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kaleidoscopewritings19 · 3 months

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Bruce Wayne x BATMOM!Reader

Title: "Blood thirsty Gremlin"

Character(s): Bruce Wayne, Female!Batmom!Reader, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, and Tim Drake.

Warnings: None

Prompts Used: In bold print and credit goes to @skriveting

NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO POST/TRANSLATE MY WORK TO OTHER APPS OR WEBSITES. Thank you <3

OTHER BATMOM!READERS (CLICK THE TITLES)

"A Snowman, A Nosebleed, and the Wayne's"-CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

"Annabelle" - HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

"A Trophy and Chloroform"

Every summer, Bruce would have the field behind Wayne Manor cleaned, trimmed, and tended to. The grass would be cut, the trees would be cleaned up, and overall, the field was maintained. Bruce even added a man-made stream to divide the field in half.

There was reasoning as to why this said field was properly maintained, and so much effort was put into it. This reasoning was the Wayne’s Summer Fun! (At least, that is what you called it)

Every Summer, your family would choose one day out of the week to camp, cook out, and stay in the field to play games all week long.

Bruce and the boys gave up their vigilante antics for the week so you could spend quality time together. Plus, you just wanted the boys to feel like they had a good childhood, and it wasn’t just full of training and fighting criminals once the sun went down.

It was the end of the week and tomorrow the boys would go back to their normal schedule, and you and Bruce would go back to work. Every year, you would end “The Wayne’s Summer Fun” with a game of capture the flag. The boys loved it, and every year, you would switch up team members so the games would stay interesting.

And every year, one of the teams would receive a trophy, that was normally given to the winner of monopoly, and every year, someone would end up in a fight. (But that story has already been told: click here to read).

This year, your team consisted of Bruce and Damian. Jason, Dick, and Tim were the blue team, and your team was the red team. Alfred was merely just the mediator, and he would sit in a deer stand that Bruce had built just for the purpose of this game.

Alfred always explained the game, even though everyone knew how to play. “Each team has a flag and will hide it at eye level, but not in direct site. Each team needs to have an offense and a defense, and a spot they call jail.” he said, and he cleared his throat. “Switch offense and defense often. Those who are in offense will go and try to capture the other team’s flag and take it back to their side of the field. Those in defense, will capture those who try to take the flag and put them in jail.”

Jason sighed, “Alfred, we know-”

Alfred spoke over Jason, “HOWEVER, players of the team that has captured members, can retrieve their partners from the jail and take them back to their base. As always, protect your flags! The first team to retrieve a flag and get it to their home base, will receive this, trophy.” Alfred smiled as he held the gold trophy in his hand.

Each side had an equivalent number of trees, and you, Bruce, and Damian took off running towards your home base. Damian held the flag, “Okay, between these trees will be perfect. The bushes cover it, and its eye level, so technically we are not breaking any rules.”

You and Bruce looked over at each other, “Sounds good to me. Now, Damian and I will obviously be offense and you be defense.” Bruce said, and your hands went to your hips.

“Why am I always defense?” you asked, and Bruce and Damian stared at each other.

Last Year

You were placed in defense, and your team consisted of Tim and Dick. Jason, Bruce, and Damian were a team, and Damian happened to sneak past you. The sound of a twig snapping caught your attention, and you jumped into action.

Damian was standing next to your blue flag, and about to take off with it. But when his eyes met yours, he bolted, making you chase after him. You threw a few pinecones at Damian, but he dodged them all. He was quick on his feet for being so little, but you jumped, and tackled Damian to the ground.

“Come on Dami, give mom the flag!” you shouted as you tried to grab it out of his hands. Damian flailed like a fish, and shouted, “NEVER!” You started tickling him, until he dropped the flag.

Damian laid on the ground out of breath from laughing. You stood up, picked up your flag, and picked Damian off of the ground and took him back to your bases jail. “Don’t mess with momma.” you said before leaving Damian in the "jail".

End of Flashback

“I wasn’t that bad!” you exclaimed, and Bruce smiled.

“Mom, you were throwing pinecones at me! And you tackled me to the ground!” Damian said, and you gave them both a nervous smile. “Okay, that wasn’t my best motherly moment. But in my defense, I am competitive. I can’t help it.” you say as you ruffled Damian’s hair.

Bruce pressed a kiss to your lips. “That’s why I married you, honey. I like your competitiveness.”

“Okay, guys, we need to get going. Alfred just blew the whistle.” Damian took off running, leaving you and Bruce behind.

MEANWHILE....

“Jason, that’s cheating!” Tim exclaimed as Jason placed the flag on the ground behind a big rock. “It’s not cheating.” Jason said, as he turned to look at Tim.

“Alfred said, the flag must be eye level. So, having it lying on the ground is cheating.” Tim explained and Jason rolled his eyes.

“Tim, look down.” Jason said, and Tim looked down. “Can you see the flag?”

Tim nodded, and Jason clapped his hand to Tim’s back. “Okay then. It’s eye level.” Dick looked between Jason and the flag and smiled. “He’s got a point.”

Jason stood up on the rock, “I have decided I will be the defense, while you two be the offense. Damian will always try to be the first one to get the flag, and I want to be the one to put the spawn in jail.” he said as he hopped off the rock.

The boys heard the whistle blow, “Let’s go win us a trophy, now break!” Jason yelled, and Tim and Dick took off down the field.

...

You and Bruce had waited for Damian to return, but he never did. The sound of twigs and sticks snapping caught both yours and the Batman’s attention. Bruce held a finger to his lips and crept off through the trees. You waited patiently, and Bruce came back with Tim and Dick by the collars of their shirts.

“They thought they could sneak past the bat.” Bruce said, and he led them away to the place you guys picked as jail. "You did not just say that..." Dick said as Bruce tossed them both into jail.

When he came back, he smiled, “They made the mistake of sending out two scouts. I am going to check on Damian and I will be right back.”

You checked on Tim and Dick and they were lying on the ground. “Why would you send out two of your scouts?” you questioned, and they shrugged their shoulders. “It’s the last time we let Jason call the shots.” Dick mumbled, and Tim threw a rock.

Ruffling both of the boys’ hair, Tim spoke, “Well, at least it was dad who got to us. Mom would’ve tackled us both.”

“Or worse, she would’ve thrown pinecones at us, or landed us in the ER..” Dick shuddered, and you rolled your eyes. “Have fun in jail, boys.”

You ran back to your hiding spot. and Bruce came back with no sign of Damian. “He must be up in a tree strategizing. He’s not in jail, and he’s nowhere to be found.”

Both you and Bruce heard a sneeze, and you looked around frantically. Bruce pulled you behind a tree, and the two of you peeked out towards the left of the field. Jason, Dick, and Tim were all creeping around, and you turned to Bruce.

“It was a trap! This was Jason’s plan all along!” you whisper shouted, “That little shit....” you whispered, and Bruce chuckled. “It’s not funny, Bruce! If we lose this--”

Bruce placed a hand on your shoulder, "It's just a game of Capture the Flag honey, it's not that serious-"

You looked Bruce straight in the eyes, "If we lose this, I'm divorcing you."

Bruce sprang into action, and the two of you went after one of the boys one at a time. Jason was the hardest to catch; somehow, you were able to climb a tree, and once Jason walked underneath, you leaped down at him.

Jason let out a scream and hit the ground, “OUCH!” Jason cradled his arm, and pain raced up through your left leg. Bringing your leg to your chest, you held onto it, and Bruce, Tim, and Dick came running.

“What happened?” Bruce asked as he raced to your side.

“Mom jumped from the tree like a blood thirsty gremlin and tackled me to the ground. I think my arm is broken...” Jason said, and Bruce looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“I think my leg is broken....” you said, and Bruce shook his head. He lifted you up off the ground, and Tim and Dick helped Jason off of the ground. “Another trip the ER. They might as well give us a room with our name on it.” Bruce mumbled.

-----

LATER THAT EVENING

Your leg had a cast, and you were on crutches. Jason had a broken arm, and you had a fractured leg. “Your competitiveness has gotten the better of you. Again.” Bruce said as he helped you into bed.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought you loved my competitiveness?” you questioned, and Bruce laughed. “I do, trust me I do. Sometimes I think you should have been a Navy Seal Operative.”

Alfred walked into the room and Dick trailed behind him with Damian in his arms. Damian had a red flag wrapped around his mouth, and duct tape around his wrists and ankles.

“Oh my gosh, who did this?” you say and you motioned for Dick to place your youngest son on the bed. You tried your best to untie him. One you took the flag out of his mouth Damian coughed.

“I was outside for three hours! Where were you guys?” he asked, and you looked down at your leg. Damian stared, “Woah. How’d that happen?” he asked, and your cheeks turned red.

Bruce sighed. “Your mom and Jason were the ones to get in a tussle this time around. But- what happened to you exactly?" Bruce asked and everyone turned their attention to youngest Wayne.

"It was Jason! I almost had their flag, and he jumped me from behind and tied me up!" then Damian started looking around the room. "Speaking of which... where is he?" Damian looked past Dick and seen Jason trying to creep out of the bedroom.

Before you and Bruce could grab Damian, he leaped off of the bed and hurled toward Jason. And a loud smack could be heard around the world and Jason's pained scream could also be heard in a thirty-mile radius.

"Don't mess with me!" Damian shouted as he bowed up at Jason. Alfred walked into the bedroom with the trophy in hand, "I assume that I get to keep this trophy?"

Bruce and you shared a glance at one another, "Because I have captured both flags." Alfred said as he smiled and waved both flags. That year, Alfred was the Wayne Summer Fun Victor.

------------------

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this x reader! This was meant to be posted in the summer, but oh well. I hope you all have a great weekend! Let me know your thoughts on this x reader in the comments!

