#without directions. he just defaults to that.

[bonefall]

Is there beef with the Holstein cows and you or what was that joke lol

It's kind of wild It's just never come up on this blog before, but I HATE holsteins. Bottom 10 cow breeds for me. I hate how they're so common they account for the majority of milk produced. I hate that they're the "default" cow to the point where some don't even know cattle HAVE other colors. I hate their tiny horns (IF THEY EVEN HAVE THAT. LOSER ASS HORNLESS COW) and their painfully massive udders.

Legit I'm trying so hard to not launch into a No Mouth Must Scream style AM speech-- shoot my hand slipped.

(AM speech about why i dont like holsteins below the cut)

For starters, I have to give a brief lesson on what these terms mean; the "Holstein" is the American strain of the "Frisian" breed. Frisians are an ancient breed from Frisia, in the north of what we now consider the Netherlands. Crosses between the breeds are "Holstein-Frisians."

(There’s even more to this but im keeping it as simple as possible. Also one of my friends is Frisian and she is probably going to kill me for describing it like that.)

Historically, livestock was adapted to the environment they lived in. Frisians were bred by the Frisii people for hundreds of years in extremely grass-rich, lush, flat environments. The "polders" of the northern parts of the Netherlands. They're huge and eat a LOT of food.

Traditional Frisians were developed to produce as much meat and milk from a single individual as possible, without compromising the health of the cattle with constant inbreeding to get quick gains. We are talking about a breed that is over 2000 years old. They had the perfect environment to make The Ultimate Food Cow and by god they did it. I can respect that.

So, take that, drag it across an ocean to a place that does NOT have polders, and add the rapid enshittification of capitalism to it. BAM you've got a fucking holstein.

There is ONE goal for "improving" the holstein. Make More Milk. As long as the black and white milkbag leaks enough, nothing else matters. Health? Fertility? Feed ratio? Ability to not die of infection? WHO CARES. MILK LINE GO UP.

Over 90% of holsteins are inbred to start with, because Milk Line Go Up. To the tune of having an average COI of 8%-- where extreme negative effects (think Hapsburgs) start to crop up around 10%

Holstein bulls are aggressive bastards (many dairy bulls are), so no one wants to keep intact males in their herds, meaning most cows are artificially inseminated

Not being limited by the natural lifespan of a living bull means that the same stud can keep having direct offspring for decades after his death

Toystory the bull had 500,000 calves before he died, and hit over 1 million offspring in 2015. That's ONE animal and to put this in perspective, there are 9 million holsteins in the US.

DON'T WORRY IT GETS WORSE

Not only can 99% of holsteins be traced back to just two bulls-- 99% of male holsteins share one of two exact Y chromosomes with those two bulls.

The gene pool is so small that it's equivalent to about 60 individuals. Warrior Cat allegiances are larger than that. That's barely bigger than modern ThunderClan.

"Massive lack of genetic diversity" does not begin to capture the existential dread of this situation. Mark my words, WATCH, when the Bird Flu finally mutates a strain that rips through a mammalian population, it's gonna be in the USA and it's going to be through our dairy cattle.

This is not prophecy or me laying a curse on the land, this is the natural consequence of basing the stability of US milk production on the equivalent of 9 million clones of two classrooms worth of individuals, and then packing them in close quarters

And we don't have to wait for doomsday for the impacts to be apparent on the cattle themelves

Holstein fertility has also dropped by half since the 1960s when the intensive inbreeding really kicked into high gear

Because their whole body is dedicating all of their resources to milk production, they have a notoriously "bony" frame.

Show judges, however, like this because they think that's a very "feminine" look for a 1600 pound ruminant. Very normal thing to think.

Like. I don't know if i can communicate this to people who don't look at cows a lot (it's not quite as obviously dramatic as a pug skull) but here is a comparison of an "ideal" show holstein and an "unselected" holstein from a herd that's been established as a sort of "control group" for what they looked like back in the 1960s;

The way that the artery on the "modern" cow's belly runs to the udder like a big pink worm freaks me out the most ngl

The udder also bulges out from between the back legs

The show cow is so thin

And then compare these both to a Holstein-Frisian cross who leans more on the Frisian side;

Proper weight, developed legs. Its biggest "problem" is actually just the udder shape-- deep udders, which "hang" low like that, aren't optimal for milk-focused breeds because the higher away from the ground the less chance there is of infection. In that department, the "unselected" holstein clearly outclasses the holstein-frisian.

But it probably won't be surprising to hear that the "show holstein," with its massive, swollen udder, is SUPER prone to infections such as mastitis.

But it is also just more prone to getting sick generally

And, to keep up with these insane demands, holsteins need a TON of food. You aren't going to just turn these things out into a pasture and be done with it. Even its ancestor the Frisian needed premium Dutch polder grass to be such a good cow-- crank that up to 11 with these Monuments to Humanity's Hubrice

The Texas Longhorn developed in semi-feral conditions and can eat a bush to become the best thing in a 10 mile radius. The Scottish Highland was iron-forged in upland moors with a steady diet of turf and rain.

Meanwhile if a Holstein has less than 5 homemade meals a day without poland spring bottled water it will die to death.

And the WORST part? You have to use these if you want to make money in dairy farming. It's WAAY too expensive to just run a suboptimal farm. Their milk isn't great, but they sure do make a lot of it.

...so Holsteins and Holstein-Frisians (and other "super efficient" breeds) have absolutely decimated heritage cattle. The American Milking Devon is a deep reddish brown with gorgeous horns and low maintenance; rare. Randall Linebacks are painted with lines of white speckles down the back and can be used for any purpose; critically endangered. The Niata was a pug-faced cow who could fight jaguars; extinct.

And THAT'S what makes me hate them most of all. I LOVE cows, but whenever I see a reference to one, it's a holstein. It's always boring black and white splotches with big pink udders. They're practically synonymous with "cow" when their homogeniety is actually hiding much cooler breeds from you.

Did you know cows can be tiger-striped?

And that England has its own type of longhorn?

Or that cow horns can twist upwards like an antelope?

And that they can have REALLY LONG ears?

And that they can be blue?

And that's not even getting into some of the cows that have gotten a small crumb of attention lately, such as Highlands, Ankole-Watusi, and Texas Longhorns. There's so many cool cows out there! And they're all really different from holsteins! MOST of them are also a lot healthier and produce tastier milk and meat!

TL;DR yeah i don't like holsteins and I like sniping at them. For reasons both legit and petty.

[deerlysacred]

🥘 . . . taming a bear, { soldier boy x witch fem!reader } | playing house

𐂂 𝄢 { butcher left you to take care of this famous supe soldier boy for the weekend. }

𖣂 𝄢 fluff, first chapter of the ‘playing house’ series. not sure how much chapters it'll have, planning on 3 for now.

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own the boys or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

The safe house wasn't much to look at. A shitty little apartment in the middle of nowhere, with peeling wallpaper and a draft that whistled through the cracks in the windows. Butcher and the others had left hours ago, and now it was just you and Soldier Boy.

While they were out playing detective, you were tasked with making sure Soldier Boy —Ben— didn't do something stupid, like get himself killed before the job was done or accidentally vaporize an entire city block in a fit of PTSD. Babysitting duty, basically. Butcher had even been patronizing enough to say, "Keep 'im happy. Maybe cook 'im a meal or somethin'." As if you weren't already the unofficial den mother of this ragtag mess of a team.

So. Cooking it was.

You figured stew would be easy enough. One pot. Minimal effort. Warm, fulling, impossible to fuck up. All you had to do was get through the next weekend without pissing off the most volatile superhuman in history or dying from secondhand smoke inhalation.

Simple.

Except Ben was watching you. Very closely.

Not in the way most men did— sly glances, stolen looks when they thought you wouldn't notice. No, his stare was direct and sharp. It was the kind of look that made you hyper-aware of every movement, of the slow stir of the spoon in your hand, of the subtle hitch in your breath.

Ignore him. He's like an old cat— if you acknowledge him, he'll just do it more.

He was sprawled on the couch, beer dangling lazily between his fingers, the flickering TV screen casting sharp shadows over his face. Even like this —half-drunk and half-bored— he had a presence that was impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders slouched, thick arms corded with muscle resting over the couch. His long legs were spread wide, the denim of his jeans stretching over thick thighs. "What the hell are you even makin' over there?" His gruff voice cut through the quiet, laced with skepticism. "Smells weird."

You glanced over your shoulder for a second, catching him scrunching his nose like a spoiled golden retriever. "It's stew." you said, giving the pot another slow stir.

Ben snorted, bringing the beer to his lips, his throat bobbing with each slow swallow. "Christ. What, Butcher put you up to this? Thought you were my fuckin' babysitter, not my goddamn housewife."

Heat crept up your neck at that, but you ignored it, choosing instead to focus on chopping up some carrots. "Yeah, well, I figured if I let you fend for yourself, you'd either burn this place down trying to use the microwave or get scammed into buying twenty-dollar fast food. So here we are."

"Dont need a goddamn caretaker too. I'm a grown man." he muttered into his beer, but there was something almost amused in his tone. Maybe even… appreciative? You weren't sure. His default setting was 'grumpy' so it was hard to tell.

You scrapped the chopped vegetables into the pot, watching as they disappear beneath the simmering broth. The aroma was actually kind of nice, despite what Ben said.

