks like just some water to me."

"Another terrarium, I suspect." Azul pushes up his glasses as he surveys the other containers on the work bench "I see, so you've made one each in the image of the dormitories at Night Raven College. This one must be Octavinelle."

He suddenly frowns.

"Wait a minute, what is this?!" Azul thrusts a finger at a round little octopus suctioned to the inside of the bowl. The area around it is clouded with wisps of black.

"Hehehe, looks like Jade was right on the money with this one. That's so you, Azul."

"I-It is NOT!!"

"Really?" Jade's brows lift. "As I recall, you were exactly like this, tears and all, when..."

"AAAAAAAAH, stop, stooooop!! D-Don't say it, I can't bear that!!"

Jade laughs--soft and musical--granting his wailing dorm leader that single mercy. His chest is warm and full, a feeling his lies don't come close to.

I believe I’ve found myself company that is much more entertaining than any world right at my fingertips.

It’s his truth, the only one he has told this entire time.

[sstormyskyess]

uhh thinking about robot!ghost

Your profession was a rare one in the British SAS. There was a stark lack of automaton soldiers, due to the stigmatization that surrounded the group, and a majority of the ones that made their way into the ranks knew how to manage their own circuits. But for the ones that didn’t, that’s where you come in.

As an advanced automaton mechanic, you’re highly proficient in the field of robotics. Your level of skill is appreciated by the few that require your expertise, as few and far between as they may be, which is exactly the reason you’re here in a quiet little cafe waiting for your newest assignment to arrive. You were able to do some personal research about them, having been allowed some of their documents to look over.

When Station Chief Kate Laswell had gotten in contact with you, you knew that it must be serious business. You’d met her a few years prior to now and your previous CO had sung your praises up and down, but you could’ve never expected that she would even remember you, let alone call you up and request your services.

So here you are, flipping through the limited pages of your new temporary team. As far as you could tell, none of them were automatons, unless one of them was the extremely rare life-like ones that looked almost scarily similar to humans. The strangest file was the one with no picture at all. The name on the file was ‘Simon Riley,’ and his nickname was ‘Ghost.’ Kind of scary, you think.

Before you have any more time to dwell on it, the bell on the door rings and Laswell walks in. She scans the room for you and smiles once she meets your eyes. She waves as she approaches and you peek behind her to see four men, all of which you recognize from the files aside from one: the one who wore a black balaclava that covered the majority of his face excluding his eyes. Ghost, you assume.

You stand up and meet them halfway, putting on your standard business smile while she introduces you, giving your name and rank. The man you recognize as Captain Price steps forward and shakes your hand firmly with a charming smile accentuated by his mustache and beard. He goes down the line introducing the rest of his squad and once he gets to Ghost, he lets the taller man step forward.

One of his gloved hands pulls back the sleeve on his left arm, presenting the inside of his wrist to you. You’re able to see through the decals on his arm the serial number imprinted on the surface of his wrist. You recognize the number immediately, rendered speechless for only a moment as you realize just how rare his model is. You’ve never met someone like him before and to be face to face with one of the most rare specimens on the planet as you knew it had you starstruck.

You’re quickly able to snap out of it so you don’t make yourself seem like a weirdo to people you just met and pull your hands away from where they were inspecting the engraved number. Ghost stays there, looking you up and down with a scrutinizing stare. “You ever worked with my model before?” His gruff voice takes you by surprise.

“Uh, no, actually. Mostly just standard models,” You explain, fiddling with the small bag of tools attached to your hip. “It’ll be interesting to work with you, lieutenant.”

And interesting it was.

You didn’t need to fix him up often; he was decent at getting out of scuffles unharmed and when he did get hit, his casing was strong enough to ward off most artillery aimed his way. Generally, you were performing simple check-ups after being out on the field, checking for damages and scuffing out minor scrapes.

The first time you had to get intensive with your repairs was a few months into your partnership with TF-141. He’d taken a bullet to the abdomen, just barely missing one of his core processors. He came back to your office barely functioning, the LEDs that constituted his eyes dim and flickering. It was a whole night ordeal fixing him, taking apart metal plates and working with deft fingers to take out malfunctioning parts and put in specially made replacements. By the time he was fully up and running, you’d been awake for seven hours straight with no breaks. You checked him over one last time and had passed out leaning on your workbench before he booted back up.

He wakes you up with a shake to your shoulders and you groan as you sit up, feeling the muscles in your neck and shoulders tensed up. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance up at him, about to ask him what was wrong, but you’re cut off by the way his eyes peer down at you. You left his face plate on out of respect for his privacy, but now you were face to face with the naked circuits behind the sheet of metal previously covering them up.

But the reason it catches you off guard is the way they’re made up. Instead of the standard flat circuit board look an automaton’s true face had, Ghost’s face is much more… human. It’s almost organic, and if one didn’t know any better, they might assume he was just a human in a robot costume. And yet, his LED eyes still peer at you, a clear sign of his inorganic nature.

“Y’forgot to put my tag back in,” he says plainly, his voice echoing out from where his mouth would be.

Right. His tag. How did you forget that? It’s one of the most important things an automaton needs: something that keeps their identity straight when compared to other automatons. Looks like you made a great impression for your first time working on his body so intimately.

You clear your throat, looking away from his face and sliding your chair over to all your tools. You sift through everything cluttering the space and eventually find his tag, standing up to put it back in place in the junction between his neck and shoulder. All the while, his eyes were locked on you, making you squirm. Why did he always have to stare at you when you were working on him? It was starting to frustrate you, but you couldn’t focus on that when his bare face was threatening to distract you. God, you wanted to inspect him further.

He leaves when you finally get the tag back into its slot, granting you a quick ‘bye,’ before closing the door behind him. Well, if you weren’t already enamored by his one-of-a-kind model, you were certainly enamored by something else, now. Great.

idk where this one came from i just like sci-fi things i guess?