XOXO

#bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batmom #batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #alfred pennyworth

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sleep-deprivedracoon · 7 months

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Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

word count: 3680 Summary: Satoru doing his best to get you out of your downward spiral. He failed Suguru but he won't fail you. Author's note: based on this prompt. I think I speak for most of the fandom when I say we all need some extra fluff and love from Gojo after the week we've had with the anime and manga. So this one is for all of us Gojo wives. Ngl, I am literally shaking right now as I dare to post this. I don't know if y'all will like this or if this just flops. CW: depression, food habits, angst, implied relationships, patterns of isolation, fluff, angst to comfort, helplessness, mentions of smoking

Satoru Gojo stood before your door, an unusual sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his normally self-assured demeanor. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to, one that clashed against the confident façade he typically wore like armor. He couldn't shake the nagging sensation that something was terribly wrong with you, something that went far beyond the physical injuries. It had been weeks since you returned from that mission, and something had changed in you—It was as if something was tearing you apart from the inside.

He'd delved into the mission reports, scouring through the details, looking for any signs of what might have transpired. The mission had been a success, technically flawless, with only a handful of unfortunate bystanders caught in the crossfire. You'd managed to take down a first-grade curse with no fatalities—by all accounts, it should have been considered a triumph. So why had it left you so shattered?

As the door creaked open, revealing you on the other side, his sharp eyes caught the flicker of a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Your smile, once a beacon of light that never failed to brighten his day, now seemed a mere shadow of its former self. It was as though the spark within you had dimmed, leaving behind an empty echo of what used to be.

"Toru," you greeted, your voice a little too forced, a little too brittle.

Gojo pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation he couldn't quite put into words. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that had become second nature to him, a silent declaration of affection. “Hi, sweets.” he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

As he held you, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, that the ground beneath him was unstable. He hoped beyond hope that he was merely overthinking, that you were stronger than he feared. But deep down, he knew. He knew something was fundamentally wrong.

You gently pulled away, and he followed you into your apartment, his senses immediately assaulted by the disarray that greeted him. Sure, you were a chaotic person, but there was usually an organized chaos to your living space. Books strewn haphazardly on shelves, art supplies scattered on tables, and the comforting scent of incense in the air—all elements of your usual environment. The chaos was familiar, a reflection of your vibrant, unpredictable personality. But this... this was different. There was an air of neglect, a sense that even your usual disorder had lost its usual rhythm. He took in the scene—the scattered papers, the toppled books, the forgotten articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Each item seemed to whisper a tale of neglect; a story of a mind too preoccupied to care for its surroundings. He saw the remnants of a once vibrant spirit, now muted and worn.

He followed you into the kitchen, concern etched into his features. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You mumbled a half-hearted "yes," but he wasn't fooled. He opened your fridge to place a few drinks, and his heart sank at the sight. It hadn't been stocked in a while; the shelves almost barren. It was a stark contrast to the usual assortment of ingredients and snacks he was accustomed to stealing. He glanced at you, silently noting the tired lines etching your face, the weariness in your eyes that belied your attempt at a smile

You stood beside him, trying to deflect his concern with a forced smile and a weak excuse. "I've been lazy, just ordering takeout."

He glanced at the trash can, noting its emptiness. He saw right through the lie, but he didn't push it. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, taking in the disheveled state of your hair, the dullness in your eyes, the weight loss that had left you looking frail. It was a familiar dance—one he had witnessed before, with someone else he had cared for deeply. That smile you offered him, that empty, hollow smile with closed eyes, it hit him like a tidal wave of dread. It reminded Gojo of Suguru after Amanai's death—their once lively friend reduced to a mere shell, hiding behind a facade. The parallels between you and Suguru's descent sent a shiver down his spine.

The weight of helplessness settled like a leaden anchor in Satoru Gojo's chest. He cursed inwardly, the bitter taste of regret mingling with the dread that had consumed him. How was it happening again? Why was it always the ones he cared for the most? The memory of Suguru, his once-vibrant friend reduced to a mere shadow of himself, haunted him. He had failed Suguru, and that failure still weighed heavily on him.

The mantra of his own strength echoed in his mind, a bitter irony. He was the strongest, but in this moment, he felt powerless. Weak. Useless. Helpless. As you stood before him, offering a smile that barely masked the turmoil within, you felt so distant, so far away. It was as though an impenetrable barrier had risen between the two of you.

It had started weeks ago, with your return from that fateful mission. Even then, something had felt off. You had been fatigued, weary, and Gojo had been there for you, trying to help you unwind and recharge. But you barely spoke of the mission, your words guarded, your gaze distant. In the ensuing weeks, he had watched as you withdrew, not just from him, but from their students. He noticed how you declined Nobara’s invites to go shopping, how the playful banter with Megumi had all but disappeared. Even your calls with Yuta who was overseas had become brief, the once-lively conversations now reduced to strained exchanges.

He caught a whiff of smoke around you one evening, a scent that hung in the air like a lingering secret. He knew then, without needing to ask, that you had turned to cigarettes for solace. There were signs, always signs. The subtle shifts in behavior, the hollow looks, the moments of silence that stretched on longer than they should. But he had chosen to give you space, believing that time would allow you to heal and find your way back. It was a mistake, one he deeply regretted now as he saw the signs he had missed piling up.

Gojo's gaze settled on you once more, his heart heavy with concern. You had lost weight, your eyes dulled, your once-lustrous hair now a tangled mess. It was as though a part of you had withered away, leaving behind a hollow shell. The pain in his chest intensified as he realized that he couldn't afford to stand by and watch you slip away. He had to act, to break through the barrier you had unknowingly erected around yourself. But how? That was the question that haunted him as he searched your eyes for a way to reach you, to pull you back from the abyss you seemed to be falling into.

He turned to you, his eyes tracing the weariness etched into your features, the fragility in your frame. "Sweets," he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of concern and determination. "We can't keep going on like this. You don't have to face this alone.”

As Gojo's concerned gaze bore into you, he couldn't help but notice the immediate defensiveness in your body language. Your chuckle, dry and forced, cut through the air like a fragile attempt to push his worries away. "I'm okay, Toru," you insisted, your voice wavering just slightly.

"(Y/n) …" he urged; his voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to pretend with me. I can see that something's eating at you. You can rely on me, you know that, right? I'm here to shoulder whatever burdens you're carrying."

You met his gaze, eyes guarded, and shook your head, a hint of stubbornness in your expression. "Toru, really, I appreciate it, but I'm okay. You're worrying unnecessarily.”

You remained closed off, a wall of resistance that he couldn't breach. Your insistence that everything was fine felt like a dagger to his heart, but he understood that pushing you further at this moment could risk you shutting him out completely and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you to the darkness.

So, he accepted your words, even as they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Alright, sweets. Just remember, I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

Ordering takeout seemed like the most rational thing to do, a glimmer of normalcy in the midst of the storm. He chose a spicy Chow Mein with Gyoza on the side, knowing it was a combination that never failed to put a smile on your face. As the two of you sat in silence, he couldn't help but notice how you toyed with your food, pushing it around on the plate rather than really eating.

He teased gently, "You know, you're starting to remind me of a kid being forced to eat their vegetables. Come on, at least take a few bites for me."

You glanced up, a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes, and complied, taking a few bites to prove a point. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was through these small steps, he realized, that he needed to slowly guide you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you.

After dinner, he bid you farewell, his footsteps heavy as he walked away from your apartment. Once out of your sight, he clutched his hair in frustration, a tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him. He couldn't bear to see you like this, not again. He couldn't let another person he cared for slip into the abyss.

With a determined exhale, he removed his shades and reached for the black blindfold that he rarely wore when it was just the two of you. He tied it securely and looked back at the window to your apartment. In that moment, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't let you slip away. He would fight for you, even if it meant stepping into the darkness alongside you.

-------------

In the days that followed, Gojo remained steadfast in his determination to pull you out of the suffocating depths of depression that had ensnared you. He knew he couldn't do it alone, and admitting that fact was a monumental step for someone as self-reliant as him. It surprised even Shoko, who had known Gojo for years, to witness his newfound vulnerability.

He started with small, manageable gestures, well aware that overwhelming you would only push you further away. Slowly, he began to tidy up your apartment, one step at a time. He organized the scattered papers, straightened the toppled books, and restored a sense of order to the chaos that had overtaken the space. He did it in small iterations, so as to not catch you off guard. He knew that even the semblance of cleanliness and organization could bring a sense of calm. Another day, he arrived with a bag of groceries, quietly slipping into your kitchen to prepare a meal. At times, he found himself sneaking food into you, taking advantage of moments when your mind wandered elsewhere. He'd feed you, offering fruits and treats while you mindlessly chewed on it, lost in thought. It was a silent promise that he was there to support you, to ensure you took care of yourself.

Then came the day he dragged you out, insisting that you join him and his students for a shopping excursion. It was an attempt to remind you that there was still joy and fun to be had, even in the midst of the world's worries. He made sure to bring his students along, Yuji and Nobara, who shared a single brain cell with their hairbrained schemes, and Megumi, who often found himself the target of their antics. As you wandered through the bustling market, you couldn't help but be drawn into the silliness that surrounded you. Yuji and Nobara's playful banter, Megumi's exasperation, and the way his students relied on you for the silliest of things slowly began to chip away at the darkness within you. There were moments when you couldn't help but smile, caught up in the absurdity of it all. Watching Yuji and Nobara embark on their ridiculous plans, seeing Megumi squirm in embarrassment, witnessing the camaraderie among his students—it all served as a poignant reminder that life held moments of levity, even in its darkest corners. Gojo reveled in these small victories, each one a testament to your gradual recovery. His approach was slow and deliberate, mixing moments of genuine concern with his signature goofiness.

"Hey, sweets," Gojo said, nudging you playfully as Yuji and Nobara attempted to outdo each other with their ridiculous purchases. "You see what I have to deal with every day? They're a handful. Why do I always end up taking care of brats?” He sighed in exaggeration.