For a while, there was only the sound of bubbling stew and whatever car chase was happening on TV. Then, Ben spoke up again.

"Didn't know witches cooked." His voice was a low drawl, rough around the edges like he smoked a thousand cigarettes (which, let's be real, he probably had).

"What, you think I survive on eye of newt and bat wings?"

He shrugged, took another swig of his beer, and gestured vaguely at you with the bottle. "Dunno. Figured you just… I dunno, chant some shit and make food appear. Like poof— supper's on the table."

You rolled your eyes. "That's not how magic works."

"Then what's the point?"

Your grip tightened slightly on the spoon. "Oh, I don't know, maybe I like doing things with my hands."

You realized your mistake the second his lips quirked up into a shameless grin.

"Yeah? Bet you do."

You groaned, immediately regretting everything. Maybe if I just jumped out the window— no, bad plan, third floor. Maybe—

Ben chuckled, low and satisfied with himself, as he settled deeper into the couch. "What's in it anyway? Gotta admit it's starting to smell… decent."

You grinned, dropping some salt in with a flick of your fingers. "Beef, potatoes, carrots, some herbs— basic stuff."

He raised an eyebrow. "You do all this by yourself?"

You blinked, a little thrown by the question. "Uh… yeah?"

"Huh." He took another sip of his beer, gaze sliding over you in a way that feels almost calculating. "You'd make a good housewife."

You froze mid-stir, processing that absolute relic of a statement. Then, slowly, you turned to him, wooden spoon still in hand. "Excuse me?"

He smirked, completely unrepentant. "You heard me."

Your fingers tightened around the spoon. "I'll have you know I am not housewife material."

Ben scoffed. "Bullshit. You cook, you clean—"

"I don't clean for you—"

"—you do all that magic hocus-pocus shit, probably got some potion that makes a man sleep like a baby. Bet you'd keep a husband real happy." He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the coffee table, the grin on his face wicked. "Ever think about settling down, sweetheart?"

Your eye twitched. "Yeah. Every day. With arsenic."

Ben barked out a laugh, a real one, amused. "Shit, you got some bite to you, huh?"

You sighed, turning back to the stew before you say something that gets you vaporized. "I don't know what kind of women you were around back in the day, but I'm not some 1950s housewife."

"No shit, women these days got more bark than they used to."

You tossed a disbelieving glance his way. "Gee, I wonder why."

Ben shrugged like it was all the same to him. "Not complaining. I like a girl with some fight in her."

For some reason, that made your stomach do something weird. Not good weird, but… weird. You busied yourself with the stew. "You're impossible."

"I'm a fucking delight."

"Sure."

Silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional pop of the stew as it simmers. Ben watched you for a while, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. Then, surprisingly, he asked: "How'd you learn?"

You blinked. "Learn what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely to the stove, to you, to the whole cooking situation. "Somebody teach you?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by the genuine curiosity. "Yeah… my mom."

Ben hummed, gaze drifting slightly. "That right?"

"Yeah." You stirred absently, the memory coming back to you. "She used to say that food is one of the simplest ways to care for someone. That a good meal can fix a lot of things."

Ben took that in, quiet for a beat. Then—

"That's some sappy shit."

You sighed. "Of course that's what you take from it."

He smirked. "Hey, you wanna cook for me, I'm not gonna complain. Just sayin' —a blowjob does the same thing and takes half the effort."

WHAT THE—

Your hand twitched violently, almost sending the spoon flying. Ben just laughed at your shock. You didn't throw the spoon at Ben's stupid face, but God, the temptation was there. Instead, you took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. The stew was done. It smelled rich and hearty, the kind of meal that sticks to your ribs. You grabbed two bowls, ladled some in, and set them on the table, sliding one towards Ben with a little more force than necessary.

"There. Eat."

Ben eyed the bowl, then you, smirking like he could hear every profanity currently screaming in your brain. "Didn't even spit in it. How sweet."

"Yet." you muttered under your breath as you sat across from him.

Ben picked up the spoon, scooping up a chunk of beef and potato. He gave it a cautious sniff —because apparently, despite surviving years of eating God-knows-what, he suddenly didn't trust food— before taking a bite.

His chewing slowed.

You watched him carefully. "Well?"

He didn't answer right away, just chewed, swallowed, and went in for another bite. Then another. His brow furrowed slightly, like was confused. "…Huh."

You raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Ben pointed his spoon at you. "This is actually pretty fuckin' good."

You snorted. "Wow, thanks. High praise from a guy who probably ate paint as a child."

Ben grinned. "And look how I turned out."

"Oh yeah. Perfect specimen." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help feeling a little pleased as he kept eating. Soldier Boy, the walking nuclear warhead, was sitting in front of you, wolfing down your cooking like it was the best thing he had in decades.

He gestured at the bowl. "So, this, uh… this is normal now?"

You tilted your head. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Like… people don't eat TV dinners and spam anymore?"

"Okay, first of all, people still eat that stuff. But yeah, home-cooked meals are still a thing. Not everyone survives on frozen shit."

Ben grunted. "Didn't have time to cook back in the day. Always off doin' supe shit. When I was home, I had a hire girl do it."

You gave him a dry look. "Of course you did."

He smirked. "What? S'how it was. You'd have fit right in back then."

You scoffed. "Yeah, except I wouldn't have been cooking for you."

Ben chuckled, shaking his head as he dug back into the stew. For a while, there was just the sound of eating— the quiet clink of spoons against bowls. It was oddly… peaceful.

Then, naturally, Ben ruined it.

"So, what's the deal with you and Butcher?"

You paused mid-bite, blinking at him. "What?"

Ben gestured vaguely. "You two got a thing or somethin'?"

You nearly choked on your food. "What—God, no!"

Ben smirked, clearly entertained by your horror. "That a little too much mustache for ya?" Caressing his beard.

You shuddered dramatically. "Ew. Please. I don't need that image in my head while I'm eating."

"Figured. Butcher doesn't seem like the type to go for weird little witch girls."

You narrowed your eyes. "Weird little witch girls? I'm gonna hex you."

Ben laughed, deep and throaty, one hand drumming against the coffee table. "So if it ain't Butcher, you got someone else?"

You frowned. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged, popping another bite into his mouth. "Just makin' conversation."

You studied him for a moment, then sighed, stabbing at your stew. "No. No one."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What, a cute thing like you, no boyfriend?"

Your face heated slightly, but you rolled your eyes. "Oh, please. I don't have time for that. I've got more important things to worry about than—" You waved your spoon vaguely. "—dating."

Ben hummed, considering you. "That's a damn shame."

You cleared your throat. "Why? You wanna sign up?"

"Depends. Do I get more stew out of it?"

You scoff. "Oh, that's what you're after. The food."

"Hey, I ain't gonna lie to you, sweetheart. You cook like this, a man starts thinkin' long term."

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly sprained something. When you were done, you stood up. "I'm gonna go wash my hands." Ben just grunted in acknowledgment.

You headed to the dingy little bathroom, shaking your head as the faucet rattled before spitting out a weak stream of warm water. Just as you were drying your hands with a towel, you heard it—

Ben's voice, raised and pissed.

Your stomach dropped.

Oh, God. Nononononononono…

You barely dried your hands before rushing out of the bathroom, half-expecting to find him punching holes in the walls or squaring up against some poor delivery guy. Instead, you skidded to a stop in the middle of the living room and found him standing there, broad-shouldered and brimming with barely restrained fury, gripping your phone in one massive hand like he was debating whether to crush it.

"You answered my phone?!" you yelled.

Ben turned his head, green eyes blazing, irritation sharp in the hard set of his jaw. "You didn't answer it," he shot back. "Thought it was somethin' important! Instead, some dickhead named Greg starts yappin' in my ear about 'overdue payments' and 'interest rates'— what the hell kinda scam you wrapped up in?"

Your eyes widened. "Wait— you talked to the bank man?"

Ben crossed his arms, his expression pure fury. "Damn right I did."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "Oh my god. What did you say?"

"I told 'im to go fuck himself, that's what I said! Told 'im he's a snake oil peddler and if he wants his money so bad, he can come down here and fight me for it like a man."

Your jaw dropped. "BEN."

"What?"

"That was my credit card company! I owe them money!"

Ben blinked, his green eyes zoning out for a second. "…So?"

"So, now they probably think I'm trying to threaten them instead of paying them!"

Ben scoffed, waving a hand. "Good. Maybe they'll stop calling, then. Bunch of bloodsuckers, the lot of 'em."

You groaned again, stomping over and snatching your phone from his grip. "Unbelievable. You threatened my bank!"

Ben smirked, utterly unrepentant, his lips quirking like this was the most fun he had in weeks. "Ain't my fault they folded like wet paper. Bunch of pussies."

"You told Greg to fight you over my credit card bill!"

His smirk widened, slow and wolfish, dimples cutting deep into his bearded cheeks. "Hell yeah, I did. Told 'im I'd meet him anywhere, anytime. Guy backed off real quick."

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and horrified.

"Y'know what?" You inhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned away. "I'm just gonna pretend this didn't happen." With that, you flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and covering your face with it, muffling a scream.

You were never letting him near your phone again.