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[oh-saints]

hi ! would you be down to do a fluffy and funny social media au or an oneshot for a ødegaard!reader dating charles leclerc in secret because they're scared of martin's reaction, but martin tries to set one of his teammates up with reader and charles gets jealous and accidentally reveals their relationship ?

matchmaker

charles leclerc x odegaard&model!reader (ft. martin odegaard the big bro)

word count: 1k

notes: as a pain relief from my angsty works...? teheee but i can totally imagine protectivebro!martin towards his sister irl tbh and i hope you like this bcs this is my 1st time doing something related to socmed au! but as usual, i wrote this at dawn so this is yet to be beta-read.

ig pics taken from aimeesong's instagram; others taken from pinterest and tumblr.

yn.odegaard ✔️

liked by odegaard.98, yourmomig, emelie.odegaard, and 57,980 others

yn.odegaard only the best for your partner. @/tiffanyandco #tiffanypartner #ad

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odegaard.98 please get a real boyfriend

yourbff lucky bastard he is 👀

→ yn.odegaard girl don't spill anything here...

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

“ah, the honorary son of our family is here!”

martin didn’t waste his chance as soon as emilie opened the door, only to reveal a particular monegasque racing driver standing before his youngest sister.

charles, being sweet as ever, hugged the giggling girl—it’d become odegaard family’s joke that emilie had been secretly harbouring a crush on the handsome lad—before giving her a small box of signature chocolate from whatever country charles had just arrived from due to the nature of his job. the playful jab martin threw at charles was ringing truer than ever before as the mother of the household walked out of the kitchen, leaving whatever dish she was making to engulf him in a bear hug, whispering silent grace to god that charles had survived another deadly week of racing without a scathe.

which she’d never done to any of her other children, by the way. not even when martin was bleeding from the scraps he’d gotten due to the gruesome nature of football, week in and out. in her defence, martin hadn’t been anywhere near death—not even life-threatening injury—whereas charles grazed the door of hell every time he was working, should his reflex fail him for a mere second difference on that asphalt.

you might be wondering how charles, a monegasque royalty at this point, was subtly adopted by the odegaards, a norwegian footballer family. it was a wonder that never ceased, too, to be honest.

except for you, who’d been the one who opened the gate to this crazy crossover.

you’d shot to stardom because of your social media activities, back when martin was still a madrid player. long story short, your follower count was what sealed your ticket to the catalunya grand prix as a guest for a famous spanish fashion brand, which resulted you being ushered to the ferrari paddock for the brand’s main ambassador, carlos sainz, who introduced you to his teammate, namely charles leclerc.

did it answer your question as to why charles could be found ever so often around the odegaard’s residence? probably not, and the odegaards felt the same way, too, in all honesty. one day, you brought him home for dinner and the boys had been so excited to have another boy at their close proximity to play football with that they even skipped the whole interrogation thing.

thus, them thinking charles was your best friend.

when in fact, he had been anything but.

it was actually within your purest intention to introduce charles as your boyfriend that night. partly because for the first time, you’d managed to snatch a fine specimen of a gentleman as your boyfriend instead of adding another male to your pile of boy/friend. but mostly because you and charles had every intention to be serious about your relationship—like marriage serious.

you had actually prepared both charles and yourself for a long investigating query from your brothers—in their name of being protective and all, and despite your exterior of despising them for that, you couldn’t help but love them all the same. but it seemed like those two older siblings of yours just thought charles was another boy/friend you met due to the nature of your job, or probably due to your extrovert trait.

did you ever bother to correct them?

lots of times, you wanted to break the label kristoff and martin was giving charles. but it was your boyfriend who held you back, grasping your hand in his in a gentle pressure under the table. when asked afterwards, he’d always answer with, “in due time, we will. for now, I’m focused on gaining their favours.”

so you stayed put. after all, you had been a firm believer that only a man knows other men best.

but it seemed like it’d change after tonight.

“you really should look for a boyfriend,” martin slipped in the thoughts he’d already put on her instagram’s comment section in the midst of the table going around her newest campaign. “you’re glowing when you have a partner.”

you couldn’t help but scoff. “what do you know from a picture?”

“we’re saying that you look so good in your last campaign, probably because you found a perfect partner for the shoot. now imagine if you have a real boyfriend…” kristoff added and you rolled your eyes at your oldest brother. the guy in the picture was actually the one sitting beside you, your boyfriend of almost a year now, so of course you glowed like you’re in a relationship.

“do you need my help to set you up with someone?”

kristoff’s eyes widened at martin’s so-called brilliant idea. “you’re a genius! or maybe charles can—”

“nope, no one’s good enough for her.”

charles’ statement left the entire table speechless, including yourself. you’d never heard charles spoken up so fast, with a tone so angry and facial expression so full of distaste, despite his blue eyes focused on the dish he was playing with.

“well, there’s kieran who just broke up—”

“can’t you just let your sister choose her own partner?” charles looked up and chose to shoot lasers to the head of the table, even it scared you a bit.

this side of charles was new, for he would always be seen exasperated when it involved things around racing, but it was probably because the topic was new. your idiotic brothers had never—ever—had a problem with your romantic life. tonight was the first time the duo ever sold the idea of matchmaking you since puberty waves hit the family.

charles let out a sigh so deep, you knew he regretted his outburst. “she’s all grown up, for god’s sake.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

charles_leclerc ✔️

liked by odegaard.98, yourmomig, emelie.odegaard, and 952,767 others

charles_leclerc Sorry not sorry I snatched her first

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yn.odegaard wrong account?

→ pierregasly wrong account

→ landonorris wrong account

→ carlossainz55 wrong account

→ georgerussell63 wrong account

→ charles_leclerc maybe not?

odegaard.98 charles, just an fyi: this is not how you impress your future bro-in-law

kristodegaard you guys really shouldn't have hid anything from us, not cool @yn.odegaard @charles_leclerc

emilie.odegaard i love you for letting my brothers think the otherwise all this time

yourmomig i smell this from the first time i met you. welcome to the family, son!

→ yn.odegaard YOU DIDN'T????