The sound of your giggle was a melody that resonated in the depths of Satoru Gojo's being. He couldn't help but be drawn to the warmth in your laughter, a glimmer of the vibrant spirit that still lived within you. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, a gentle caress that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He leaned into the touch, his heart leaping at the connection.

"You know," you teased, patting his cheek affectionately, "you adopted these brats yourself. You're such a mother hen, Toru."

His lips curled into a playful smirk. "Well, what can I say? I've always had a soft spot for the misfits." He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "And I'm glad that this mother hen has you as my favorite rooster to come back to whenever I need a break from these rascals."

Your laughter, though still fragile, filled the room, a welcome sound that eased the weight in his heart. He was getting closer, step by step, to uncovering the vibrant spirit that resided within you.

------------------------

Several days later, the Tokyo Jujutsu High planned a retreat to an Onsen resort in Gunma. The students shared rooms, and Gojo, in his usual annoying fashion, had managed to finagle Yaga into assigning you to share a room with him. After all, you were both teachers and adults—it shouldn't have been a problem.

Gojo sat on the tatami floor of your room, dressed in a yukata, having just returned from the baths. He sipped on cold coffee milk, enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of the traditional inn. When he heard the sliding door open, he looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. You looked ethereal in the Yukata, the fabric draping gracefully over your form. Your hair was still damp from the baths, strands clinging to your skin in a way that made his heart race. There was a newfound fullness to your cheeks, a healthy flush to your complexion that spoke of progress.

In that moment, he realized just how far you had come. The bags under your eyes were still there, but the overall transformation was striking. He clicked his tongue several times, pulling you gently to the tatami floor in front of him. He reached for the towel that hung around your shoulders and scolded you gently, "Sweets, you need to dry your hair properly. You'll catch a cold like this."

His fingers moved through your hair with a soothing touch, the room enveloped in silence save for the rustle of fabric and the soft hum of the night outside. He was meticulous, his actions deliberate as he dried your hair strand by strand. As he continued to pat your hair dry with gentle strokes, he noticed that you were trembling. Frowning, he stopped, his concern growing. And then he heard it—the soft, muffled sniffle that escaped your lips. In an instant, he turned you around to face him, his eyes widening as he saw the tears welling up in your eyes.

Before he could say a word, you began sobbing, your shoulders shaking with the force of your emotions. You buried your face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried. He didn't brush away your tears or offer empty reassurances. Instead, he let you cry, allowing the dam you had built around your emotions to finally break. He could feel the warmth of your tears soaking through his yukata, the shudders that racked your body, and the tremble of your hands as they clung to his robes. It was a raw, vulnerable moment, and he was there to bear witness to it, to share in your pain and offer his silent support. Gojo's touch was gentle, his hand stroking your back in a steady, rhythmic motion. He didn't speak, understanding that this moment was about you and your release. His heart ached with each anguished sob that wracked your body, but he remained a steadfast anchor, giving you the space you needed to let it all out.

As your sobs began to subside, your words spilled out in a torrent of emotion. You spoke of the mission, of how it had torn open old wounds, making you confront shadows from your past. The cursed technique of the first-grade curse had exploited your own memories, forcing you to relive the pain and uncertainty.

Gojo had been privy to your painful past, as you had confided in him long ago. He understood the emotional scars that had marked your journey, and now, he could see why you were descending into darkness.

Your voice trembled as you confessed your fear. You longed to return to the person you used to be, but you were terrified that you had lost yourself in the process. The fear that in losing yourself, you might also lose him gripped at your heart.

Gently, Gojo cupped your cheek, his sky-blue eyes locking onto yours. He removed his shades, allowing you to see the sincerity in his gaze. "No matter what version of yourself you present to me," he said, his voice soft but resolute, "I will love you. Whether you're happy, sad, angry, or anything in between, it doesn't change a thing. If you somehow turned evil, I'd love you. If you don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore, I’d love you. Even if you transformed into a worm, I'd love you. I will love every version of you that has been and that is yet to come, (Y/n). " He couldn't help but inject a touch of his signature playfulness into the moment. "Well, unless you turn into Gakuganji," he added with a mock shudder, "then you might be pushing it. But hey, I'll even love you if you morph into that old fart. Just… just don't test me on that one." He kisses your trembling lips gently. “I don’t think my heart could handle that.”

A small giggle burst from your lips, and you playfully swatted his arm, the sound like a gentle chime amidst your tears. It was a moment of relief, a brief respite from the weight of your emotions. Gojo couldn't help but chuckle in response, his grin boyish and goofy. “I will always love you (Y/n). Even if you lose yourself, I will walk with you to help you rediscover yourself. I am great at helping people find things. These six eyes are here for a reason, you know?”

You gently shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you leaned in to kiss Satoru Gojo on his lips, your gratitude and affection evident in the tender gesture. "Thank you," you whispered against his lips, "for being you."

His lips curved into a soft smile as he returned your kiss, savoring the warmth of your affection. "It's been my pleasure, (Y/n)," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “After all, nobody is best at being Gojo Satoru other than Satoru Gojo himself.” He winks.

You continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "I know what you've been doing, Toru. All these days, you’ve been taking care of me, helping me even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. But I needed it, and I needed you."

Gojo's eyes softened as he gazed at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "If the roles were reversed, you would've done a far better and more efficient job," he admitted, a hint of shame coloring his voice. "I should've seen it sooner, (Y/n)."

You silenced him with a gentle finger against his lips, his mock pout making you smile. "Don't blame yourself, Toru," you murmured. "I didn't want you to find out, and it's not your fault. I feel lighter now than I have in days, although I am still struggling to cope.”

In response, Gojo spoke with unwavering determination, "I'll be here beside you, sweets. However you want and in whatever form you need.

“Whatever I need huh?” A wistful smile tugged at your lips. "Maybe turning myself into Gakuganji would help," you mused, a playful glint in your eyes. “won’t it, Toru?”

Gojo groaned dramatically, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. His fingers danced along your sides and ribs, eliciting giggles and laughter from you as you squirmed beneath his touch. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. His fingers attacked your sides and belly, evoking peals of laughter from you. The tatami floor beneath you seemed to come alive with the sounds of your giggles and Gojo's playful laughter. As he tickled you mercilessly, Gojo's thoughts were clear—he would do anything to keep that light in your eyes, to see you smile, even if it meant turning into Gakuganji himself. Anything at all. And with every joyful laugh that filled the room, he knew he was one step closer to bringing you back to him.

Taglist - @hiraethsdesires Note to @hiraethsdesires: thank you, Hira. I thought I'd never be able to get back into writing again. I thought I had lost it. But it felt so nice to dive right into this again. The first character I had ever written for in this blog was Gojo. It feels just right to get back into it with him again.

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soaricarus · 4 months

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wouahh. slugcat lineup of all my designs hehe. judge on its own though that slugcat is really big oops. im only gonna tag the main rw guys here but otherwise whenever i draw the others theyll have their own tag. ALSO SAINTS DESIGN IS A LITTLE OUTDATED BUT I DIDNT WANNA EDIT IT TO UPDATE IT

gatherer was the first slugcat purposed by sig, sent with a distasteful message - and is also technically hunter's sibling! and so is judge..... but judge's lore is for later.

individuals under cut!!!

survivor is albino i like them :]

just a guy... you couldnt say no to monk's little eyes could you

third sibling! i went really mint on this one i think

nightcat!! a winged purposed messenger. theyre blind because of a bioengineering fuckup and instead rely on tracking iterator signals, which they use their whiskers for.

hunter! uh oh rot and green blood due to green rot.

gatherer! hunter's "technically sibling" and sig's first slugcat. their tail is prehensile :] they're based on an iggy projection slugcat!

gourmand! oh love the her. cherish the her. i love gourmand. she has a little pouch for sluppies! she can fit about 8 or more in that pouch. she's big

artificer, copper/firedancer and phosphore/flashbang! firedancer has green fire and is thusly named copper hehe. not many notes on these guys :o i just really like artificer's design.

rivulet!! teal!! and i hueshifted my original gradient a bit to fit this. i like them a lot

speam and laceweaver! laceweaver was a spearmaster prototype that suns kept. laceweaver mentored spearmaster alongside another prototype i haven't designed yet. the others.... didn't make it. suns didn't send the gold pearl for me! thats something pebbles made himself. i did alter downpour a lot because there's some things i don't particularly like and downpour is only really an au thats adding onto canon. dont get me wrong i like it but uh oh ramble i'll get into that if prompted

(darker colors are used for the more echo-y saint doodles; the whites are just colors i use for snow) saint! though i've altered the tail pattern design a bit though, usually it's more like this when i draw it.

though this design is also a bit more echo-y but the tail pattern is the same regardless. also the wings uhoh i need to redo a ref for saint

(the dark brown is used for the scars with dodge layers of the same color ontop)

inv- or "the vestige! um. they bleed void fluid. thats why they have those scars. this is canon to my askblog. im working on the lore rewrite we'll get there soon

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theminecraftbee · 4 months

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minotaur Joe for the fanon swap prompts? i feel like he'd do something very philosophical and Joe(tm) about mythology. or butterfly/moth Joe?

After waking up with a headache and looking in the mirror to shave, Joe pauses. He stares at his reflection in the mirror. For the past several days, he hadn't thought anything of it; it's usual enough, for a hermit to start to get weird as the day of the start of a new project approaches. Why, if all that moon stuff hadn't happened, Joe can only imagine what growing snakes would have been like for Cleo.

He wonders if it was anything like this: Joe wakes up, stretches, hears weird clacking as he goes to the bathroom, goes to grab his razor, and rather abruptly realizes that he doesn't have a beard, or, rather, that since he now has a bull's head, he has far more beard than can possibly be reasonably shaved, and he should throw the whole concept of 'shaving a beard' out the window.