Later that evening, after the dishes had been washed (mostly by you, with Ben half-assedly drying them and complaining the whole time), you made coffee. Because let's be honest, after that absolute disaster Ben caused, you needed caffeine. Badly. You brewed it. Strong, dark, and just slightly sweet.

Ben eyed the two steaming mugs as you set them on the table. "You drink coffee at night?"

You shrugged. "Why not?"

He scoffed, grabbing his. "No wonder you're so high-strung."

You shot him a flat look. You wanted to say 'Says the guy who's been vibrating with unresolved rage since 1984.' but you bit your tongue. Knowing which lines to not cross.

Ben took a sip, his expression barely changed, but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly told you that he approved.

You curled up on the couch, hands wrapped around your mug. "So… now that we're stuck together for the weekend, what do you usually do to pass the time? Besides smoking, drinking, and picking fights with my credit card company?"

Ben smirked over the rim of his mug. "That about covers it, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes. "Figures."

For a while, silence settled. Not awkward, not tense. Just… quiet. The only sounds were the occasional clink of a mug against the table, the low hum of the fridge, and the faint noise of a distant car passing outside.

Then Ben spoke.

"You really think a meal can fix shit?"

You blinked, turning to him. "Huh?"

"That thing you said earlier. About food fixin' things." He didn't look at you, just stared at his coffee. "That just some witchy sentimental crap or do you actually believe it?"

You hesitated, then answered honestly. "I think… it's not about the food itself. It's about what it represents. Taking care of someone. Letting them know they're not alone." You traced the rim of your mug. "Even if it's just for one meal. It's a moment outside of everything else— outside of all the chaos. A moment where you sit down, you eat, and you know, for just a little while, that you're okay. That someone thought enough of you to keep you warm, to make sure you had something real in front of you. Then adding another meal, another evening onto it. Then another, then another… Building something safe and sound with a person."

Ben was quiet. His fingers tapped against his mug in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Then—

"…No one ever did that for me."

Your chest tightened. You turned to him fully, but his expression was unreadable, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something distant.

"…Not even your team?" you asked softly.

Ben huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. Those assholes? They couldn't wait to get rid of me."

You frowned. "Payback."

Ben's grip tightened around his mug. "Yeah. Bunch of goddamn backstabbers. Lied to my fuckin' face. My own team— people I trusted."

The weight in his voice made something twist in your gut. Crimson Countess was already dead. You didn't ask for details— if Ben had killed her, you doubted there was much left to find. But the others… they were still out there. Still breathing. They lived freely while Soldier Boy was trapped in there for years. You did know his reasons to want revenge. Or at least, you had an idea. The experiments, the isolation, the years of being kept in a frozen hellhole with nothing but agony and rage to keep him company.

"…That's why you want revenge."

His eyes flicked to you.

You didn't look away. "I understand that. I may not be in your shoes but I can't even guess how much I would want to get revenge if I was."

Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. "They don't get to walk free after what they did." His jaw clenched. "They don't get to live their goddamn lives while I spent forty years rotting in a cage."

You swallowed. You could hear it in his voice, that deep, burning rage. But beneath it, buried under layers of anger and bravado— you could hear the hurt.

You hesitated, then—

"…What if it doesn't make you feel better?"

Ben's brows furrowed. "What?"

You held your coffee a little tighter. "What if you get your revenge, but it doesn't change anything? What if it doesn't make the pain go away?"

Ben stared at you.

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

Then, he scoffed, shaking his head. "Christ. You always this fuckin' sentimental?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Just something to think about."

Ben didn't respond right away. He just took another slow sip of his coffee, his gaze distant, like he was turning your words over in his head.

For once, he had nothing smart-assed to say. And for some reason, that unsettled you more than anything else.

You pushed yourself up with a yawn, your eyelids getting heavier. "Alright. I'm calling it. I need sleep."

"Tch. Lightweights, all of you."

You ignored that. "There's a room for you down the hall. I set up the bed earlier."

That got his attention. He turned, giving you a slow once-over, before smirking. "That right? Real cozy set-up we got here. What, you tucking me in too, sweetheart?"

Your eye twitched. "No. But I will hex you into insomnia if you keep pushing it."

Ben chuckled, low and amused, but thankfully he didn't tease further. He stretched— an obnoxiously big stretch, broad chest rising, arms flexing, before he finally stood with a groan. "Fine, fine. Since you're gettin' all cranky."

You rolled your eyes, already padding toward the bedrooms. The safe house was small, so it wasn't much of a walk. Just two rooms, side by side, with a narrow hallway between them. You stopped in front of your door, reaching for the knob, when you heard Ben behind you.

"This one mine?" He nudged the door beside yours with his boot.

"Yeah." You stifled another yawn. "There should be clean blankets in there."

Ben huffed. "You really went all out, huh?"

You glanced over your shoulder. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a tired yet amused look.

You shrugged. "Just figured you'd rather not sleep on a couch that smells like stale beer and mix of suspicious liquids."

Ben snorted. "Sweetheart, I spent years sleeping in a fuckin' icebox. I ain't picky."

There was something about the way he said it— too casual, too offhand— that made your chest tighten a little.

You hesitated. There was a beat of quiet, only the faint hum of the old heater filling the space between you. You shifted on your feet. "…Well. If you need anything, just—" You gestured vaguely towards the wall between your rooms. "Bang or… whatever."

Ben's lips quirked. "That an invitation?"

Your fingers tightened around the doorknob, nails pressing into the cool metal. The way he looked at you now —hooded gaze, mouth curled just enough to be tempting— it sent something warm curling in your gut, heat prickling at your neck.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, gripping the door handle. "Goodnight, Ben."

"Night, witchy."

You groaned, stepping into your room and shutting the door with a click. But as you laid back down, the sounds of the apartment settling around you, the knowledge that he was right there, just on the other side of the wall, was… strangely comforting. You didn't want to think further why you felt that…

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Vox, the noisy video box

So Vox may not be my favorite character, but he is probably my favorite redesign. I laugh every time I look at him now. He looks like a weird mix of Spongebob, Kraang(TMNT), and Mr. Electric(Sharkboy and Lavagirl). He absolutely hates it.

Notes under the cut

There's too many twinks in this show. So when I was trying to decide which characters I could change, for body diversity, Vox was an obvious one. He needed more bulk so his body could conceivably support the old TV models. Those things could get heavy. The change also had the side effect of making him shorter, which just worked better proportionately.

I liked the idea that Vox could never get rid of his original bulky 50s TV, but also wanted him to be able to upgrade. So I decided his true body is the 50s TV, and he adds an upgraded monitor for a head as technology improves. He's hates that he's stuck as an old fashioned TV, so he hides that under his suit. Since the monitor is just an addition, it can be swapped out easily. It can be damaged and he's technically unharmed. But he can't see through his suit without the monitor, unless he wants to use a security camera and direct himself 3rd person style.

I didn't like that basically everyone has sharp teeth. It reduces the impact for characters like Alastor or Rosie. So I've been having the default be just sharp canines. But with Vox being a TV, there are so many possibilities. I gave Vox "regular" teeth, which helps him look more trustworthy. It fits the corrupt businessman vibe. But the appearance can change with his mood too.

Color TV became available in the 50s, so Vox always had color vision. But I think it'd be funny if, early on, he had a tendency to glitch out by going into black and white vision when he gets worked up. He's mostly grown out of that glitch, but he can't seem to shake the static or TV color bars, and developed new ones as he integrated computer and internet tech into himself as well. Now he gets the Blue Screen of Death, system errors, and city wide power surges.

Messing around with his face is so fun. When he's bored or tired a Voxtech logo will bounce around like the DVD logo, or display a screensaver. His face can get too big for the screen when he's excited, or be small when he's feeling embarrassed. I need to put a troll face on him at some point. It may be an old meme, but man, it feels right.

His left eye turns red when it's hypnotic, to reference those blue and red 3D glasses.

Of the three Vees, he is absolutely the most powerful. Val and Vel are the content creators, but Vox is the platform. The other two, while still powerful in their own right, would never have gotten to the level they're at if it weren't for Vox. He controls the mainstream media.

--TV set--

So we've got some interesting implications with how he functions. He's a TV, but he blue screens like a computer, and he shorts out the power grid. I think it's safe to say he is more than just a TV, he's a multimedia entertainment center. That, and TVs are starting to really blend with computers these days. He's mainstream media.

At some point, I realized that a TV set was a "set" because it wasn't just a single device. A television set was a collection of components, which boils down to a radio hooked up and synchronized to a visual display. I bring this up mostly because I am a sucker for one-sided radiostatic. It's so funny to me. Vox is obsessed.

But I'm going to refrain from too much theorizing about their relationship. Alastor is absolutely not interested in romance. Nor a QPR. He's not even interested in friendship. Alastor is too invested in power dynamics to really consider anyone a friend. Mimzy is probably the closest he has to a friend, and even that has manipulative elements on both sides. But I'm supposed to be talking about Vox!

--Human Vox!--

He is not tall, haha. But his proportions are a bit taller than his demon form. I wanted to go for square glasses, but I didn't see many examples of that in the 50s photos I found. Oh well! My goal was a sleazy business man. He probably had a variety of jobs, but they primarily involved TV. Commercials, PR, interviews, news, game shows, talk shows, screenwriting, etc. Whatever he could do to get more influence. He found himself favoring the business end of things. Making deals and pulling strings. He decided what would go on the air. He's one of those network executive types.