→ odegaard.98 are we the only one left in the dark? @kristodegaard

[deadpool15]

Underwear?

"Hello, vlog. I'm currently in the kitchen. You can obviously see that if you have fucking eyes. I'm sorry, sometimes people will be slow. So, a couple of things have happened, first being I got MARRIED." Lyric says while smiling at the camera. "I've just been sitting in my house, living life. I got married in January, so it's been like a couple of months and I know what you thinking your this man done turned our girl into a fucking housewife. No, well shit I mean, the dick is good soo." I laugh while walking towards the refrigerator to grab out the ingredients for the pasta dish I'm making. Just a little simple meal, because I mean you got to save the best for last am I right. Yall know I'm right.

I managed to score me a 6'2, beautiful ass model and actor combined. Yea, that shig was definitely on my bucket list, I mean I was thinking more of a tall women like that video game with the zombies but, shit it's not like I fell short or anything. I met Byeon during Paris fashion week, during a bathroom accident. And by that I mean I walked into the wrong fucking bathroom because I was distracted and lost as fuck. I turn about towards the camera after explaining the situation. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that shit happened to everyone before to all of you. Agree with me, please. The sad part is this isn't the first time I've walked into the wrong bathroom. Let me live, ok. So, back to the story."

Flashback

"Omg, I'm going to fucking piss my pants. I'm too old for all this running and shit. A bitch is about 4'11, therefore I'm not athletic enough either. Sir fucking move." I practically scream at the random man blocking the entrance, ofc he tries to stop me but I pay him no mind, and immediately run into a stall. "This stupid fucking dress." After about what felt like 12 minutes I was able to use the bathroom. I walked out only to walk face first into a door, I looked up and saw a face. "Shit, dude, you are basically built like a wall. Wait, isn't this the women's bathroom, or do you identify as a women. If so, I'm totally sorry, ma'am." He looks down at me smirking before I notice this is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. "Shit, dude, you look like you were made by AI, I mean young lady."

It takes me a moment to realize he is speaking to me. Fucking beautiful specimen. I know his dick is big. Wait shit no what's wrong with me. Well, I'm obviously horny as shit and he could totally fix that issue. "This is the men's restroom, or you lost?" I look up at him basically staining my fucking neck shit this dude is tall, he could totally break my back. Wait, stop it. This is the men's bathroom, which explains why that dude tried to stop me from coming in here. "Yea, I am lost, sir. I was trying to find the womens bathroom, though that's obviously too late since I've already used the bathroom, and well, you know."I should walk you back them, just in case you get lost and wander into another's men's bathroom and some other guy gets the chance. Strange girl." I blush while looking around the bathroom." "Yes, you should be kind, sir."

Present

I start mixing all the ingredients while I finish telling the story, smiling at how the memories make me feel. "So. I'm just gonna let this cook for 30 minutes, and it should be done. I had already prepared the recipe last night, so everything is pretty much good. Anyways, how yall doing? Oo shit, this is a vlog, not a live video. Yea, I'm just gonna edit that out. I don't need yall thinking I'm slow and shit." As I finish speaking, my phone starts going off, and someone is literally blowing up my phone. "Acting like I owe child support in this bitch. I don't claim any foreign. Oo shit yall it's just my MAN." I smile once I see the contact.

Myman- Hey baby, are you busy ?

Mymam- Are you even up, I know you don't wake up til like 4 in the afternoon.

Myman- I was just checking in, baby. We got a break on set, and I told the staff that I had to speak with my wife.

Myman- There is this random girl that kinda won't leave me alone, not that you need to worry, though. I handled 👏 it.

Babycakes- I'm up

Babycakes- Who tf is bothering you, baby? If I need to come out there and check a bitch I will.

Myman- No, baby, nothing like that, I promise, just a little flirting.

Babycakes- Say no more say no more say no moreeee

Babycakes- I'm on my wayyyy

I gathered everything and headed to the car, and before I knew it, I made it on set. "So, since they still kinda filming, I can't bring yall. We'll I can I just like can show yall shit to be honest. So, I mean yall can we my man. My husband. So, let's go." I get out of my car walking up the security guards who greatly remember me and allow me in without a fight. "Omg, yall I thought I wad gonna have to be the anger black women in this bitch, anyways let's find our target." I walk pretty much all over the set saying him to everyone including Lee Yoon-mi. "It's my favorite strong girl. Guys, look at my girlfriend." She laughs hysterically at my comment. "Hello, to Lyrics vlog, stop saying I'm your girlfriend before your husband tries to take us apart." I kiss her cheek while hugging her, asking where would Byeon be right now. "He should be in his trailer. He heard you were coming and got all excited and locked himself in there, saying he was waiting patiently for his love." I laugh at how dramatic he is before telling yoon bye, leaving to finally get to him.

I spot the trailer that lists his name on it before knocking. "Are yall excited to see him, I mean, I am." I wait a while before I hear him at the door, "I told you all. I'm kinda busy." He opens the door staring at me wide-eyed. "To busy for me, sir." Byeon immediately grabs me and yanks me into the trailer, turning off my camera before I could introduce him to everyone. "I fucking missed you so much," I stare at him shocked since he is literally smelling me right now. He grabs my ass while pushing me further through the trailer, "You look so pretty. It's too pretty to walk out of the house. Fuck other people probably saw you didn't they?" "Ofc, they saw me baby I had to ask for your location, duh? What's wrong?" He grabs my jaw while pushing me against the Makeup table. "Don't sass me right now, I've been waiting forever. Sitting here hard thinking about fucking you until you can't walk. Seems like I didn't do a good enough job last night. Let's fix that."

"W-wait baby, we can't do that here," though it seems like my voice means nothing to him because he has already pushed me down bending me over. "But what if they hear, and I'm pretty sure you have to be on set soo- "Come on baby, don't make me beg. You know you want it to, and that's why you came here dressed up for me. All pretty for me." Before I can protest further, he starts fingering me slowly, causing me to moan out loud, and he stops. "Your sensitive baby, why are you sensitive? That would mean you were touching yourself earlier. Shit your already about to cum. I'm gonna have to punish you for that."