"Huh," he says. "I guess growing horns does give people a headache? Who knew?"

If his voice is wavering as he says it, well, no one's around to hear. They're between seasons, and while Joe is sharing a server with several hermits at the moment, his mountain lodge doesn't have much by way of neighbors. He's alone to have this horrible revelation.

"How will the bunny ears look with the bull head?" he asks himself. He tries to picture the result and, determining it a little less existentially terrifying than a sudden, unplanned change of species, decides to put them on. He nods. "I am a Playboy Minotaur," he mutters to himself. "I am confident! Composed! Perhaps even a sexyman? Eh, I'll workshop it. I wonder if there's better-matching armor for this..."

He hitches in his morning routine when he realizes the weird clacking he'd been hearing had been hooves. Realistically, he should now be wondering how well any of his boots will fit, now that he doesn't really have toes, and if he needs to be shoed, like a horse might, to protect the hooves from damage instead. Realistically, he should be contacting Iskall about whatever modifications need to be made for the remainder of his time hunting vaults before season 10 starts. Realistically, he should be hunting down one of the less-human hermits and asking if eating burgers to gain levels is now cannibalism. All of these things are realistic concerns that he can bother people about right now, if he wants to!

Unrealistically, he's thinking more about a conversation he'd had with Cub the other day as he stares at his hooves, hands shaking far, far more than he'd care to admit.

They'd been arguing about who Daedalus was.

It had started when they started planning together. Joe had mentioned wanting to build a labyrinth a little bit ago, and Cub, who apparently loved building mazes, was going to help out with the planning. With any luck, all of the hermits were going to help build it! He'd rambled about giving himself a bit of themeing about Theseus as a result, about conquering this whole labyrinth build, this project he'd designed not to really have an end. About having to guide himself in and out through twisting tunnels.

Cub had then pointed out that if Joe had been building it, that technically makes him Daedalus; the one guy who knew the layout, the genius inventor building the trap for the server, designing its hallways. Joe had argued that was who Cub would be; Cub is the expert madman inventor being brought on, and Joe just like, wanted to build a maze. Cub had said that that sort of made Joe Minos then, but given season seven, the guy who once got cursed to turn everything he touched to gold didn't feel very fitting. Joe had agreed it hadn't fit. Maybe they'd split Daedalus then, if Theseus was a little too thematically muddled?

They'd laughed about it. Joe hadn't really intended for the maze to be based on myth, anyway. That would be stealing Cleo's bit, and he knows better than to do that.

And yet.

"We didn't consider I might be the Minotaur," Joe says to no one in particular. "You know. Of the figures associated with the Labyrinth, we didn't consider the big bull trapped in the middle. I should tell Cub we forgot about that one. It'll be a real laugh."

He can't quite say out loud the thing he's really thinking, which is this:

Well, if the universe has decided the guy with the maze won't be the hero, or the inventor, or the king, but the bull it was designed to trap--well. What's that say about him, exactly, in symbology?

"Maybe it's just in reference to the vaults," he says, trying to hype himself up. It falls a little flat. He takes a deep breath. He realizes he's still holding his razor, even after crossing his house to get the bunny ears. He goes to put the razor down and catches sight of his head in the mirror once again.

Monstrous. He's friends with a lot of monsters, of course; he's known Cleo for more than a decade. And his mannerisms, they're still him. But right then, in that moment...

He pokes the bunny ears.

"I am the Playboy Minotaur," he says, more insistently. "Didn't Iskall have that dress he had covered in flowers? That's what's really important here. That, and the obligatory cannibalism if I want to reach the level 100 goal in time, of course. The Minotaur clearly ate meat, despite being a cow, and ate people, despite being half person, but we really know nothing about what cow would do to my diet. Hold on, I have a very confusing message I can write Iskall about this one."

He deliberately turns away from the mirror and goes to write Iskall something that will explain nothing at all, and then tell Cub about their oversight. It's not like he can change it now.

#answered #ask game #hermitcraft #joe hills #a bee fic #prompt ficlet #minotaur joe is VERY GOOD given. his season 10 plans. you know #man builds a labyrinth. somewhat concerned and upset to discover that he's the guy who's going to be trapped in it.

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nostalgebraist · 5 months

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clarification re: ChatGPT, " a a a a", and data leakage

In August, I posted:

For a good time, try sending chatGPT the string ` a` repeated 1000 times. Like " a a a" (etc). Make sure the spaces are in there. Trust me.

People are talking about this trick again, thanks to a recent paper by Nasr et al that investigates how often LLMs regurgitate exact quotes from their training data.

The paper is an impressive technical achievement, and the results are very interesting.

Unfortunately, the online hive-mind consensus about this paper is something like:

When you do this "attack" to ChatGPT -- where you send it the letter 'a' many times, or make it write 'poem' over and over, or the like -- it prints out a bunch of its own training data. Previously, people had noted that the stuff it prints out after the attack looks like training data. Now, we know why: because it really is training data.

It's unfortunate that people believe this, because it's false. Or at best, a mixture of "false" and "confused and misleadingly incomplete."

The paper

So, what does the paper show?

The authors do a lot of stuff, building on a lot of previous work, and I won't try to summarize it all here.

But in brief, they try to estimate how easy it is to "extract" training data from LLMs, moving successively through 3 categories of LLMs that are progressively harder to analyze:

"Base model" LLMs with publicly released weights and publicly released training data.

"Base model" LLMs with publicly released weights, but undisclosed training data.

LLMs that are totally private, and are also finetuned for instruction-following or for chat, rather than being base models. (ChatGPT falls into this category.)

Category #1: open weights, open data

In their experiment on category #1, they prompt the models with hundreds of millions of brief phrases chosen randomly from Wikipedia. Then they check what fraction of the generated outputs constitute verbatim quotations from the training data.

Because category #1 has open weights, they can afford to do this hundreds of millions of times (there are no API costs to pay). And because the training data is open, they can directly check whether or not any given output appears in that data.

In category #1, the fraction of outputs that are exact copies of training data ranges from ~0.1% to ~1.5%, depending on the model.

Category #2: open weights, private data

In category #2, the training data is unavailable. The authors solve this problem by constructing "AuxDataset," a giant Frankenstein assemblage of all the major public training datasets, and then searching for outputs in AuxDataset.

This approach can have false negatives, since the model might be regurgitating private training data that isn't in AuxDataset. But it shouldn't have many false positives: if the model spits out some long string of text that appears in AuxDataset, then it's probably the case that the same string appeared in the model's training data, as opposed to the model spontaneously "reinventing" it.

So, the AuxDataset approach gives you lower bounds. Unsurprisingly, the fractions in this experiment are a bit lower, compared to the Category #1 experiment. But not that much lower, ranging from ~0.05% to ~1%.

Category #3: private everything + chat tuning

Finally, they do an experiment with ChatGPT. (Well, ChatGPT and gpt-3.5-turbo-instruct, but I'm ignoring the latter for space here.)

ChatGPT presents several new challenges.

First, the model is only accessible through an API, and it would cost too much money to call the API hundreds of millions of times. So, they have to make do with a much smaller sample size.

A more substantial challenge has to do with the model's chat tuning.

All the other models evaluated in this paper were base models: they were trained to imitate a wide range of text data, and that was that. If you give them some text, like a random short phrase from Wikipedia, they will try to write the next part, in a manner that sounds like the data they were trained on.

However, if you give ChatGPT a random short phrase from Wikipedia, it will not try to complete it. It will, instead, say something like "Sorry, I don't know what that means" or "Is there something specific I can do for you?"

So their random-short-phrase-from-Wikipedia method, which worked for base models, is not going to work for ChatGPT.

Fortuitously, there happens to be a weird bug in ChatGPT that makes it behave like a base model!

Namely, the "trick" where you ask it to repeat a token, or just send it a bunch of pre-prepared repetitions.

Using this trick is still different from prompting a base model. You can't specify a "prompt," like a random-short-phrase-from-Wikipedia, for the model to complete. You just start the repetition ball rolling, and then at some point, it starts generating some arbitrarily chosen type of document in a base-model-like way.

Still, this is good enough: we can do the trick, and then check the output against AuxDataset. If the generated text appears in AuxDataset, then ChatGPT was probably trained on that text at some point.

If you do this, you get a fraction of 3%.

This is somewhat higher than all the other numbers we saw above, especially the other ones obtained using AuxDataset.

On the other hand, the numbers varied a lot between models, and ChatGPT is probably an outlier in various ways when you're comparing it to a bunch of open models.

So, this result seems consistent with the interpretation that the attack just makes ChatGPT behave like a base model. Base models -- it turns out -- tend to regurgitate their training data occasionally, under conditions like these ones; if you make ChatGPT behave like a base model, then it does too.

Language model behaves like language model, news at 11

Since this paper came out, a number of people have pinged me on twitter or whatever, telling me about how this attack "makes ChatGPT leak data," like this is some scandalous new finding about the attack specifically.

(I made some posts saying I didn't think the attack was "leaking data" -- by which I meant ChatGPT user data, which was a weirdly common theory at the time -- so of course, now some people are telling me that I was wrong on this score.)

This interpretation seems totally misguided to me.

Every result in the paper is consistent with the banal interpretation that the attack just makes ChatGPT behave like a base model.

That is, it makes it behave the way all LLMs used to behave, up until very recently.

I guess there are a lot of people around now who have never used an LLM that wasn't tuned for chat; who don't know that the "post-attack content" we see from ChatGPT is not some weird new behavior in need of a new, probably alarming explanation; who don't know that it is actually a very familiar thing, which any base model will give you immediately if you ask. But it is. It's base model behavior, nothing more.