I see lots of people give him heterochromia, but I don't really see a point to that. He hypnotizes people with his left eye, sure, but it's not a different color. It's not disfigured in any way either. Maybe he just had a tendency to wink at people, I dunno.

I think his death involved some sort of severe skull fracture focused around his left eye. Maybe a car accident, maybe he was shot, idk. Maybe seizures were involved. But he was somewhere in his mid 40s to early 50s. I ended up writing 45, but I'm not super committed to that or anything.

For a human name, I see lots of people calling him Vincent and that's sorta grown on me. So I might go with "Vincent Cox".

And because I fell into another research rabbit hole...

--TV evolution--

(below) 50s-60s CRT TV: TV sets were treated as furniture and there could be some very interesting cabinet designs. Color TV was introduced in the 50s, but wasn't quite profitable until the late 60s.

(below) 70s-80s CRT TV: Color TV became more affordable and commonplace.

(below) 90s CRT TV

(below) 2000s CRT to Plasma and LCD TVs: The three display technologies competed, but LCD won out in the end. Plasma and early LCD didn't look substantially different. Plasma was a little bulkier, but was still slimmer than CRT.

2010s and on: LCD improved with LED backlighting. But then OLED removed the need for backlighting entirely, which mixed the benefits of plasma and LCD. (Didn't bother to find a picture example. It's so close to modern at this point)

--Display technology-- (These overviews are very simplified)

CRT(Cathode Ray Tube)--Used through the 1900s to approx 2010. Monochromatic until Color TV developed aroung the 1950s. Worked via vacuum tubes and electron gun that lit up the pixels. They were bulky, heavy, and used a whole lot of power. Widely considered obsolete and no longer made. Video games made while these were in use tend to look better in CRT, since the graphics accounted for the image quality.

Flat screens-

PDP (Plasma Display Panel): Used from early 2000s to approx 2015. Used gas cells that light up pixels when electrically charged. Good image quality and good contrast, but expensive, heavy, and used a lot of power. Considered obsolete and no longer made, despite still having a desirable image quality.

Plasma and LCD competed in the 2000s to early 2010s as CRT popularity waned. LCD eventually won out due to weight and overall cost(including market price and energy efficiency).

LCD (Liquid Crystal Display): Introduced for TV around the same time as Plasma. Works via a liquid crystal layer with a backlight. Slim, decent image quality, energy efficient. Viewing angle matters because image colors are warped at wide angles. Cheaper than plasma. There are two main backlighting types:

--CCFL(Cold Cathode Fluorescent Light): Used fluorescent lighting for the backlight. Image quality was decent, but didn't have good contrast. (the blacks were never truly dark because of the backlight)

--LED(Light Emitting Diode): An LCD that uses LEDs instead of CCFL for the backlighting. Better contrast and efficiency than using CCFL.

OLED(Organic LED): Mixes strengths of plasma and LCD. Self emitting LEDs. No backlight or LCD panel needed, which improves contrast(about as good as plasma was, which is why plasma is basically obsolete now).

--QD-OLED(Quantum Dot- OLED) Adds a layer of Quantum dots to an OLED to improve color gamut. I think. I can't let myself fall too far into this rabbit hole, so I'm not double checking anymore.

((Feb 12, 2025-updated tags)

[graylinesspam]

I always think of it in terms of the lines of the body, like for figure drawing. A lot of a Mandalorians emotions are things that they have to intentionally have to portray. Which the line of their visor and the curve of their helmet are very good at doing, Especially with non mandalorians, who are used to taking facial cues as the end all be all of emotional indicators. But they don't grow up just around outsiders. Mandalorians spend a lot of time around each other. And the nonverbal language they develop with each other is something you can learn to pick up on if you pay attention.

Specifically visors aren't their primary mode of showing attention. With their HUDs they have nearly 360 peripheral vision. Someone doesn't need to turn their head towards you to see you. And they know that. It's much more likely that a mandalorian will angle themselves slightly towards someone when giving them their attention. Especially if they are also doing a task at the time. (Cleaning weapons, working on prejects, ect.)

Their deffault position is probably neutral. like this.

Focusing on what they're doing. Not showing any outward attention to anything around them. Their lines are straight, contained. They may also display this body language as a way of showing they're ignoring someone or pretending they don't notice them.

As apposed to a position like this

Even without the face turned this direction all the lines of the body are open to wards the right. And closed to the left. This indicates attention. The hip shoulder and knee are facing a certain direction. Even the foot is pointing that way, indicating an intention to move that way (eventually, not right away, but when this man stands up you can imagine which way he's going to move.)

Having a mandalorian focus their attention on you, whether positive or negative, can be very intense. There isn't any specific indicator in just the lines that tell you in what way they intend it. That would probably be found in the more specific details, As stated above. They can convey a lot with the angle of their helmets. And with their hands. A hand resting open on their knee can convey positive intentions while one resting on their hip (and blaster) can convey a netgative one.

The tilt of the visor also, either towards or away from the viewer can indicate intention. Away, the intention to observe. Towards, the intention to act.

They're unlikely to point their helmets towards a noise if their visors already pick up the view from behind them but if they're in a higher or lower vantage they may look up or down. Or if you are speaking to them from behind they may look straight forward so their helmet is pointed straight back where they can see you better.

tldr: the lines of the body, either rigid or curved can convey direction of intention. where lines will open towards a subject being observed and away from one being ignore. Though mandalorians likely have a neutral body language as a default.

helmeted emotions headcanons

being a culture that spends at least half its time in full armor, constantly having a helmet on is bound to produce some differences for both mandos and clones

because people cannot see where you’re looking in a helmet so long as youre careful to keep your head in a natural position, i bet this is a common behavior with the helmet off too. aruetiise and civvies alike are both disconcerted and uncomfortable when the helmets are off but their wearer is looking around with hardly any head movement, like some kind of tactical bird of prey

mandos typically have terrible poker faces on account of their helmet usually being their poker face. clones do not have this problem overall, since kamino forced them all to learn to hide emotions out of armor.

a good hint that a clone or mando doesnt like you is if theyre forced to interact with you out of armor, but still don’t turn their head to look, move their body when they talk, and may not watch their facial expression very closely. they may be out of armor, but they’re still treating you as if they are.

[thebonesinmy-closet]

Mark and Rex should make out, and Mark should totally wreck Rex's face doing so, and Rex should let him. a tender kiss to Mark, when filled with passion and pent up energy, feelings like a vicious bite to Rex, but he's not quick to point that out. Mark should kiss Rex till it hurts and Rex should dig his nails into Mark's back, barely managing to break skin, even Mark says it's ok. Rex should try and match the speed and strength at which Mark is capable of defiling him, but ultimately fail — he could never dream of catching up to a Viltrumite. Rex should tell Mark he doesn't have to be gentle.

both have always had to be careful, but they can rip each other apart and welcome it. they've endured so much pain, why not find a way to enjoy it?

Mark should hold Rex tenderly with arms that could crush him, and Rex should relish in feeling secure. they should tangle their legs together and mingle their breaths and push each other against walls and mattresses and pillows. friction and heat building between them. moments where they stare at each other as Rex pants for breath and Mark waits for him to catch his breath with a look so patient it hurts they pant for breath, and there's the pull to be tender that feels slightly foreign but also so very good and right. their foreheads come to rest against each other at some point.

they talk about their insecurities. about the shit no one else wants to hear or knows what to do with. Rex covers Mark's hands with his own so he can't see the blood that isn't there. Mark takes hold of Rex's when they shake with a tremor that will never fully go away.

they aren't perfect. but they're something good. just for now.

[raystranslationsfestival]

People Who Understand Without Words.

Type: Skit. Character: Stahn (First Skit). Characters Featured: Stahn, Yuri, Repede.

Translation, recording, subbing by Shi. Proofread by Yewfelle.

[thelogicalghost]

I'm sure Nate isn't homophobic - the show makes it pretty clear that all his catholic guilt is directed firmly inwards and we never see even a hint of disapproval over others' personal lives - but he's still an older white guy and definitely defaults to cishet assumptions.

Which makes me desperately want, like, a 5+ type fic of gay flirting for the con where Nate progressively gets his mind blown.

Because Sophie flirting with a woman might throw him for a beat or two, but she's a world class grifter and an actress, of course she can flirt with anyone

And then Parker had to be taught how to flirt in the first place and she's Parker so sure, she's completely faking it either way, she has no internal biases, okay

The first time a man chats up Hardison and the hacker reacts exactly the same way he does when he tries to flirt with women, Nate is so glad Sophie takes over the comms to give flirting advice because it takes him half a minute to recalibrate and edit his expectations

But then Sophie's failing to hook a mark and Elliot steps in without missing a beat, flashing his farm boy smile, and Nate is finally like, "how is it that I'm the only one here who's surprised by any of this?" and the team just shrugs and goes "idk that sounds like a you problem"

The +1 is the only time Nate attempts it and they all agree to never try that again because it was awkward and embarrassing for everyone involved

[wannaeatramyeon]

Being Goo Kim's Secret Friend: Gitae Kim

2.2k. G/N. Gitae Kim x reader. Reader is morally grey. Gets spicy (Prequel-ish: An Introduction) Other Masterlists

“So, let me get this straight."

"Mm." Goo hums, meaning go ahead.