[scotianostra]

On 8th July 1647 Frances Stuart, known as “La Belle Stuart” was born.

Frances was the daughter of Walter Stewart, or Stuart, a physician in the court of Queen Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I who was in exile in France.

When the Stuarts returned to the throne with the Restoration she went with them. In 1662, she became a Maid of Honour to Charles II's bride, the Infanta of Portugal, Catherine, and then a Lady in Waiting to the new Queen.

Reportedly, Charles became infatuated with the girl, but she resisted his advances. In 1664, after England won several naval victories against the Dutch, the king had medals struck depicting the figure of Britannia, he chose Frances for the model. The King was so besotted with her that he considered divorcing Catherine to marry her. Samuel Pepys, the diarist, recorded that she was the greatest beauty he had ever seen.

Considered a great beauty, she had numerous suitors, eventually she eloped with another Charles Stuart, a fourth cousin of the king and the 4th Duke of Richmond and 6th Duke of Lennox in March 1667. She fell out of favour at court for marrying without royal consent.

About 1669 she became seriously ill with smallpox and the king reportedly rushed to her bedside and forgave her for marrying. Upon her recovery, she was appointed Lady of the Bedchamber for the Queen. The king appointed the duke ambassador to Denmark, but Frances stayed at home, managing the estate and business affairs.

The duke died in December 1672 and as he had no heir his estates reverted to the Crown. Charles II granted Frances a 1000 pound pension per annum for life. In 1702 Frances arranged to purchase the estate of Lethington. She died that same year leaving her estate to her nephew Lord Blantyre who renamed Lethington Lennoxlove in her honour.

Pics include two paintings of “La Belle Stuart” and a remarkable wax effigy she ordered that had made of herself dressed in her coronet, robes and shoes worn at Queen Anne's coronation,. She had it set up in Henry VII's chapel near the grave of Ludovic Stuart, cousin of James I, in Westminster Abbey, the effigy survives and beside it you will see an African Grey parrot, which was her “companion” for some 40 years, the parrot died a few days after her.

As seen in the last pic, very few mounted bird specimens survive from this period but x-rays show that the entire skeleton of the bird is intact including its skull. This was a very primitive technique but the parrot probably survived because it was kept in a showcase. It is perhaps the oldest stuffed bird in existence.

[celestialmazer]

Coral reefs inspired the crochet exhibition “Austrian Satellite Reef,” by Margaret and Christine Wertheim. It is on view at the Schlossmuseum Linz in Austria.Credit...David Payr for The New York Times

The Crochet Coral Reef Keeps Spawning, Hyperbolically

The long-running project, sometimes described as the environmental version of the AIDS quilt, thrives on convoluted math and a sea of volunteers.

By Siobhan Roberts

Published Jan. 15, 2024 Updated Jan. 16, 2024

Every year after the full moons in late October and November, Australia’s Great Barrier Reef begins its annual spawning — first the coral species inshore, where waters are warmer, then the offshore corals, the main event. Last year, this natural spectacle coincided with the woolly propagation of two new colonies of the Crochet Coral Reef, a long-running craft-science collaborative artwork now inhabiting the Schlossmuseum in Linz, Austria, and the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh.

To date, nearly 25,000 crocheters (“reefers”) have created a worldwide archipelago of more than 50 reefs — both a paean to and a plea for these ecosystems, rainforests of the sea, which are threatened by climate change. The project also explores mathematical themes, since many living reef organisms biologically approximate the quirky curvature of hyperbolic geometry.

Within the realm of two dimensions, geometry deals with properties of points, lines, figures, surfaces: The Euclidean plane is flat and therefore displays zero curvature. By contrast, the surface of a sphere displays constant positive curvature; at all points, the surface bends inward toward itself. And a hyperbolic plane exhibits constant negative curvature; at all points, the surface curves away from itself. Reef life thrives on hyperbolism, so to speak; the curvy surface structure of coral maximizes nutrient intake, and nudibranchs propel through water with frilly flanges.

Christine Wertheim, a creator of the project and the artistic force behind it. Credit...David Payr for The New York Times

Margaret Wertheim, a science writer and twin sister to Christine, is in charge of the project’s scientific and mathematical components and its management. Credit...David Payr for The New York Times

In the artworks, marine morphologies are modeled — crocheted — with loopy verisimilitude. A bit like Monet’s water lilies, the crochet corals are abstract representations of nature, said Christine Wertheim, an artist and writer now retired from the California Institute of the Arts. Dr. Wertheim is the driving artistic force behind the project, which she created with Margaret Wertheim, her twin sister, a science writer who is in charge of scientific and mathematical components as well as management. The Wertheims, Australians who live together in Los Angeles, spun out the mother reef from their living room many moons ago, in 2005.

Crochet Coral Reef exhibitions typically have two main components: The Wertheims provide an anchor, of sorts, with works from their collection that they have crocheted over the years. They also incorporate pieces by select skilled international contributors. One is a “bleached reef,” evoking corals stressed by increases in ocean temperature; another, a “coral forest” made from yarn and plastic, laments the debris that pollutes reef systems.

Then in response to an open call, volunteers far and wide crochet a pageant of individual specimens that agglomerate in a “satellite reef,” staged by a local curatorial team with guidance from the Wertheims. The Wertheims liken this hive mind to a friendly iteration of the Borg from “Star Trek: Next Generation.” All contributors are credited.

The Linz satellite reef takes colorful inspiration from traditional Austrian craftswomanship, such as blue-and-white fabric (Blaudruck) or gold-and-black hats (Goldhauben). Credit...David Payr for The New York Times

The largest satellite reef thus far coalesced in 2022 at the Museum Frieder Burda in Baden-Baden, Germany, with some 40,000 coral pieces by about 4,000 contributors. The Wertheims call this the Sistine Chapel of crochet reefs (documented in a splashy exhibition catalog). But the show at the Linz Schlossmuseum, which is dedicated to natural science as well as art and culture, is reminiscent of the work of the painter Giuseppe Arcimboldo, whose collage portraits from depictions of fruits, vegetables and flowers are “fantastically heterogeneous, also very funny and clever,” Ms. Wertheim said.