Behaving like a base model implies regurgitation of training data some small fraction of the time, because base models do that. And only because base models do, in fact, do that. Not for any extra reason that's special to this attack.

(Or at least, if there is some extra reason, the paper gives us no evidence of its existence.)

The paper itself is less clear than I would like about this. In a footnote, it cites my tweet on the original attack (which I appreciate!), but it does so in a way that draws a confusing link between the attack and data regurgitation:

In fact, in early August, a month after we initial discovered this attack, multiple independent researchers discovered the underlying exploit used in our paper, but, like us initially, they did not realize that the model was regenerating training data, e.g., https://twitter.com/nostalgebraist/status/1686576041803096065.

Did I "not realize that the model was regenerating training data"? I mean . . . sort of? But then again, not really?

I knew from earlier papers (and personal experience, like the "Hedonist Sovereign" thing here) that base models occasionally produce exact quotations from their training data. And my reaction to the attack was, "it looks like it's behaving like a base model."

It would be surprising if, after the attack, ChatGPT never produced an exact quotation from training data. That would be a difference between ChatGPT's underlying base model and all other known LLM base models.

And the new paper shows that -- unsurprisingly -- there is no such difference. They all do this at some rate, and ChatGPT's rate is 3%, plus or minus something or other.

3% is not zero, but it's not very large, either.

If you do the attack to ChatGPT, and then think "wow, this output looks like what I imagine training data probably looks like," it is nonetheless probably not training data. It is probably, instead, a skilled mimicry of training data. (Remember that "skilled mimicry of training data" is what LLMs are trained to do.)

And remember, too, that base models used to be OpenAI's entire product offering. Indeed, their API still offers some base models! If you want to extract training data from a private OpenAI model, you can just interact with these guys normally, and they'll spit out their training data some small % of the time.

The only value added by the attack, here, is its ability to make ChatGPT specifically behave in the way that davinci-002 already does, naturally, without any tricks.

#ai tag

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flamingtouya · 2 months

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𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 — 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢/𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚

word count: 1262

cw: none other than dabi's foul language

summary: dabi encounters a cat. i continue to spoon-feed this man happiness. based on this prompt by the lovely @scarlettcryptid ♡

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Clicking his tongue, saying - whispering - “Here, stupid fucking kitty”, because god forbid someone hears. Slowly putting his hand out, some more ‘Pss-pss’-ing - anything that had worked on the neighbours’ cats when Fuyumi did it.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

The concrete is cold underneath his palm. Dabi welcomes April’s spring breeze, a strand of jet black hair tickling his cheek as he pulls the strings of his hoodie tighter. The dewy scent of the morning air is overtaken by the intense smell of steaming hot Yakitori, fresh off the grill, bought - not stolen - bought with his own, hard-earned cash money. (That, admittedly, he had stolen.)

You’ve got to indulge, the vendor had shouted, in the little pleasures! Treat yourself to life's delectable delights! Two plus two, Weekday special! Don’t miss out on-

“Screw you,” he’d told her, shoving the money on the little silver tray next to the register, scowling when she still served him with a bright smile, one that reminded him of Fuyumi’s excited grin every time she’d successfully pulled off a trick on her beautifully painted Kendama. Fuyumi would be so upset, he thinks, if she knew where he gets his food from these days.

He pulls the first skewer from the paper box, diligently inspecting a grain of Szechuan pepper. Dabi hasn’t laid eyes upon a spice in months - especially not one this pricey.

No, ever since he’s made a temporary home in the outer area of the city, it’s been nothing but dumpster diving and collecting restaurant leftovers for him. Stale bread. Expired cookies. Plain rice, cooked in an old bean can. Salted butter. Some Chili powder on top of his potatoes, if the old man at the soup kitchen was feeling generous.

Compared to the barely digestible nutrients his body runs on, the sight mere inches from his face is a divine gift.

After turning it over once more he finally takes a small bite, careful to pull the piece of chicken off the skewer with his front teeth. He’s become even more sensitive to temperature lately, and his teeth are the most annoying aspect. Not the sizzling of his flesh when he overuses his quirk, not the burn behind his eyes as they go dry. Those he’s gotten used to rather quickly. But when most of the food you eat is either cold or poorly reheated, the sensation of something hot is bound to cause major discomfort.

It’s not as bad as he expects. Neither the temperature sensitivity nor the taste. He begins to chew more boldly, savouring the harmonious balance between onion and garlic, sea salt and pepper, topped with tare sauce and just a hint of lemon. Say about the outskirt markets what you will, but those street food vendors do know how to grill a chicken.

Dabi doesn’t notice how quiet it’s gotten until something chirps behind him.

A cat.

A rather well-fed cat.

A cat that technically isn’t overweight, but its thick fur coat still makes it look a little fat.

Black with a white tummy and some spots of orange near its paws, sitting two arms’ lengths away. Its eyes follow the skewer as he moves it to one side, then the other, then dangles it upside down. Some grease drips onto the grass of the porch he’s sitting on. He finishes the remaining pieces of chicken and pulls out the second skewer, eyes shifting between his precious meal and the overly attentive cat.

Finally, he decides to pinch off a small piece, chewing at the spiced crust until it’s gone. He tosses the plain chicken towards the cat but to his surprise, it flinches and retreats behind a large flower pot.

The little fucker.

Wasted half a bite of perfectly good food.

Dabi turns his attention back towards his steaming Yakitori. Some time passes. He doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes that he zones out looking at the flowering apricot tree in the distance, but he’s pulled back to reality by soft chewing noises. Careful not to make another sudden movement he shifts a bit, just enough to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the feline is greedily nibbling at the slice of meat. The two of them make brief eye contact before turning their attention back to their respective meals.

The sound behind him subsides shortly after and is replaced by a soft purring, one that he knows isn’t directed at him. He lets the cat have another piece from his third skewer nonetheless, this time giving it a gentle toss so it lands a few inches closer.

Still visibly tense, it takes a few steps forward and sniffs at the chicken before gulping it down in a few bites. Greedy shit, Dabi thinks, as he sacrifices yet another precious piece. He puts it down at his side, rubbing his fingers together. The cat’s attention is on the meat immediately, ears twitching as it courageously inches closer towards Dabi. He finishes the last of his Yakitori, never breaking eye contact with the cowardly little furball next to him.

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

After a thorough standoff, the cat’s curiosity gets the better of it. It keeps its stomach low as it sneaks across the ground, stretching its long neck to sniff at the finger that Dabi used to pull the Yakitori off the skewer earlier.

“If you bite me, I’m sending you to the coat factory.”

As if that theory was being tested, Dabi feels a sudden nip at his fingers. Cursing, he pulls back slightly, only to see the mischievous fucker’s pupils go wider. He wipes the bits of chicken grease off in the dewy grass and offers his palm again, checking both sides of the street to make sure nobody’s looking.

As if to taunt him, the little furball pounces and takes a swipe at Dabi’s hand before he can turn his attention back to the porch. It chatters in surprise when the man pulls away just in time.

Fucker, as Dabi decides to dub this newfound enemy of his, darts toward his other hand where he’s drawing lazy patterns on the concrete. With its claws half out and its tail puffed up, it races toward the wall, around the flower pot and jumps back onto the lawn to take another playful swing at Dabi’s limbs. Minutes later, he’s got the little menace chasing his fingers in circles, losing balance here and there and rolling over ever so often.

He’s focused, eagerly following the cat’s every move, trying to predict its attacks by the flick of its tail, an ear twitch, pupils that narrow ever so slightly before it leaps forward.

He’ll never admit it. That for once, there’s a sudden lack of grief in his heart.

Only when the first ray of sunshine hits the outer edge of the garden does he let himself fall backwards. The cat is but a purring weight on his thigh, stretching its paws across his lap with the softest ‘Meow’. Eyes closed and arms stretched out, he inhales slowly and holds his breath until he feels his pulse slow down. Dabi doesn’t care that his hair is getting a little wet, doesn’t care that the grass tickling his ears stings a little, doesn’t care that he’ll probably have red marks on his hands for a while.

If he shuts his eyes hard enough, he might still be able to convince himself that Touya is dead.

#the strength it took me to not turn this into a 5k word dabi x reader could move mountains.#dabi #todoroki touya #touya todoroki #bnha #bnha fluff #dabi x reader #< u cant blame me. this tag is what gets the clicks going and im a sucker for validation #touya x reader #dabi x you #almighty brainfarts it is currently 00:29. good night <3 #edgelord #my writing #x

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chaotic-iguana · 9 months

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Tease

Based on this ask here. Here’s my masterlist and ao3 link.

Summary: Reader teases Joel all day, seemingly getting away with it until a few days later when he decides to get his payback, with a little bit of angst and plot sprinkled in. based on above request. (no/pre-outbreak AU.)

Pairing: husband! joel x reader (no use of y/n)

Wordcount: 4k (yeah i know. i know)

Warnings: bondage, dacryphilia, edging/denial, overstim, mean daddy dom! joel basically just fixing your attitude, smut and fluff, a little angst but its ok he takes care of it, implied/referenced age gap, husband! joel, soft joel but also most importantly malewife! joel ofc. MDNI please

A/N: so i went way off the prompt here and fleshed this out into a whole fic (my longest one yet actually); i hope you dont mind. i did change some elements, but it is still a pre-outbreak fic with an established relationship, and joel does technically punish reader for the pool party. i sprinkled some (~2k words) plot in to sort of have the forgetting about it element yk? and also im just feral for husband joel so this was an extremely experimental fic. i really hope you like it!

——————————————————————————————————

So far, it had been a really good day. Your newly-moved-in next door neighbors invited you, Joel, and Sarah over (along with half the block) for their housewarming party. For the first two or so hours, you sat on a reclined chaise next to the pool, watching Sarah splash around with the kids down below while Joel sat next to the grill with the other men, drinking a beer and in a seemingly animated conversation with someone.