"You're paying me to babysit?"

"Man-sit," he interjects.

"Whatever." You flap your hand, "but I am looking after this person, correct?"

"Yes my little sweetpea." Goo rests his head on your shoulder, so close you could count his eyelashes and see the way his pupils dilate. "It's my secret friend's first time back in Seoul after being away. It'll be good for you to show him around."

"...I'm charging my usual rate."

"Sure-"

"And you're covering our expenses."

He rolls his eyes, "Ugh, fine."

.

.

Gitae Kim, from what you have managed to find out, is patricidal and a powerful man with unsavoury dealings.

"Play nice," was Goo's parting advice when you came to him with your concerns.

"Play nice?!" You say, voice shrill. Goo grins.

"Fuck you, my rate just tripled."

The grin drops and is replaced by a scowl.

.

.

"I thought we could try this place. It serves the best yukhoe." You gaze over to Gitae sitting in the passenger seat as you navigate the roads, checking if there's any response. 

Nothing.

"Raw beef tartare." You explain, "I've heard you can be bloodthirsty."

His eyes flicker to you and you give him your most charming smile.

.

.

Head resting in your palm and elbow on the table, you observe him.

You find his table manners leaves a lot to be desired and watching him has put you off your own meal.

He eats like a beast but if the ferocity that he attacks his food is anything to go by, you're right on the money with guessing his taste.

"Let's get you another drink," you murmur, signalling for the staff. "Goo will kill me if you choke to death and I'm not practised with the heimlich."

.

.

"That was good, right?" You ask, striding alongside and trying to match Gitae step for step as he ignores you.

"I think you enjoyed it. Or you look like you did. I'm not really a fan of raw anything to be honest but gotta be a good host." You direct a smile his way and he hasn't even glanced over at you. You shrug it off and continue to ramble. "I'm still pretty hungry. There's a really good bubble tea place round here and they have a limited edition drink I want to get-"

"No," Gitae cuts in rudely.

"It won't take five minutes."

"No." He repeats, indicating there's no room for argument.

"Aww, cmon," you pout and he once again continues to ignore you. You consider going anyway, with or without Gitae. 

Goo, face scrunched up in anger and shrieking obscenities, pops into your mind's eye when you imagine telling him that you might have lost his secret friend because you wanted a bubble tea.

"Fine," you grumble and throw Gitae a dirty look.

.

.

Gapryong's eldest is a man of few words and it only adds to his intimidating and menacing aura.

You've seen his list of achievements and he is not someone you want as an enemy. But when someone is this difficult, your default is to try and see what response you can get out of them.

"You know they have vapes now," you signal at the pipe hanging from his belt as you continue to walk next to him.

"Do you smoke?" you ask, and expectedly, he doesn't respond,

"No? I guess it's cool you're committing to it for aesthetic reasons." Then dammit, you wonder what has gotten into you. Maybe it's hanging out with Goo too much because you can't help but add, "Even if it makes you a bit... y'know."

He slows, looking over at you at the same time that you pull a face. Indicating clearly you meant 'cringe' even if you didn't say it aloud.

"You do you though," you say, giving him a thumbs up.

He looks at you for a beat longer, head tilted and eyes narrowed, before continuing on his way with you scurrying to catch up.

.

.

By the end of the first week, Gitae has responded to exactly three things that you've said.

The second week, he's still mostly silent but he actually looks at you sometimes when you talk.

The third week, he calls you by your name when he demands your attention and you're surprised that he even knows who you are.

And the fourth - you manage to make him laugh.

Ok, maybe laugh is a bit generous, but he exhales harder than usual and you're sure he's at least amused.

.

.

GItae thinks you're strange.

You run your mouth like you don't know who you're talking to, though you anticipate his needs and preferences like you've been studying him for most of your life.

You're this side of irritating, but not irritating enough that he wants to kill you. 

And, the few times he tunes in to your comments, he admits that he finds you quite entertaining.

No-one has spoken to him like you do in a long time. There's a refreshing honesty to your words, and he's also confident that you're not going to stab him in the back at any second to wrest control of his cartel territory, which is also a welcome change from his usual company

It means that he can relax around you, or relax as much as someone like him can..

All in all, progress. Gitae finds himself trusting you like you're his second-in-command.

.

.

"What do you do for fun?" You ask. Gitae doesn't respond.

Right, you think, back to ignoring me.

You roll your eyes and start to ramble about this and that. You tell him that you're chronically online, giving a wry smile, and say it's a general side effect of your job but at least it's interesting to know the ins and outs of a few things.

Really though, maybe you should consider taking up some exercise to get fit or even as a form of self defence with your line of work and the people you come into contact with (you give Gitae a side eye at this) but it's kinda hard to find the time and-

"I can teach you," comes Gitae's low voice.

"What?"

"I can teach you," he repeats and your mouth drops open in shock.

.

.

Ok, as far as bad ideas go, this is a terrible one.

First, Gitae is huge. There is no chance you could even win in a spar or anything against him. You doubt even bullets would be able to penetrate that muscle.

Second, there is a lot of close contact and even more touching.

You aim a punch with all your might at him, any part of him. He deflects without effort, capturing your fist in his palm and he pulls you to his body. Chest against your back, wrapping his arms around you and pinning your own to your side as you try to wriggle out of his grasp.

He leans down to murmur into your ear. "You're very weak." You can feel his voice rumbling through his chest. "But you're very fun."

Your eyes snap to his at his words.

He's grinning, for the first time you've been with him. Eyes crazed and pupils blown, breath hot on your skin.

"Thanks!" You dip your head just before throwing it back sharply, connecting to Gitae's nose with a loud crack.

.

.

Gitae's nose isn't broken though it is bruised.

You apologise profusely and he tells you you have nothing to apologise for.

"It's a great hit."

You halt in your apologies, peering up at him through your lashes with a smug smirk, "I know."

.

.

Your response plays on his mind.

The lift of your lips, the sharpness of your smile, the confidence in your eyes, that half-lidded gaze.

"I know."

.

.

Gitae sees you in a new light.

He has enough of an understanding of Goo Kim to know that he's selective with his secret friends, and you have talked enough that Gitae also understands you play the role of brain rather than brawn.

Though he did not expect such viciousness to hide under your veneer, or you to be capable of such an underhanded move.

He's impressed.

.

.

"Why do all these shows make Mexico so blue?" You ask, watching a scene unfold on your phone. "Is it actually?"

You hold out the device to Gitae, some drama show playing and Mexico is indeed blue tinged.

"No."

"Hmm. It'll be cool to see for myself." You murmur, pulling your phone back.

Gitae pauses. The idea of you in his territory is very appealing. He can demonstrate to you exactly the kind of man he is, the power he wields. He can relish the impressed (or horrified) look on your face.

"I can show you," he says and you beam at the offer.

"Deal!"

.

.

“How many people have you killed with this?” you flex your hands, signalling ‘gimme’ and Gitae passes over his axe.

“Too many to count.”

“Cool,” you say nonchalantly,  testing your grip. Gitae gives you a strange look.

“I gather intel, remember. That’s my thing,” you say, swinging the axe experimentally a few times and appreciating the heft behind it.

The meaning is clear: I know all your secrets and Gitae, to his surprise, feels some respite at this fact.

.

.

"Fuck," you squirm to no avail, trapped underneath Gitae as he looks down at you lazily, inches from your face.

Your wrists are pinned above your head, held in place by his grip as his other hand rests, light but threatening, on your throat.

You have had a few other training sessions since the first one, and the way they had gone was all pure luck. You had managed to gain the upperhand by complete fluke.

This time you feel completely stuck. Movement completely restricted. Gitae straddles your hips and you’re left unable to escape. You have no way to get close and cause any damage.

"Looks like you lose," he says.

You buck your hips, trying to throw him off but the weight and strength difference is too vast. He barely moves even with all your effort and you’re left more dishevelled than before. Shirt riding up and hair in your eyes and mouth.

“Fuck,” you groan again, elongating the word and pouting.

You peer up at Gitae and find his eyes flicking between your jutted out bottom lip and your sliver of skin on show.

An idea pops into your head. It may be your worst one yet.

Throwing caution to the wind, you tilt your head up in one swift movement and kiss Gitae full on the mouth. You make contact harder than anticipated, almost clashing your teeth painfully together but adjusting the angle just in time. 

His body stills when he realises what you’re doing.

“Why-” he asks, pulling away, and you take advantage of the distance to nip at his bottom lip and reel him back in.

Gitae’s thoughts are cut off. 

You bite down roughly, feel your sharp canines punctuating skin.

Blood bursts onto your tongue and he lets out a guttural groan, eyes boring into yours and darkened with lust.

His other hand releases your wrist, caressing over your body, slipping down until it reaches your bare exposed skin. He slides his palm under your top, long, thick fingers splaying over your ribs.

With your hands now free, you continue kissing him, mingling spit and saliva and bursts of metallic tang.

You squirm and this time, Gitae gives in to what you want; rearranging his position without breaking contact. Tongue delving into your mouth. Tasting you as you wrap your legs around his hips.

Taking advantage of the situation, you hug your arms around his neck and use your body as leverage to flip him over. Straddling him as his hardness grinds into you and his hands circle your waist to press your body close.