The Linz satellite reef unites some 30,000 pieces by 2,000 crocheters. The disparate parts take colorful inspiration from traditional Austrian “craftswomanship,” as the exhibit text puts it, and there is a vast, glittery coral wall that gives a nod to the artist Gustav Klimt. In the Wertheims’ view, however, the crochet coral project is proof that it is not always lone geniuses who create great art, but also communities. In the art world, that is a radical idea, they noted, yet in science big collaborative projects and papers with thousands of authors are not unprecedented.

Primordial bamboozlement

Scientifically, the Linz exhibition holds special symbolism since, as the narrative explains, the region was previously occupied by an “ancient primordial sea, filled with corals whose remains can still be found in the basins and Alps of Upper Austria.”

The mathematical dimension of the story intersects (from afar) with research by the applied mathematician Shankar Venkataramani and his students at the University of Arizona. They use idealized models to study hyperbolic surfaces in nature. “It’s all around us,” Dr. Venkataramani said — consider the ubiquity of curly kale. “The question is, Why is it all around us?” The textbook evolutionary benefit, he said, is that it helps optimize processes like circulation and nutrient absorption. His research group’s studies show additional advantages, such as affording a structural “sweet spot,” making organisms neither too rigid nor too flexible and allowing them “to move and change shape with a small energy budget.”

The Wertheim sisters share an appreciation for Dr. Seuss’ playful absurdity, which is a touchstone for the project. Credit...David Payr for The New York Times

When Margaret Wertheim, who studied math, physics and computer science at university, learned hyperbolic geometry, she found it “a bit bamboozling.” She took the principles more on faith than understanding. Yet through crocheting models, she said, “you really do learn in a very deep way what a hyperbolic structure is, and in a way that I think is very powerfully pedagogical.”

Feeling the frills

That the hyperbolic plane could be looped into existence with a crochet hook became apparent only a quarter-century ago. Daina Taimina, a mathematician now retired from Cornell University, made this discovery while preparing a geometry course. “I needed to feel it,” Dr. Taimina said. Investigations with the Wertheims in the early to mid-2000s planted a seed for their coral-reef project (and a chap book, “A Field Guide to Hyperbolic Space”) and for Dr. Taimina’s outreach workshops and shows (and a book of her own, “Crocheting Adventures With Hyperbolic Planes”).

Further back, in 1868, the Italian mathematician Eugenio Beltrami constructed a parchment model of the hyperbolic plane — and he rolled it into a negatively curved surface called a pseudosphere (as one does). A century later the mathematician William Thurston independently had a similar idea, using paper and tape.

Dr. Taimina encountered a crumbling paper version in 1997 at a workshop by David Henderson, a Cornell mathematician and her partner. Dr. Henderson had learned the model-making technique from Dr. Thurston. On the spot, Dr. Taimina set out to construct something more pliable and durable for her course. When she tried knitting, the result was too floppy, unwieldy. Crochet proved the perfect medium. Dr. Taimina devised a simple algorithm: Increase the number of stitches in the constant ratio N+1. For instance, say N=6: crochet six stitches, and on the seventh stitch, increase by crocheting two stitches into one; repeat, row upon row.

Eugenio Beltrami’s 19th-century parchment model of the hyperbolic plane, displaying constant negative curvature. Credit...Department of Mathematics, University of Pavia

Daina Taimina’s largest hyperbolic crochet model, using 4.8 miles of yarn and stretching more than two feet wide, earned a 2013 Guinness World Record. Credit...Daina Taimina

“You can experiment with different ratios, but not in the same model,” she cautioned in an article for “The Mathematical Intelligencer” that she wrote with Dr. Henderson. “You will get a hyperbolic plane only if you increase the number of stitches in the same ratio all the time.”

Dr. Taimina also joined Dr. Henderson, who died in 2018, as a co-author for revised editions of his book “Experiencing Geometry,” wherein he described his belief “that mathematics is a natural and deep part of human experience and that experiences of meaning in mathematics are accessible to everyone.”

The Wertheims adopted a similar vision with their Institute for Figuring, a nonprofit where projects are motivated by the belief that people can play with and aesthetically appreciate — and thereby acquire an understanding of — mathematical ideas.

With her science training, Margaret’s instinct had been to follow Dr. Taimina’s algorithm to the stitch. But Christine’s artistic sensibility was to break the rules and go wild. For instance, crochet a few rows, increasing every third stitch, and then switch to every fifth stitch, and then to every second stitch — the result is not perfectly hyperbolic, because the piece does not have regular curvature.

For the Wertheims, embracing that irregular frilliness was the moment their crochet reef project was born: The erratic algorithms begot a riotous taxonomy, a woological seascape of creatures that all the more closely emulated the geometrically aberrant curvatures of their real-life biological counterparts.

Patterns of change

Christine Wertheim noted that while crocheting, she could tell when a structure wanted to form another ruffle. “It’s interesting to feel that in your hands,” she said. Credit...David Payr for The New York Times

Another crochet-coral incarnation recently emerged from a pond of creativity organized by the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh, a city known for its three rivers: The Allegheny and the Monongahela Rivers converge to form the Ohio, which empties into the Mississippi, which empties into the Gulf of Mexico, where coral spawns after July and August full moons. This show, organized by Alyssa Velazquez, a curatorial assistant of decorative arts and design, features only a satellite reef made by 281 community crocheters.

Ms. Velazquez noted that the Wertheims’ project takes inspiration from the fiber-art movement — advanced by mostly women, among them Sheila Hicks, Tau Lewis and Marie Watt — and then democratizes it. As (mostly) women gathered and interlocked loops of yarn, Ms. Velazquez observed the lines of conversations: memories of time spent at local waterways, recycling habits, the chance to crochet something other than baby bootees. At that, the enterprise represents “the creative potential for environmental dialogue and new ecological behaviors,” she said — invoking imaginative yet concrete patterns of change.