You wanted to laugh at the scene, witty comments about white men crowding to gossip about one of their three common interests - football, grilling or women - sitting just on the tip of your tongue while you chatted with Mia, your long-time neighbor and friend. Lying in the sun with a mimosa in hand, a book on one side of you and a companion on the other made something itch in your brain; a need to break the comfortable lethargy that had set in your bones.

You were just this close to melting into the lawn chair out of boredom - lifting your head to scan your surroundings for Joel again, squinting underneath a furrowed brow when you can’t seem to find him. He was just there. Huffing, you grabbed the overshirt you had on-his flannel, actually, and pulled it up over your head. Gesturing for Mia to pass over the sunscreen, you took some out in your hand before starting to rub it in circles all over your arms, chest, stomach and legs.

You were about to turn and try and get some on your back as well, when a man you don’t remember meeting before walked up to you and asked if he could “help you out”. You stuttered and told him it was alright, your husband would do it for you, swiveling your head to find him but gritting your teeth when once again, you couldn’t find Joel. Growing increasingly irritated, you turned to your friend, rolling your eyes at her teasing grin. “Where is he?” you mused, equal parts irritated with Joel for going MIA and with the creepy man you could see still hovering just a few steps away. “Why don’t you go find him? I’ll look after Sarah and yell for you if something happens,” she offers, smiling with a knowing glint in her eye.

He’d been busy with some big construction contract these past two weeks, and the one morning you thought he’d be able to spend with you was spent with him passed out on the couch; apparently Tommy had needed to be bailed out late the previous night and he’d slipped out while you were sleeping. You missed Joel. He should have been the one helping you with sunblock, not some random guy-John, you’d learned, from two streets down with a chihuahua and a dentistry clinic not too far-who also evidently lacked the ability to shut up, because now your head was swimming with useless things about him he’d offered up to catch your attention, obviously thinking your “husband” was an excuse to end the conversation.

So maybe you conveniently forgot to put the shirt back on and decided to find Joel in your skimpy swimsuit. Maybe you even batted your lashes at a few of the men gathered on the other side of the pool, and laughed a bit too sweetly and easily at their terrible jokes and obvious flirting. Just as you were about to ask if they’d seen where Joel went, the man himself materialized behind you. You felt a possessive hand grip your waist as he peered at the guys you were talking to with something in his gaze aggressive enough to suddenly make all the men stuttering, bumbling fools who were instantly unable to meet your eyes, sheepishly muttering excuses before turning back to each other. Suppressing a grin, you turned to him and brought a hand up to his cheek, peering up at him through your lashes. “So evasive, Mr. Miller. I was having such a hard time finding you, I had to settle for spending some time with other people, instead.” You watched his gaze get darker, hardening as he trailed it over your form. Got him.

“Let me introduce you to my new friend, John. He’s a dentist and he has the cutest dog,” you grip his wrist and tug him behind you before waving at John enthusiastically and walking up to him. John, you found, was also a complete idiot, because he choked on a greeting when he caught sight of your nipples through the swimsuit. Nevertheless, you persisted. “Meet my husband, Joel.” You point at John, explaining to Joel “Y’ know he’s also really kind? Offered to help me apply my sunblock without me asking. I was struggling with my back and chest, wasn’t I John?” you turn back to the man in question with another deceivingly charming smirk, watching him wither under Joel’s scowl and nod meekly; mumbling an apology and slinking towards the drinks.

Catching sight of Joel’s thunderous expression, you innocently raise a brow at him before stretching exaggeratedly, palming his bulge subtly as you move your hands over your head. “Sitting around in all this heat, think I need to cool off for a bit. See ya later” is all you offer to him, slipping into the adults’ side of the pool before he can retaliate, biting your lip in an effort not to snicker at the frustration teeming from him: clenched fists and tightened jaw, narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. He let out a long, shuddering breath before waving back to Sarah and stalking back to his friends.

Overall, the party was pretty boring. But holding Joel’s gaze every time you bent forward just a littlemore than necessary, giggled at someone’s musings more than was warranted, or bit your lip in that way you knew drove him crazy before turning away from him and back to whoever you were speaking to? Priceless. You’d be willing to pay to do it again.

His breaking point was when he saw you get out of the pool, water dripping from your hair and mascara smudged just enough to send images of you with his cock down your throat flashing in his mind - him slamming his beer bottle down before smiling tightly at his companions and thanking the hosts, grousing something about an early morning before his hand was around your wrist and Sarah bundled in his other arm - barely giving you any time for goodbyes as you were being dragged behind him in the direction of your home.

Laughing at his desperation, you cocked a questioning brow at him before feighning naïvety to the situation. “What’s wrong? I thought you were kept plenty busy at the party, no? Why’re we leaving so soon?” you questioned, capturing your bottom lip between your teeth as you frowned at him and searched his face. “Not early. Been five hours, sweetheart. ‘S a school night, remember?” was all he remarked to you before opening the door and carrying Sarah up to bed.

You honest-to-God waited for him in bed, but the fatigue from such a thrilling evening caught up quickly after the adrenaline faded. Before you knew it, you’d fallen asleep in your new set of lingerie, blinking awake when your alarm went off at 5 am the next morning. Blearily pulling yourself out of bed, you groaned in frustration at the fact that you still hadn't gotten time with Joel and it was Monday again. Which inevitably meant he'd be caught up in his important contract this week too; coming home late, leaving early, the whole spiel.

The week passed by in a monotonous blur, and you got increasingly snappier with Joel in the short minutes that you did see him, frustrated with the distance that had developed between you two. On top of everything at home, work had gotten more stressful lately as sales didn’t meet the quotas and your boss decided to take it out on all of you. Normally, it wouldn’t have bothered you; he was a dick to you most of the time, but you couldn’t even rant about it to your favorite person because you barely saw him. You needed Joel - not just on top of you - holding you, talking to you, comforting you as before.

Friday rolled around, and turned out to be extremely shitty while it was at it. Your alarm didn’t go off, thanks to which you reached work thirty minutes later than usual after dropping Sarah off. Some intern had fucked up paperwork, and the fallout was promptly handed to you with a jeering tone and sharp glare as if it was somehow your fault. You’d forgotten lunch at home, so you had to spend the day on stale coffee and somehow bitter biscuits, and when you reached Sarah’s school to pick her up as usual they told you Joel had done it already. Feeling tears of frustration build up in your eyes, you dialed his number while climbing back into your car. Was it so difficult to communicate simple things like ‘I’ll pick her up today’? A text or quick call would have worked; saved you the trip and your boss’s biting remarks about your “priorities” while you walked out of the office to get to Sarah’s school in time.

When he didn’t pick up, you drove straight home. Fuck going back to work. You needed your bed. And Joel, but he clearly was too busy to so much as pick up a fucking phone. Wiping your eyes, you slammed the car door shut and started trudging to your bedroom, too overwhelmed to notice that the door had been unlocked. Jumping, you gasped in surprise when you walked it and saw Joel sitting on the bed, holding two wine glasses and looking up at you. “What the fuck, Joel? What are you doing here?” you bit out at him. He blinked up at you, frowning at your anger and the tear-stains on your cheek while you glared at him with eyes red from crying.

“Told the boys to handle it today, thought you looked a bit rough lately, wanted to spent the evening together. Dropped Sarah off at her friend’s house an’ was just about to call you to take the day off. You okay?” his tone was so gentle, concern evident in his voice as he reached a hand out towards you.

“Call me? Oh, so suddenly you’re capable of using a phone?” you bat his hand away and continue “And I’ve been looking rough?” your laugh is bitter, but your anger morphs into something sharper. “Maybe I’d look less rough if I saw my husband more often or if he could just pick up the damn phone and text me when he’s picking our daughter up so I don’t get into deeper shit with my stupid fucking boss!” You’re yelling by the end of it, but you can’t stop the words tumbling out now. “And I’ve missed you so much, tried so hard on Sunday, but you just didn’t come to bed. This week has been absolute dogshit-fucking interns messed everything up and somehow it’s on me-and you’ve been so distant,so I’m so sorry for looking rough, Joel.” Your tears return with a vengeance, and you turn away from him as you feel them spill over your lashline, pressing your hands into your eyes as your shoulders shake.

And suddenly he’s in front of you, solid and warm and there again, crowding you into his arms and holding you tight against him. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been here, and it’s been tearing me apart too. Missed you every damn day, shoulda seen how I’ve been at the site all week. Been snapping at everyone left and right. And I’m sorry I didn’t pick up - my phone was chargin’ an’ Sarah was telling me a story the whole way there so I didn’t see you’d called till just now.” His hand cradles your head under his chin as the other strokes your back, and he’s so gentle you want to cry harder.

You stay there for a while until you feel calmer, pulling back to look up at him. His eyes are wide, swimming with worry as he wipes your cheeks with his thumb. You sniff, bringing a hand up to swipe your nose, and grimace apologetically at the wet patch of snot, tears and makeup on his chest. At the quizzical way he raises a brow, you clarify, with a grin: “I’ve completely ruined your shirt.”

“Could think of better ways to ruin shirts, baby. An’ don’t think your effort on Sunday went unnoticed either. Was so damn ready to rip that lacy set off ya, but some idiot kid told Sarah a ghost story an’ I had to check under the bed n’ in the closet every two minutes till she fell asleep. By the time I crawled into bed, you were asleep and looking so peaceful I didn’t wanna wake you. ‘M sorry, honey”. His thumb was rubbing circles on your cheek now as he looked down at you, regret written all over his face.

Softening, you reached up to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. And another on the other side. And another, until you were just ghosting your mouth all over his face and jaw, giggling when his lips twitched into a smile. “There’s my girl” he whispered into the kisses, making you beam as your kisses got more feverish, more urgent. All the need from the past few weeks came rushing back, making you dizzy with desperation as you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged, moaning softly at the hitch in his breath.