You can feel exactly how turned on he is, how much he wants you. And god, you’re just as fucking horny. You want him just as badly, except now you’ve managed to climb on top, the whole point of this came rushing back. You absolutely hate yourself for stopping this but-

It’s the principle.

“You know,” you murmur into his mouth, then pushing up off his chest to sit up, “I think I’ve won. Again”

Gitae frowns at the sudden loss of contact, “What?”

“I’ve won. Pretend this is a knife,” you smirk, holding your hand against his throat, in an almost-mirror image of your previous position. “I would have killed you.”

Gitae’s eyes widened in surprise, “You did this… to win?” 

“Yep!”

“I didn’t expect you to play so dirty.” He says, grinning maniacally as the pieces click into place and he finds himself completely captivated.

“I play as dirty as I need to,” you tell him, tongue swiping out to lick the remnants of his blood from your lips before dipping your head down to kiss him and continue where you left off.

[reasonsforhope]

"As a Deaf man, Adam Munder has long been advocating for communication rights in a world that chiefly caters to hearing people. 

The Intel software engineer and his wife — who is also Deaf — are often unable to use American Sign Language in daily interactions, instead defaulting to texting on a smartphone or passing a pen and paper back and forth with service workers, teachers, and lawyers. 

It can make simple tasks, like ordering coffee, more complicated than it should be. 

But there are life events that hold greater weight than a cup of coffee. 

Recently, Munder and his wife took their daughter in for a doctor’s appointment — and no interpreter was available. 

To their surprise, their doctor said: “It’s alright, we’ll just have your daughter interpret for you!” ...

That day at the doctor’s office came at the heels of a thousand frustrating interactions and miscommunications — and Munder is not isolated in his experience.

“Where I live in Arizona, there are more than 1.1 million individuals with a hearing loss,” Munder said, “and only about 400 licensed interpreters.”

In addition to being hard to find, interpreters are expensive. And texting and writing aren’t always practical options — they leave out the emotion, detail, and nuance of a spoken conversation. 

ASL is a rich, complex language with its own grammar and culture; a subtle change in speed, direction, facial expression, or gesture can completely change the meaning and tone of a sign. 

“Writing back and forth on paper and pen or using a smartphone to text is not equivalent to American Sign Language,” Munder emphasized. “The details and nuance that make us human are lost in both our personal and business conversations.”

His solution? An AI-powered platform called Omnibridge. 

“My team has established this bridge between the Deaf world and the hearing world, bringing these worlds together without forcing one to adapt to the other,” Munder said. 

Trained on thousands of signs, Omnibridge is engineered to transcribe spoken English and interpret sign language on screen in seconds...

“Our dream is that the technology will be available to everyone, everywhere,” Munder said. “I feel like three to four years from now, we're going to have an app on a phone. Our team has already started working on a cloud-based product, and we're hoping that will be an easy switch from cloud to mobile to an app.” ...

At its heart, Omnibridge is a testament to the positive capabilities of artificial intelligence. "

-via GoodGoodGood, October 25, 2024. More info below the cut!

To test an alpha version of his invention, Munder welcomed TED associate Hasiba Haq on stage. 

“I want to show you how this could have changed my interaction at the doctor appointment, had this been available,” Munder said. 

He went on to explain that the software would generate a bi-directional conversation, in which Munder’s signs would appear as blue text and spoken word would appear in gray. 

At first, there was a brief hiccup on the TED stage. Haq, who was standing in as the doctor’s office receptionist, spoke — but the screen remained blank. 

“I don’t believe this; this is the first time that AI has ever failed,” Munder joked, getting a big laugh from the crowd. “Thanks for your patience.”

After a quick reboot, they rolled with the punches and tried again.

Haq asked: “Hi, how’s it going?” 

Her words popped up in blue. 

Munder signed in reply: “I am good.” 

His response popped up in gray. 

Back and forth, they recreated the scene from the doctor’s office. But this time Munder retained his autonomy, and no one suggested a 7-year-old should play interpreter. 

Munder’s TED debut and tech demonstration didn’t happen overnight — the engineer has been working on Omnibridge for over a decade. 

“It takes a lot to build something like this,” Munder told Good Good Good in an exclusive interview, communicating with our team in ASL. “It couldn't just be one or two people. It takes a large team, a lot of resources, millions and millions of dollars to work on a project like this.” 

After five years of pitching and research, Intel handpicked Munder’s team for a specialty training program. It was through that backing that Omnibridge began to truly take shape...

“Our dream is that the technology will be available to everyone, everywhere,” Munder said. “I feel like three to four years from now, we're going to have an app on a phone. Our team has already started working on a cloud-based product, and we're hoping that will be an easy switch from cloud to mobile to an app.” 

In order to achieve that dream — of transposing their technology to a smartphone — Munder and his team have to play a bit of a waiting game. Today, their platform necessitates building the technology on a PC, with an AI engine. 

“A lot of things don't have those AI PC types of chips,” Munder explained. “But as the technology evolves, we expect that smartphones will start to include AI engines. They'll start to include the capability in processing within smartphones. It will take time for the technology to catch up to it, and it probably won't need the power that we're requiring right now on a PC.” 

At its heart, Omnibridge is a testament to the positive capabilities of artificial intelligence. 

But it is more than a transcription service — it allows people to have face-to-face conversations with each other. There’s a world of difference between passing around a phone or pen and paper and looking someone in the eyes when you speak to them. 

It also allows Deaf people to speak ASL directly, without doing the mental gymnastics of translating their words into English.

“For me, English is my second language,” Munder told Good Good Good. “So when I write in English, I have to think: How am I going to adjust the words? How am I going to write it just right so somebody can understand me? It takes me some time and effort, and it's hard for me to express myself actually in doing that. This technology allows someone to be able to express themselves in their native language.” 

Ultimately, Munder said that Omnibridge is about “bringing humanity back” to these conversations. 

“We’re changing the world through the power of AI, not just revolutionizing technology, but enhancing that human connection,” Munder said at the end of his TED Talk. 

“It’s two languages,” he concluded, “signed and spoken, in one seamless conversation.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, October 25, 2024

[scientia-rex]

Sometimes people tell me I'm a good person. I'm not a good person by nature, or by default. I'm a good person because I've decided that it's important to me to act like one, on a daily basis, forever.

My actual nature is that I want power. I want power and I want my life to be easy and I want other people to be forced to be nice to me even if they hate me. I want other people to have to suck up to me, I want to watch people who I know hate me suffer through the indignity of having to suck up to me. I want to hurt people who hurt me. I want all of these things in the same exact deeply recognizable way that a gorilla or a chimpanzee does. I watch those documentaries and I recognize myself, intimately. The fact that I can behave like a good person in spite of that has taken me a long time and a lot of effort to achieve.

What you feel isn't as important for your "goodness" as what you do. And you get good at what you practice. So practice your skills at being polite, pleasant, kind. Practice gently interrupting negative behaviors--whether that's someone's negative behaviors directed towards themselves, or directed towards someone else. The idea that we have to be inherently without sin is such Christian garbage. It's psychological gibberish. We want things! We want everything! That is normal and human and the key is not acting on every bad feeling you have.

I have taken my insatiable desire for power and to manipulate people and I have used it for good. I have learned how to manipulate people into coming to the doctor and taking their blood pressure medication and being honest about their recreational substance use. I have taken my psychology education and I have used it to craft a persona that makes people feel at ease. I go home at the end of the day exhausted, because maintaining a persona for ten hours straight is exhausting, but I do it happy, because I manipulated the people I work with into feeling better and having brighter days. I manipulated my patients into feeling good about their achievements and recognizing where we need to do things differently.

The hard part is that when the mask slips, people find it not just off-putting but deeply upsetting. When I explain things like "I have thought very carefully about how I would conduct a career in domestic terrorism because I would genuinely like to bomb the headquarters of most American insurance companies, but I don't see a way to do it without getting caught and either killed or spending the rest of my life in prison, and at the moment I consider that an unacceptable outcome," people go from "ha ha! my wacky colleague" to "Jesus Christ, I didn't realize there was something actually wrong with you."

Anyway, don't make your kids read the extended works on Machiavelli at twelve, my dad thought he was helping me but all he accomplished was making me sad I'll never be a king.

[orkbutch]

Rambling about Astarion bc im bored at work. I like Astarion because I think he is a genius take on The Evil RPG Companion, and is an especially great take on The Fixable Bad Guy. I don't think hes evil, but I do think Astarion is a genuinely bad person at the beginning, and I think Astarion is only drawn away from being a bad person - and experiences a great redemption arc - via active intervention from others. Astarion would not redeem himself without guidance; he is absolutely bent toward self destruction and evil at the beginning of the story.

I think comparing him with Shadowheart is what drew me to that conclusion. If you are nice to Shadowheart, as in you talk to her and respect her boundaries and do stuff she generally agrees with, she will choose to free Nightsong all on her own. You don't need to roll to convince her at all, or romance her or even push back on her Shar worship that much. You just leave it up to her, and she chooses that path. (Side note, what brilliant writing.)

Astarion is not like that at all. Even if you were tight as fuck he would not choose the good option, with no input, in Act 2. Astarion, like all the companions, needs help and connection to reach healthy actualization, but I think its great, resonant writing that Astarion needs the most active intervention of all. Because he's had his autonomy so completely taken away from him, he simply doesn't know how to use it anymore. He doesn't know how to connect with other people anymore. He's someone that's learned to enjoy cruelty, to resent the pleasure of others, and to be entirely selfish for survival. It makes sense that he must be dragged back into being capable of trust. He needs to be forced to be part of a community again; caring about things; allowing for vulnerability and optimism.