A version of this article appears in print on Jan. 16, 2024, Section D, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: Crochet Coral Reef Grows Hyperbolically.

More at This Is Colossal

https://www.thisiscolossal.com/2022/05/crochet-coral-reef-wertheim/

[et-excrucior]

So I’m going to highlight something I’m not sure people who like skeletons and curiosities think about often:

the human skeletal remains you see for sale in oddities shops were invariably grave-robbed.

I worked with human remains in an academic research context in the US for more than a decade. One of the first things I tried to teach my students was respect for the remains in our collections, not only because they were people, deserving of dignity in their death, but also because most of the skeletal remains in academic teaching collections were not donated voluntarily. In most cases, we have no idea exactly where they came from or to whom they belonged.

Historically, there has been a huge international trade in human skeletal remains for teaching medical students. The trade reached its peak in the 19th Century and continued for much of the 20th, and while ostensibly the practice was banned in India in 1985, it does still exist illegally. In the US and Europe, most of the remains in teaching collections were sourced from India through bone traders. Bone traders were (are) lower caste people charged with disposing of human remains—often by cremation, but also by interring in graves—but instead of doing so, sold the remains on to medical schools in the US/Europe through the intermediary of anatomical and medical supply companies. These anatomical specimens are the remains of people who were, unknowingly and without consent of their loved ones, denied their humanity in death to satisfy the appetite of the West for anatomical specimens, despite the remains of their own people being considered largely sacrosanct.

Which leads me to my next point: this practice originated under British Colonialism in India. I hope I don’t need to draw this point out, but objectification of these remains by medical students and researchers is a furtherance of the Western colonial project and othering of people of colour. As medical students, we’re trained to divorce ourselves emotionally from the remains we learn from in the name of professionalism. Medicine can often be confronting, and it serves patients and doctors alike to be able to continue working calmly and objectively in the face of those challenges. But in a world where empires and scientific disciplines have been (and continue to be) built on a legacy of scientific racism and dehumanisation, it behooves us to consider exactly how those teaching specimens were acquired—and how they came to be for sale.

Any human skeleton or human bones you see for sale in oddity stores are invariably retired teaching specimens, or were otherwise originally purchased through an anatomical specimen supply company that leveraged bone traders for acquiring their wares. In other words, those remains were grave-robbed, or stolen from funeral pyres and morgues. It is vanishingly unlikely that they are remains of known, ethically-sourced provenance like informed donation. If they were, they would not have been relinquished to the general public to be sold for profit. There would be contractual obligations that dictate how those remains would be managed once they need to be retired from teaching/decommissioned.

Please keep this in mind when you see human remains for sale in oddity shops. Buy plastic or ceramic teaching models instead. Don’t unwittingly continue creating a market for stolen human remains.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

May I request a BG3 matchup?

30; afab agender; rampantly bisexual. Medical lab tech (not the cool kind), about to start grad school for forensic biology. I collect postcards and preserved specimens, and raise tarantulas + other bugs. Enjoy making nature journals, birdwatching, puzzles, music, theatre, museums, analyzing horror media, building models, working with clay, writing, reading, and board games (though I get a bit too competitive). Great in the kitchen. Autistic/ADHD. Get sensory overloaded easily. Love meeting people but mostly wish I could exist invisibly and not speak. Chronic pain limits physical activities. Most content during stormy days with candles and coffee, baking or doing a jigsaw puzzle with the windows open and music playing. Think I'm unattractive and obnoxious. OCD + bipolar dictate a lot of my brain. Tendency to word vomit and have difficulty articulating off of paper. Complain a lot and can be passive aggressive. But also like to see people happy and taken care of, and want to leave things better than I find them when possible.

A/N: Alright Tarantula Anon, since you mentioned you’re bisexual, but didn’t state a gender preference, I’ve picked out the best matches- one male and one female for you.

Your best Baldur’s Gate 3 Matches would be Astarion (Male) and Minthara (Female)!

➶ Astarion is also a character I would characterize as “rampantly bisexual” (or pansexual to be more specific in his case lol). Gender presentation isn’t something he factors into attractiveness. If he likes you, he likes you. If he thinks you’re hot, he thinks you’re hot, etc. You get the idea.

Being an immortal vampire, Astarion knows a thing or two about biology. Mainly about how to remain undetected among the human population. In the game, he explains how he never smells like a typical vampire or vampire’s den because he makes a point to scent himself with a mix of fragrances. And while he may not be a medical professional, he’s certainly had his fair share of anatomy lessons, be it distant viewings at the food of Cazador, from the many creatures he’s been forced to seduce. It’s not an exact equivalent, but I do believe he would be fascinated by the kind of work you do regarding live and preserved specimens.

And while I don’t think he’s a bug person (mainly because they were his one source of nutrition for so many years), I think he could be taught to appreciate them over time. Perhaps you could show him how all creatures, even small ones, are incredibly unique and have their own role within our vast universe. It’s humbling to think we are all so incredibly tiny and yet vastly important to the people around us.

There’s so much he’s missed out on experiencing, I think he’d quite like doing any of those activities with you: birdwatching, solving puzzles, listening to music, going to the theater or the museum, tinkering, making ceramics, writing, or reading, or playing board games… Anything! Everything! He especially enjoys the competitive nature of your games. He finds he quite likes the feeling of winning, and he plans on doing it more often. Don’t worry though, he’ll play fair. Well, fair for him, anyway.

He cannot eat so he doesn’t get to fully appreciate your kitchen prowess. But he does enjoy helping you cook. It’s strangely comforting for him to do something so domestic. It’s in moments like those, that he can see the rest of your lives together playing out.