Suddenly, your wrists were caught by one of his hands and he was stepping back. “Then again, honey, found it really fuckin’ difficult not to notice you at that party when you were teasin’ me all evenin’. Did ya enjoy putting on a show for our neighbors, hm?” his thumb trailed your jaw, fingers curling under your chin as you nodded. “That’s not something good girls do, is it now?” And then he was ducking his head, sucking bruises into your neck and soothing them with his tongue. He chuckled at the whimper that escaped you, his hand coming down to swat your ass. “Answer me, sweet thing. Do good girls go around begging for attention when they know daddy’s gonna take care ‘f them?” the rasp of his voice cut through the haze building in your head as you gasped when he nibbled your ear.

“N-no daddy. Plea-please take care of me,” you whined, trying to pull your hands from his unrelenting grasp as you felt him swat your ass again. He just gripped them harder, nipping at your neck before he pulled away completely, chuckling at your alarmed whimper.

“Relax, sweetheart. Course ‘m gonna take care of you. But I gotta punish you, too, remember? Didn’t think I forgot John and his adorable dog so quick, did ya?” His smirk became animalistic as he nudged you to the bed, pawing at your clothes to guide you to take them off.

“Wouldn’t know how it works at your age, old man. Thought your memory mighta started to go by now,” you coo up at him, eager to see him undone. His answering snarl prompted your smirk to widen before he looked down at you with a tight set to his jaw.

“Got such a mouth on you, babygirl. ‘S okay, I’ll take care ‘f it,” was all the warning you got before his hands were everywhere, groping and grabbing at you while his mouth resumed its assault on your neck. His bites got harsher, making you yelp, and he grinned against your skin before lapping at the near-broken skin before trailing his lips downwards.

He pinched your nipples harshly, rolling them between his thumb and forefingers before ducking down to catch one between his teeth and tug cruelly, making you release high-pitched moans as your back arched into him. Switching sides, he starts flicking the other one and smoothing over it when you whimper before trailing hot open-mouthed kisses into your sternum and moving down your body to settle with his head between your legs. Turning to the side, he started nipping the inside of your thighs; rolling the flesh between his teeth and sucking at it till they were matted blue and purple. Leaning back to admire his handiwork, he brought his mouth down to press kisses just above your mound, moving back to your thighs before you huffed and bucked your hips. His eyes glinting dangerously, he smiled up at you before tilting his head. “Need somethin’, baby?” his voice was laced with amusement as he drawled the question up at you, watching you buck under him.

At the stubborn shake of your head, he laughed before dragging a thumb down your folds, holding it up for you to see the slick coating it. "Y'sure, pretty?" you could hear the cockiness creeping into his voice and it just made you needier, whining down at him to do anything. His mouth ghosted over your clit, stubble scratching right there before he moved down to your thigh again, making you wind a hand into his hair and pull, albeit harshly. Tutting, he pushed up onto his elbows. "Wasn't very nice, now was that?” his lips quirked to the side at the sight of your frustration before you stuttered out a pathetic "t-touch me, please", at which he laughed again.

“Needy little thing. Let’s fix that attitude, hm?” and he pushed off entirely, stalking to the closet and pulling out a tie. Looming over you, he weaved the strip of fabric between your headboard and secured your wrists to it. “Too tight?” he checked, looking down at you to sense any discomfort. When you pulled experimentally to check and showed him it was alright, he went back to his earlier position. Blowing a breath over your cunt, he relished in your squirming before grazing your clit with his teeth and pressing down softly before lapping at it. Pressing kisses against you, he slid a finger inside you and began pumping it at an agonizingly slow pace. Feeling your orgasm approach embarassingly fast, you opened your mouth to warn him, but just as you began clenching against his finger, he pulled away to pull the hood of your clit back and blow on it again, making you keen.

Smiling, he inserted three fingers into you roughly before using his teeth on your clit again, your sensitivity making you mewl and rock your hips away, but his other hand attached itself to your hip to pin you to the mattress before his fingers began fucking into you in earnest. Pulsating in his mouth, you felt yourself about to clamp down again before he pulled out and away once more. Whining and kicking your legs out in aggravation, you frowned down at him and watched him smirk at your tantrum.

This time, he kept his head up to maintain eye contact with you while he ground his palm against your clit and squeezed three fingers into you again. Bringing you to the edge once more, he answered your devastated whimper at the denial by slapping your clit in rapid succession, each hit harder than the last and making your thighs twitch.

He continued for what felt like hours. The sun went down, and with it the lingering scraps of your pride and expectation to come. He edged you until you were a mumbling mess, babbling broken pleas down at him; till your clit was painfully red and swollen and your slick was running down your thighs. Tears were flowing down your face as you bucked your hips in search for his fingers, but his merciless chuckle taunted you again as you sobbed. “P-please, please, ple-please, gonna be g-good, please…” Your voice broke with every word you wailed, and he contemplated for a second before nodding and entering you in a single thrust.

You could feel the tip of his cock kissing your womb, overwhelming you to the point of pain. A wince marked your features, making him pause and strum your clit before starting to fuck into you at a brutal pace. You were yanking against your restraints now, eyes rolling back into your head every time he entered into you - hitting the spot that made your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably.

Your babbles were reduced to mono-syllabic moans, rendering you unable to warn him of the release you felt coiling in you. When you started clenching against him, he just doubled down the force of his thrusts and the movements against your clit, delighting in the way you twitched at the oversensitivity as he drew out your orgasm. “D-daddy, nnh-D-Da-Daddy” was all you could get out as the oversensitivity consumed you, making you go limp as his pace didn’t falter.

He gripped your chin and leaned forward to spit into your open mouth, eyeing the drool dribble down your chin as your jaw hung slack. “What is it pretty girl? Use your words.” Another thrust. You opened your mouth to answer him, to beg him to slow down, but all that came out was a pathetically shrill “ca-can’t” as he rolled his hips into yours halfway through your word, making you choke. “Eager enough to whore herself out in public, but when she gets what she needs she can’t? Too bad, pretty girl, you’re gonna get it now.” He stopped for a glorious second, reaching down to rest his forehead on yours before planting kisses on your face and forehead to give you a second to breathe. Glancing up at your straining wrists, he pulled at the knot of his tie to free them, then resumed his previous speed.

Raking your fingers down his back, your eyes fluttered shut at the continued drive of him impaling you on his cock, meeting his mouth in sloppy kisses as his fingers came down to flick over your clit again. “Again.” His command sent a jolt through you, pulling you taut as every cell in your body pushed itself to overdrive to obey and every sensation seemed to multiply tenfold. Joel was everywhere, consuming your entire being, and you felt your joints lock up as your hips arched off the bed before you were cumming devastatingly hard, soaking him with the force of your release. His fingers kept abusing your clit, your whole body jerking with the force of the hypersensitivity. He pressed in impossibly deeper, sobs hiccuping from you and weak hands pushing at his chest. He pressed into you languidly, in slow, deep strokes that left you ruined before gasping in your ear and cumming deep inside you.

Going limp on top of you, he pressed his face into your neck and lay on you as you both caught your breath - ruining the peaceful moment by looking up at you with a boyish grin and a twinkle in his eye, glancing down at your joined forms and snickering like a child finding much-coveted candy. At the furrow in your brow, he elaborated - “Who knew all it took was a little edgin’ to make you squirt, huh?” And judging by the tone of his voice, you knew it wouldn’t be long before he was going to test that theory. And he did - twenty minutes later. And again. Over and over, until your cunt was convulsing and throbbing with oversensitivity - only then did he pull away, gathering you in his arms and holding you to him before suggesting softly, “Sarah wanted to stay over for the rest of the weekend. Let’s pick her up on Sunday, and how about you and me take some time to ourselves, hm?” You nod into his chest, voice too hoarse to reply, and hum in contentment as he starts stroking your hair. You needed to act out more often.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @breakfastatjoels

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possibilistfanfiction · 4 months

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happy new year! maybe a prompt for sleep/nap bc i need one lol

bea 🧑🏻‍⚕️🐝❤️‍🩹 (4:27 am): If you’re done with your post-op and would like to stop by, I’m in the on-call room.

it’s so late it’s almost morning, and you really should be headed home because, technically, your shift is over and you’d been at the hospital for, like, too many hours to really want to keep track of at this point. but bea — beatrice choi, md, the resident in charge of you — is, like, so handsome, and kind, and an incredible teacher, with her perfect handwriting and her free gender-affirming clinic and all the languages she knows fluently. you think you’re a little in love with her, but who can blame you — you’re sleep-deprived and sometimes in awe of the skill and calm she has, even in just her third year.

Dr. Ava Silva (4:31 am): sweet yah omw :)

when you open the door, a little harried, you immediately still and quiet as much as you can. bea has the room darkened, the only light coming in from a sliver under the window curtain, blue and red from the ambulances and easy white-gold from the street lights in the hospital parking lot. you’ve spent so much of your life — way too much of your life — in dark rooms in hospitals in uncomfortable beds that, for years, you could barely even feel, so you should want to run away. you should want to leave as soon as your shift is over and go home to your cramped apartment with its rickety table you found on the side of the road and its lumpy couch and the chipped mug in the kitchen — it’s not much; you can’t afford more, but it’s yours.

but you’re starting to think in some way maybe beatrice is yours too. all of the tension in your shoulders from the day — from countless central lines and three boring laparoscopic surgeries and one fatal stabbing in the er, from sutures and journals and so much to learn — melts away when you see her fast asleep. bea is on her back, scrub top off, one arm over her head, the blanket pooled around her waist, her phone face down on the flat plane of her chest — scars you haven’t seen before there that make you smile, just a little, beautiful — like she’d fallen asleep texting you. based on the fact that it’s only — you check your watch — 4:35 am, you’re pretty sure she did.

camila keeps pestering you, and probably bea too, knowing her, to just talk to chief superion about your feelings so you can be on another resident’s service, so that there won’t be any issues and you can kiss bea if you want, but it’s, like, totally terrifying to imagine not only telling beatrice your feelings, let alone dr. superion, who puts up with your antics but just barely.

you could leave. you could sneak out the door right now back to your apartment. it feels like a cliff to jump off, or a knife’s edge — but maybe it’s not that. maybe it’s something warm and easy and not really a choice at all, to love the steadiest person you’ve ever met.

it’s easy to pull your running shoes off and discard your white coat and climb into the small space in the small bed next to her. she stirs a little, and so you say, ‘hey, i’m here.’ and she puts out her arm so you can lie down. it’s an invitation, albeit a sleepy one, so you make sure: ‘is this okay?’

she hums and nods. ‘hi ava.’

her voice is heavy with exhaustion; later you’ll come to find out that the hardest part of residency for beatrice — beyond literally everything else you personally find abhorrent and impossible — was just a lack of sleep.