And like. How fucking smart is it to have THIS guy in THIS game. Because of the tadpole and the existential threat they're up against, he is actually forced to work with you. This kind of character is so hard to do in most RPGs because its like... why wouldn't he just betray you all and leave? Why would he stick with you? The tadpole clears all of that up. Astarion must stick with you or hes lost and dead. Astarion knows that you and the other companions are collectively stronger than him, so he can't betray you. He is forced to rely on you by default.

This is also what makes him SUCH a good version of the "you can fix him" romance; you are almost never the direct target of Astarion's bastardry because he can't fuck with you. The problem with Fix Him's is that usually they are a threat to the romantic lead, and fixing him requires enduring, soothing and forgiving the worst of his badness as some kind of test of loyalty, hopefully proving to him that being bad isn't necessary (toxic shit). But Astarion... can't do that. He is afraid to actually fuck you over because you are directly tied to his survival, and because you quickly show yourself to be more capable than him. He cannot have real power over you. (Until he's ascended, then he becomes the absolute worst version of the fix-it.)

I do think the trade off is that Astarion not directing his bastardry at you makes it easier to Ignore that Astarion is A Bad Guy, but I think that'd happen even if he was more of an asshole to you, so who cares. I think he's got the best written Redeemable Evil RPG Companion arch I've seen honestly. I love that he's so fun while being so tragic, whether redeemed or not.

[kaiserposting]

How to Subtly Show Someone You're Interested

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2.4k TYPE: Humor, Bad flirting, bickering WARNINGS: huge Kaiser tw

#1 Eye contact

Kaiser has been acting strange.

Usually this would not be an observation you'd be making (as he acts weird all the time so it's not worthy of note), but today he's been so odd, it's starting to bug you even more than his default level of being annoying.

He keeps just… staring blankly. At you. You don't know what you did to deserve this horrible treatment — perhaps you did not grovel enough after accidentally butting into His Majesty’s shoulder, or breathed in his direction too hard without permission, or some other similar tragedy — but it's getting unsettling.

Well, honestly, it was creepy to begin with, but it's making your skin crawl more and more the longer it goes on. Like, what does he want? Are you going to be on the news soon? His eyes are blue and lifeless and evil like always, so you know he can't be up to anything good each time he burns your body to a crisp with his stoic serial killer gaze. It's even worse when he smirks at you while he does it, that's how you know the torture you'll endure at his hands will be slow and painful, and he's already delighting in his demented plans before putting them into action.

Kaiser attempts to maintain his stare down with you while he makes his way out of the training room and you stay behind putting away whatever you need to, observing him in confusion and fear. Though, of course, you would not admit to something as lowly as letting Kaiser intimidate you out loud (since you don't want to partake in an action that seems to give him a mental orgasmic feeling), at least to yourself, you can concede you're on edge.

… That is, until his dedication towards being a scrote proves detrimental even to him because he runs into the wall, hitting about half his face. It seems tormenting you is too distracting for a sick sadist like Kaiser. He palms at his skin, probably seething to himself while trying to seem cool and collected and totally not on the brink of shitting himself in anger on the outside, as if such a small thing as a solid wall could not faze him or even cause him pain.

You point and laugh at him. Kaiser pretends not to see you and walks out tall and proud like nothing happened. This will have to do as your revenge, for now.

#2 Initiate conversation

“Did you have a nice weekend?” asks Kaiser.

“It's Tuesday,” you reply, once again confused. Why is he talking to you, does he have nothing better to do.

“Right,” he says in a casual tone, like he didn't just ask you an irrelevant dumbass question. “The weather is nice.”

You ignore that one, but you can't help wondering if something is wrong with him and if this is an obscure call for help. Blackmail from a drooling fan perhaps? After all, it's unlike him to say anything so boring and ordinary, and you don't imagine he would make small talk with you unless it's a complicated code to signal that his life is in danger.

“What restaurant would you recommend?” Kaiser tries again.

“What?”

There's an uncomfortable silence during which you're just looking at each other, you perplexed and him expressionless, the previous guise of pleasantries and fake sweet smile wiped off. It is possibly even more uncomfortable than anything else that has unfolded between you two in the past. Then Kaiser says, “You know, I think you're an ingrate.”

“What?!”

“You’re not appreciative enough of my efforts.”

“For what?!”

Kaiser scoffs, averse to elaborating due to humiliation (either because of his apparent failure or because it's plain embarrassing to state his intentions when you don't seem receptive to them or because being outright on the matter requires him to express himself, which is in nature disgusting). Then you watch while he walks away from you in a moody fit.

Well, at least if he has the energy to act temperamental, that must mean he's not in any shittier spirits than usual. It is way less unnerving than his earlier civility, for one.

#3 Compliment them

Kaiser has no respect for personal space. Or more like he only deems his need for such important and disregards everyone else's. You know this.

But you can't lie in good conscience that he's gotten this close to you before, examining you, leaning in way too close. Close enough that you feel Ness planning your murder from across the field. Close enough to warrant a harassment complaint.

You assume Kaiser must be looking for miniscule flaws to fake laugh at like a missing eyelash or the fact that you have pores, but instead of doing what you predicted, after a long while of making you almost throw up from nerves — what's with this guy and staring at you like a microbe under a telescope so much? — he says, “You have beautiful sclera.”

???

You bristle at the sound of the strange thing he said. Unperturbed by your visibility negative reaction, Kaiser continues,

“And I love the way you look at me, like you want to kill me. It gives me a thrill.”

What's wrong with this guy? you think to yourself.

“Your bone structure can almost rival mine-”

“Kaiser, stop talking nonsense and go… back to doing something else somewhere away from me.”

“Hmph.” He backs off to a more socially appropriate distance, crossing his arms. “I see you still haven't fixed your attitude.”

“Me? I need to fix my attitude?! When you're the one acting like a depraved person?”

“Wow, if you think that's what I'm doing, you must not understand anything about the world at all,” he says in a condescending tone, smirking at you with played up amusement.

“You have some nerve! Kaiser, go away before I take advantage of my position and put rat poison in your water bottle. It'd suit you to go out that way.”

“You're so obsessed with me.”

After that declaration, he whips around to make a dramatic and majestic exit, with a deliberate swat of his hair to your face. Maybe you'll be spitting out gross blue strands after this. You fume to yourself.

#4 Light touches

Once again, Kaiser is plaguing you. Today's method of inflicting trauma seems to involve more gratuitous touching than usual.

He awkwardly drags his hand over your shoulder.

You stare at him as if this is the most scandalous offense you've been on the receiving end of. Maybe it's not, but he's been walking on your nerves all day with other such inept attempts at caresses. “Did you just wipe something on my sleeve?”

“What?” he asks in a flat tone. “No. Are you dumb?”

Your expression doesn't show anything other than incredulity. Certainly not the fluster and admiration Kaiser is hoping for.

You then go right back to ignoring him like he is dust. This is outrageous, he's going to be sick. Kaiser takes fate into his hands and embraces you stiffly from behind (once again showing his lack of etiquette).

Startled, you ask, “Are you gonna put me in an octopus hold?”

“No? Do you always have to assume I'm going to do something bad to you?”

“Well, it's not like you ever do anything good.”

Kaiser lets go of you even though he doesn't want to — truly a moment of his character development you're witnessing —, his arms dropping limply by his sides while he frowns at you like a kicked kitty. Exquisite manipulation tactic, however, you're not moved by the display at all.

He says, “I still think you need to fix your attitude.”

You roll your eyes and let him have his little moment with his snide remark. An immediate retort hasn't come to mind after all, and you'd rather play it off as disregarding him than admit to the shameful lack of a comeback. It's not your fault his incomprehensible behavior leaves you speechless, anyway.

#5 Be there for them

Kaiser decides to skip this one as it's even more vile than when he lowered himself enough to the point he tried to hug you.

#6 Use humor

Kaiser stands in front of you, trying to think of something funny to say, which isn't an activity he engages in often (as the comedy of his existence is often unintentional or manifests in the form of being a bitch for no reason and antagonizing people unprovoked). During this process, you're once more forced to endure the weight of his unrelenting, vacant stare.

“I have a controversial football opinion,” says Kaiser, finally.

“As usual.”

“The ball is sentient and it hates getting kicked around like that.”

You tilt your head, not understanding why Michael Kaiser would say something so… silly? “Well, I'm sure you take some delight in imagining that,” you say in an unsure voice, not knowing how else to reply.

Kaiser smirks at you in an attempt to shrug off his latest failure and feign casualness. Then he tries again because his spirit is as tenacious as his gawping. “You should always make sure to distinguish between ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I apologize’ at a funeral.”

“Why? Do you speak from experience? Is that a little slip up from when you attended the funeral of one of all those people you killed?”

“No. I think if I killed someone, I'd be the type to facetiously say ‘rest in peace,’ just to piss them off in the afterlife.”

“I can imagine you doing that. Good for you I guess.”

Kaiser snickers to himself — maybe because he's enjoying imagining all his enemies dead — and plays with his fingers in an almost nervous manner, which makes you question if you're perhaps hallucinating. He ponders if he's funny or not.