Similarly to you, Astarion loves meeting new people. Or at least he thinks he does. So much of his extroversion was a facade, he’s not certain what part of his people skills are him and which parts were survival. So he needs time in between, away from crowds and strangers to calm down and recharge. He’s grateful that you often tug him away, reminding him to excuse the two of you before either one of you gets too overwhelmed.

He may not be a magic user, but he does what he can to support you in managing your chronic pain. He’ll get Halsin or Shadowheart or even Gale to lessen some of your symptoms. He doesn’t try to cure your condition, nor does he expect you to cure his. However, if finding a more permanent solution to your pain is something you’d want, he’s more than ready to take that journey with you.

He doesn’t think for a second that you’re obnoxious. And trust him on that. He’s met some of the most obnoxious, overwhelmingly annoying magistrates and lords in his first life. He assures you constantly: that you are nothing like them. You’re smart and kind and beautiful. Even if you can’t see it, he sees it for you. Astarion knows what it’s like to live with a body (and by extension a brain) that tells you you’re never good enough. There are still moments when he can’t see himself in a mirror for example, when he thinks of himself as a monster. He’s so grateful you’re there to comfort him and tell him otherwise.

His favorite thing in the world is to cuddle with you next to a large bay window, watching nighttime thunderstorms roll in, a book in his lap and you beside him.

☾ Minthara is often characterized as closed-off and cold. Which you could argue is true. Or you could see it as her being logical, and protective of herself and her heart. She is a drow, and by nature, well accustomed to the more gruesome side of human nature. She feels at home surrounded by macabre, whereas others may be disturbed. I think she’d find your work fascinating. And spiders are something she knows a lot about. Drows and spiders go hand in hand. She sees tarantulas as the perfect pet, they’re small enough to be contained but large enough to have personalities and be something incredible to watch.

She especially enjoys reading horror stories with you or visiting theaters or museums with horror exhibits. Perhaps one about ancient methods of torture- now that would tickle her fancy. And she appreciates your wit and candor when it comes to playing games or solving puzzles with you. So few people treasure such traits in a companion, but not her. She knows how important it is to have a discerning significant other, especially if you are going to be spending any time in the Underdark with her, where being perceptive is a must for survival. She loves your cooking. As a drow noble, she was familiar with the concepts of fancy feasts and indulgent desserts. However, due to her position, she could never truly enjoy them, for fear of being poisoned by enemies. With you doing the meal-making, she doesn't have to worry about that anymore.

Unlike you, however, Minthara is not that fond of meeting other people. She much prefers the two of you keep to yourselves unless otherwise necessary. People are tiring, and so often unimportant. She sees no need to waste her time and social graces on them. You’re the one she loves. If she’s going to do something with anyone or make an effort, it’s going to be for you and you alone.

She used to think admitting pain was weak, now however, she knows it takes an inner as well as outer strength. She will go to whatever length to ensure your comfort. Simply say the word and she will get it for you. In seeing your survival, Minthara has developed a great admiration for you as a person, seeing how resilient you are. That being said, she will not tolerate you speaking poorly of yourself. You are wonderful. You are strong in mind and spirit. You are intelligent and wise. You are gorgeous. You mean everything to her. She will not hear you put yourself down. She would not choose an unworthy mate, so do not think for a second that you are not deserving of her love and affection.

But by all means, do complain. The world can be so frivolous and pedestrian. She enjoys having someone who not only accepts hearing her own complaints but joins in with their own as well. You can be passive-aggressive in your grievances because she is extremely direct. If something bothers you, she’ll simply ask you if you wish her to kill it. And no she doesn’t care if that’s morally wrong, because for you, she would move heaven and earth if it made you happy.

She is fiercely loyal and now that she is your loving partner, you cannot shake her. She is utterly and wholly devoted to you.

[raisinchallah]

mulder and scully really do feel like queerbait for straight people its honestly really funny like its absolutely not the normal will they wont they investigative duo where the jokes seem to be around a growing attraction the characters might have for each other and awkwardness around this vs the jokes about mulder and scully seem to be the idea it would be funny if they did something romantic but they both dismiss this or leaving an idea hanging and literally never going thru with it i mean in some ways i think this probably works better because i think what people like about these kinds of intense close partnership ships is the fact that if u never actually go anywhere specific people can imagine literally whatever they want and also it manages to side step the problem that television writers are often quite bad at writing romance that their relationship can be a lot more equal and scully does not become subsumed by wife/girlfriend/love interest tropes that seem to inevitably slip in when things begin getting written as a romance i mean honestly some of the episodes that more aggressively play with or drop intense hints about them being in love also seem to be paired with some weird sexism or sometimes the implication scully is in love but mulder is not but if they are simply kept to like a weird partnership with no other love interests its like both happening and not happening keeping everyone happy in some ways but also making everyone annoyed which is again the usual model of a classic queerbait idk it feels like a specimen to study its more boring than real queerbait because if its straight theres no added layer of also vaguely implying characters might be gay or something unrelated to the main ship baiting so actually i think this somehow loops around to mulder and scully being like kirk and spock but straight literally women just want a weird partnership where u do insane things and investigate things and have nobody else in your life but each other and it does kind of make you miserable idk where i was going with this anyways bait enthusiasts are like weirdos who believe in the paleo diet being like oh you want your agricultural era farmed romantic plotlines you could never get the nutrients or thrill of the hunt that foraging for bait does your bones will never be strong but also i am kind of mulder and scully shipping neutral if im being honest its more a fascinating phenomenon to observe for me and i think its funny when straight people are absurdly repressed and never get together

[dailyanarchistposts]

Do you believe that human beings are fundamentally corrupt and evil, or that certain sorts of people (women, people of color, ordinary folk who are not rich or highly educated) are inferior specimens, destined to be ruled by their betters?

If you answered “yes”, then, well, it looks like you aren’t an anarchist after all. But if you answered “no”, then chances are you already subscribe to 90% of anarchist principles, and, likely as not, are living your life largely in accord with them. Every time you treat another human with consideration and respect, you are being an anarchist. Every time you work out your differences with others by coming to reasonable compromise, listening to what everyone has to say rather than letting one person decide for everyone else, you are being an anarchist. Every time you have the opportunity to force someone to do something, but decide to appeal to their sense of reason or justice instead, you are being an anarchist. The same goes for every time you share something with a friend, or decide who is going to do the dishes, or do anything at all with an eye to fairness.

Now, you might object that all this is well and good as a way for small groups of people to get on with each other, but managing a city, or a country, is an entirely different matter. And of course there is something to this. Even if you decentralize society and put as much power as possible in the hands of small communities, there will still be plenty of things that need to be coordinated, from running railroads to deciding on directions for medical research. But just because something is complicated does not mean there is no way to do it democratically. It would just be complicated. In fact, anarchists have all sorts of different ideas and visions about how a complex society might manage itself. To explain them though would go far beyond the scope of a little introductory text like this. Suffice it to say, first of all, that a lot of people have spent a lot of time coming up with models for how a really democratic, healthy society might work; but second, and just as importantly, no anarchist claims to have a perfect blueprint. The last thing we want is to impose prefab models on society anyway. The truth is we probably can’t even imagine half the problems that will come up when we try to create a democratic society; still, we’re confident that, human ingenuity being what it is, such problems can always be solved, so long as it is in the spirit of our basic principles — which are, in the final analysis, simply the principles of fundamental human decency.

[littlesliceofimmortality]

not sure if u have said this before, but what is ur design inspiration for milton and marla? :33

thank u!!

thank YOU for asking! SMILE

ive always imagined milt as an orange to callums purple, so naturally marla was a green to complete the complementary color spectrum :-)

miltons also always had a silly hat to me, based off of the one we occasionally see callum with. hes iconic and recognizable without it (plus most fanart doesnt have it at all), so why not pass it over to milt? managing relationships in the white house can be one of the presidents "many hats" as the saying goes

it can be a gift from one to the other, but nobdoy really knows if it was from milt to callum or vice versa

even though hes very progressive (esp for the time) hes always seemed very Moral and keeps close to the rules which is why i give him short hair and a clean-shaven face, very typical for his position

he also usually wears a tie even in more casual clothes, underneath his sweater vest! Him and callum ALSO swap silly ties with fun patterns . callum has a plethora of them since he avoids solid red/blue being, yakno, from a third party and wanting to avoid republican or democratic colors

marla marla marla. she HAS to be gorgeous just absolutely stunning i KNOW it

i wanted to make her radiate confidence even as a typewriter head but also not completely sanitized by the public eye, if that makes sense. got just as busy with politicians as callum did! good for her.

she wanted to get a typewriter head as soon as she heard about it - shes a journalist after all :-D i based her head off of THIS 3d model since it just has Her vibes.... Yakno. marla actually met callum from her career as a news reporter! she drew up in dialtown and always thought he was an interesting specimen. could put him under a microscope. liked him Alot

marla and callum had natural chemistry, being flirty and being very show-y for each other. always had SOME type of relationship but never considered it seriously until callum suggested having her as his first lady

her tattoo of a bird on a music box is based off of mingus' dialouge

The last time I saw him, he actually LOOKED at me and called me 'Marla', somehow thinking that I was my late grandmother and- He asked me if I'd do it all over with him' if I was given the chance. I... obviously didn't want to tell him who I really was. That Maw-Maw was no longer with us. ...Forcing him to re-experience that heartbreak all over again, only for it to be lost alongside his fleeting lucidity, moments later. ...So, I answered as if I were her, responding just as I hope she would've. "Yes, my songbird. I would."

cute! but also the HUGE stigma against tattoos led her get more skin covering dresses

THIS IS ALOT OOPS BUT ERMM here ya go :3

[nadiegesabate1990]

Crossing the sea on a raft.

To demonstrate my theory about Jonah's possible story being true. who alone undertook a risky expedition, on a raft built from wood. On a raft made only of logs, propelled by the winds and carried by the currents, he arrived in Nineveh, after a 10-day crossing. I don't know when the journey began, I don't know which port he stopped at. But the raft was manned by Jonas, who in the middle of the sea found another ship with five crew members.

This crossing demonstrated that, like Nadiege, I defend the story of Jonah, and I believe that it is possible and that there were contacts with God during the journey during the period of the Roman Empire.

I don't know who built the vessel, the so-called log rafts, made of wood. I think they tied ropes to logs of different lengths to a larger log placed in the center of the raft. The remaining logs were aligned so that the bow was pointed and the stern was straight. They placed a second layer of logs perpendicular to the base, thus forming the floor of the vessel. The raft was completed with an open cabin made of bamboo and a mast with two logs. The rectangular sail was attached to a strong yard made of two bamboo reeds.

I believe they built the raft according to the tradition of their people, and without using a single nail. With this crossing, Jonas was able to demonstrate, evidently, that it was possible to cross great distances with simple vessels in Antiquity. He undertook a risky expedition.

But Jonah's story is not as funny as that of the Egyptians. It would be better to travel with the Egyptians in a vessel built with 20 thousand rolls of papyrus tied with hemp ropes, 15 m long and weighing 15 tons, and sail. I believe the Egyptians could have crossed the Atlantic 5,000 years earlier. The crew was small, with a maximum of seven people, carrying water stored in goat skins, dates, nuts, dried meat and honey.

I think that almost at the end of the crossing, the papyrus rolls had absorbed so much water that they had to give up the feat and be rescued with their crew.

They could have managed to complete the crossing, this time in a smaller papyrus vessel.

And not to mention Noah, who boarded a vessel built with reeds in the style of ancient Sumerian models. I don't know when the journey began, at the confluence of the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, heading towards somewhere at sea. He wanted to prove, with his 100 specimens of accompanying animals, that the Israelis could have reached Africa and India by sea 5 thousand years earlier and colonized the basins of the Indus and Ganges rivers.

After successfully completing this trip, he set fire to the vessel as a sign of protest against the wars and persecutions against the Jews.