#7 Text them

(04:55 AM) Michael Kaiser: [5 image attachments]

(06:32 AM) You: why are you sending me shirtless mirror pics lol

(06:46 AM) Michael Kaiser: Wrong person

(06:50 AM) You: did you mean to send that to ness

(07:02 AM) Michael Kaiser: No

(07:05 AM) Michael Kaiser: ???

(07:43 AM) You: well you only talk to me and him so if it's not for us who else could it be for

(07:44 AM) You: lol don't tell me you did that to seem sought after haha

(07:48 AM) Michael Kaiser: Let's stop talking for a little while.

#8 Give them attention

Kaiser gives you plenty of attention, and he doesn't even make you do tricks for it. Like for example right now, when he's poking you in the ribs while you're trying to fill out something unfinished on the tablet during your break.

You slap his hand away. “Kaiser. What.”

He moves onto poking your neck instead, forcing you to wiggle away from him as he continues his antics despite your dodging.

“What do you want?!”

“I just don't want you to feel neglected by me,” he says in a tone he probably believes is suave.

“I don't.”

“You're trying to seem brave, but your eyes give you away.”

“You're crazy,” you say, not even in shock or embarrassment, but rather a very apparent disorientation. “If anything I've been overdosing on you lately.”

“There’s never enough of me. You don't need to pretend just to humble me. It's not cute nor clever.”

“Kaiser, quit it before I cut off your finger and poke you with it instead.”

To your surprise, Kaiser stops. You watch him warily for a few seconds before feeling safe enough to turn around and try doing your work again.

Kaiser pokes you on the sides.

#9 Playful teasing

“You look like shit today,” greets Kaiser with a smirk, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Did they let the clown academy off early today?”

“Kaiser, you're so immature.” You shrug him off. Usually you'd allow the contact, granted he's not being rude or creepy, but he's done the former a nanosecond into the conversation, so you're not going to stand for it.

“I assume you're stupid or uptight enough to take me seriously. That's always fun.”

“Trust me, you're the last person in the world I'd take seriously.”

“No, but really, you're quite unencumbered by the standards of beauty today.”

“So I'm ugly and stupid? Awesome, thank you so much.”

His traitorous hand which had grabbed at your shoulder earlier moves lower around your waist instead, pulling you closer. At his actions, you squint your eyes and look at him as if he is a dirty wet sock. “Don't worry, I'd still take you though.”

This horrendous thing he just uttered makes you gape in shock. Then it morphs into disgust, and you smack him on the arm and retch at him.

#10 Mention being single

You expect something horrific to happen this time when Kaiser approaches you, but instead, out of the blue, unprovoked, nobody asked or moved — as most things are with him — he announces, “By the way, I'm single.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, not sure what to do with this information. “Yeah, that figures.”

“What do you mean? Tons of people want me, but I don't want them back. That's why I'm available, that's all.”

“Don't explain yourself to me, I don't care,” you say flippantly, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one leg.

“Well, you should.”

“Sure, Mr. ‘Sorry Wrong Chat.’” You snort.

Kaiser upturns his nose and glares at you. “You’re mischaracterizing me and presenting that whole situation wrong. For one, I didn't say sorry.” Then he scoots closer to you, grinning without smiling with his eyes whatsoever. “Anyway, I'll forgive you. As long as you remember the main point, which is that I'm single.”

“I know, dipshit.”

“Wow, can't you rub your little brain cells together, the whole two of them, and understand what I've been getting at?” Kaiser snaps, frustrated that the fruits of his incompetent labor aren't ready for reaping yet.

“It's not my fault you can't say whatever you have to say properly,” you say, delivering your line in a pointed tone so that he can grasp the implication you're making this time.

Kaiser blinks with the small frown still on his face, a remnant of his earlier scowling. Then realization sets in and his lips form a thin line instead. His cheeks color slightly.

You're fucking with him on purpose.

___

Some slop I wrote on my phone on vacation in between drinking and sweltering in my own gooch in the sun. Enjoy or don't

[sleepy-cone]

I like to think TimBern is "When you find someone who matches your freak" but in opposite directions.

Tim seems normal on the outside. Just your average yet capable guy. Polite to people he meets and respectful to people he sees day to day. However, he has the most outlandish freaky ass lore that you randomly unlock without any warning, and part of you wishes that you didn't because you need plausible deniabilty, and that was a CRIME, Tim!

Bernard will outright say unhinged things about the shadow government to any and every authority figure he meets in broad daylight. And completely unprompted, ask people, "Do you dare me to [insert crazy idea]?? Someone dare me!!" But then he's just casually at home on a Friday night trying to perfect a soup recipe he got from Pinterest and doing a jigsaw puzzle while the pot simmers for 30 minutes.

Tim and Bern about each other: "He is the normalcy I need in my life."

Eveyone who knows them: "...The scales you both use to measure what you define as NORMAL is skewed due to past traumas and should not be the default method of assessing proper social behavior".

Tim and Bernard: "... Yeah, but he's like really cute though."

[yamujiburo]

The art style for the pokemon anime and manga has shifted and changed quite a lot over the years. Is there a specific series or era style that you particularly prefer or that you think your art style is inspired/affected by when drawing the characters?

Ugh amazing question I have 3 answers (for the anime since im an anipoke girlie)

I'm a big fan of the OS anime style. The colors, the sharper style and the grainy look. I also really love the proportions from that era. Everything just felt so solid and blocky in a nice way. I also really love the expressions. There was a lot more subtlety at that time and it was really effective.

Next one and maybe the bigger influence on my own style is the SM anime. I LOVED the design change. Incredibly simple, bouncy, round fun to draw, less tied down, etc. It's just so fun! I feel like my default style has always been a bit of a mix of anime and modern western cartoons and this is the pokemon series is the closest to that vibe. Also those EXPRESSIONS. I have so many random screenshots saved from this series just because of how bonkers the expressions would get.

My #1 influence without doubt is not a specific series style or era but rather a specific artist! His name is Akihiro Tamagawa and he was one of the animation directors on pokemon from OS to I beliiiiive XY? He also did a lot of the movies! Everything about his style is just so appealing to me. The proportions, the posing, the composition, the expressions, EVERYTHING. I've definitely taken inspiration from how he draws eyes and mouths. I draw a lot of low mouths and big smiles because of this guy. I feel like once you see it you won't be able to unsee it in my work hahaha. I made a post about it before!

And here's a guide of all the episodes he directed on!

[noyasmashing]

Beyond the Net

CW: Fem reader, overstimulation, a bit of tears, thigh riding, that’s it tbh

A/N: I don’t see many fics for Sub!Hinata, so here’s a quick drabble.

You and Shoyo had been dating for awhile now, a relationship that began with cautious steps due to his shy nature. Between his reserved demeanor towards girls and the relentless demands of volleyball, the initial stages were slow to unfold. However, as the frenzy of their athletic pursuits settled, a physical connection began to blossom between you.

Shoyo is by default a sensitive man. Immersed in volleyball, Hinata often neglects the simple acts of self-care.

A simple peck on the lips was enough to send Shoyo into a flurry of blushes and stutters, his innocence evident in every shy glance and hesitant touch. Even the slightest use of tongue would elicit a shameful yet undeniable response from him—a massive boner.

In those moments of embarrassment, when you inevitably teased or questioned him about his reactions, Shoyo would find himself on the brink of tears, fumbling for excuses as he tugged at his shirt in a futile attempt to hide his vulnerability.

However, the tide turned when he discovered that you found his reactions endearing, even arousing. Suddenly, he was putty in your hands, eagerly awaiting your every command.

Shoyo would willingly comply with any directive you issued. Tell him the only thing he’s getting off to is your bare thighs, exposed by your mini skirt, and he’s straddling one without complaint.

Watching him tremble with desire as he tentatively thrust himself against you, his moans pleasure louder than expected, was a sight to behold. His innocent request to cum after only being against you for two minutes at most was just adorable.

Since he’s such a good boy, treat him to some overstimulation. With his back pressed against your chest as he sat between your thighs, even if it meant he couldn't see your pretty face as you coo’d in his ear.

And once you have ensured his mind was blissfully blank, make sure to pamper him with a hot bath and an abundance of affectionate kisses! To show how much of a good boy he had been, just for you.

[frownyalfred]

So I’m watching the Jake Paul/Mike Tyson boxing fight right now and I’m having some Batman-related thoughts:

I so badly want to hc Thomas Wayne as a casual/amateur boxer in college. It just makes sense. Bruce got it from him.

Bruce being able to take direct hits to the face all night on patrol or even just consecutively is very very impressive. These guys can sometimes barely take one or two before they just can’t keep going.

Bruce’s bulk and Jason’s bulk post Pit make sense for how they fight; you need that kind of weight in order to keep taking hits. You need that kind of weight in order to throw hits that hard.

“These guys get knocked out enough that they know how to get up right away without panicking.” Hmm that’s giving me thoughts.

We’ve seen Bruce default to a boxing stance as a fallback for close quarter combat in canon and I have thoughts about that too. He knows a dozen different martial arts and is an expert in many of them.

Bare knuckle boxing is even more impressive to me now after seeing the damage gloves can do.

Telegraphing hits is so real, but sometimes your opponent is so tired or injured it doesn’t matter.