‘hey bea,’ you say, close enough to count her freckles and take in the warmth of her skin. she curls into you when you scoot closer to her, and it’s cramped and these beds are horrible for your back but it’s still basically heaven. you feel such deep fondness for her, small and in the dark like this, so different from her ramrod straight posture and clever hands in the light.

she mumbles something incoherent and pulls you closer, and you fall asleep just like that. you’re awakened by the sound of her pager — a crime in your book, totally homophobic — just as the sun has risen. she’s disoriented, seemingly, as she wakes up painfully, and you kind of expect her to panic upon seeing you. but she smiles apologetically, a little nervous but apparently happy you’re there.

‘i don’t remember you coming in,’ bea says, searching for her scrub top until you hand it to her from where it was discarded over the side of the bed. she looks at you questioningly for one second, the tiniest bit of trepidation crossing her face, and so you just smile.

‘you were very asleep, mere minutes after texting me. kinda rude to knock out after inviting me, don’t you think?’

her little blush is worth everything as she checks her pager and slips into her clogs. ‘you’re lucky i even managed to get that text off.’

’the er was that bad?’

she groans. ‘worse than.’

you’re ready to just lay around for a few minutes before you go home, but then she pulls on her quarter zip and you think about the scrub cap she’d had on earlier, blue with little otters all over it, unexpectedly adorable, and you decide to get up anyway. ‘have time for me to grab you a coffee as i head out?’

‘i’m sorry i kept you here. that can’t have been comfortable.’

you have to physically hold back the urge to tell her about how good she smells, even smooshed near her armpit. you’re, like, the best at all things self-control though, obviously, and so you don’t. instead you just shrug and stand, thankful for the last round of jillian’s shots that seem to be helping your back. ‘well, if you weren’t so ripped.’

she rolls her eyes, but her blush remains. camila is right, you think, because all you want to do is kiss her right now. but you don’t, you’re good for once, and you get ready too, as quickly as you can, and then hold the door open for her. she blinks a few times at the light, rubs her eyes behind her glasses, but then smiles at you — just for you.

‘maybe, soon,’ she says, taking a brave little breath after you’d waited in easy silence at the coffee counter, ‘you might want to join me on a hike? i go most days off if i can.’

and, like, that’s a terrible idea for you maybe, but whatever, some of your most ambitious terrible ideas have earned you an md and a phd and this very cool person in front of you, offering. ‘i’d really love that,’ you say. ‘text me.’

she nods, definitely pushing the time it would take to answer a page — lilith is going to be pissed, a delightful detail — and then reaches out to squeeze your hand, just once.

‘have a good day, dr. choi.’

she smiles. ‘see you soon, dr. silva.’

#wn fic #avatrice fic #prompts #wn #avatrice #surgeons au #like i'm kind of obsessed w this again but it'll probably stay as little prompt fills #idk it's a good one #anyway lol #butch bea 🥺🫡

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raintailed · 2 months

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posting this out of order because i'm REALLY PROUD of it. hi this is the Wild!!! I finally gave it a design, based on the mycorrhizal network prompt :]

Uhhh. Basically, the Wild is a Being (in summary, a god-thing that both rules over, and is, its domain)! Its domain is the Ancient Glade, an enormous old growth forest located in the Dreaming local group. During the construction of the group's senior, a large portion of the Wild's domain was destroyed, so the Wild basically went into hibernation because it had been severely weakened.

This reference is for what the Wild would look like if it were to wake up (right now its body is eepy asleepy in a clearing somewhere deep in the Ancient Glade, and pretty overgrown). Its body is vaguely rain deer-shaped, but is technically a complex network of plants and fungi working together as one! Because I think it's really cool :]]

Technically the entirety of the Wild's domain would be considered a mycorrhizal network, but I don't want to make a reference for an entire region LOL. Just know that the Ancient Glade is extremely dangerous and trespassing creatures almost always mysteriously disappear (read: get eaten). It is by a stroke of luck that the Wild tolerates the presence of TERRA's creatures.

also @banyanas tagging you bc i think you might like this freakish beast!

#raintailed's art #funguary #funguary2024 #beingverse #rain world #rw #rain world oc #my ocs #the wild (oc)#reference #long post #im crazy. im crazy. im crazy. can you believe this is a rain world oc?#hmm... a game where you struggle to survive in a hostile ecosystem... why not make a character that IS a hostile ecosystem #BTW the plants on its antlers are based on spanish moss

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kob131 · 3 months

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Out of nowhere I bet but I wanna try listing off why AI Art isn't good-

The common argument against the accusation of AI Art is that human beings themselves take ideas from their surroundings and mix them together to make 'original' ideas (like a horse with a horn to make a unicorn). However, the difference between an AI and a human being comes not only from how the human brain is infinitely more powerful than any computer ever made by humanity (meaning it can consider ideas and alter them at a far greater rate than any algorithm) but also that the human brain is affected by things like 'preference' and 'bias' for certain ideas or expressions.

For example, a person who prefers anime style drawings will almost always interpret the idea of 'badass horse' will interpret that to mean 'badass horse in an anime style'. While this seems simplistic and easy to replicate with AI (keyword being replicate)- there are INNUMERABLE preferences and biases that come into play when making art. To the point that an ultra specific prompt could still result in innumerable different interpretations because of people's individual tastes. This can then satisfy numerous peoples' different desires or perhaps even create a new demand. AI can't really do this- It will give you exactly what you asked for. ... Exactly. No differing interpretations or unique ideas mixed in. You ask for 'horse with a water mane' and you get a horse with a water mane. That's it.

Another reason why AI Art isn't good is that AI art...is just a dead end. The way it works is that the algorithm is taught to look at certain images in association with certain keywords and then, based off the data given, it will spit out an image to match. ... Notice how, in this process- the AI is reliant on outside information to make the image. As in, the AI NEEDS to be able to look at certain artstyles in order to properly fulfill its request. Unlike a human artist, who can use the data gained from other experiences (like touch, taste and hearing) along with how those would be associated with certain imagery to create new styles or interpretations. Humans can independently create ideas, AI can only regurgitate.

There's also how the human brain has this...uncanny ability to detect when something looks wrong or doesn't look real. You see this most often in movies or shows with heavy use of CGI- the images might be more technically impressive but without the grounding in real life that practical effects have they can easily look off because computers...just can't generate anything on par with reality. Same with AI- it can generate images resembling real works of art. ... But there's always something in them, some variable the AI can never account for, that will tip off the human brain to the fact that a human didn't make this.

In short- AI cannot take creative liberties, is basically parasitic with human artists and is too simplistic to match a real artist.

That's why AI art is a bad idea from my point of view.

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inbetweenhours · 1 year

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How It Started VS How Its Going

Back on that @pinchhitsfromthevoid hype! This pinch prompt was for @dayables who I know got spoiled in the brainstorming chat (rip) but I still hope you enjoy how it turned out! You gave me the option of flower husbands which was absolutely not going to be passed up, as well as the prompt of Arranged Marriage AU. Since I just so happen to already have an arranged marriage au for them, I figured I may as well put some effort into actually showing it off since, despite my very long google doc of plot chicanery, I haven't actually drawn much for it or otherwise got much of anything to show for it.

The real trick here was balancing the angst and fluff. There was no way I wasn't getting out of this without, any angst. The problem was actually finding a suitable amount of fluff to balance this out lol. I knew I wanted to draw their wedding, since that's the whole base of the au and it directly emphasizes your request. The problem is that within the au, these two don’t really get to anywhere that's especially fluffy till weeks if not months after their wedding lol. That’s how I eventually settled on a kind of “before and after” of their relationship.

Mirroring their less than favourable wedding day and first meeting with the renewal of vows they do near the end of their journey within my plot. Where they choose, despite already being stuck together, to have meaning behind their marriage.

Below the cut I’m gonna ramble about the lore important to this piece from the au. Enjoy :]

Okay so first off- their “vows”! Instead of exchanging rings my idea is that the Ocean Empire and Rivendell each have a different giving for their wedding ceremonies.

Merlings have a selkie inspired pelt. Its technically their old skin. Young merlings are much more creature esq, and as they grow they grow out of that skin into a more humanoid form. However they tend to keep their pelts since they are pretty durable and are good for young merlings to protect themselves with and camouflage in the depths. As merlings continue to grow out of even that stage, their pelts become sentimental. kept close to their hearts. The lose of the plt is like a severing of oneself from their soul or heart. Its important for their mental health that they know where their pelt is and that is is safe. They’re not typically handled by people you don’t trust.

Which is why it is traditional that merling will trade pelts with their lover at their wedding. Its imbuing this trust that their partner will give the pelt back. As well it is a symbol of love and soul, metaphorically giving that devotion and adoration to their partner.

Elves meanwhile are a type of fae. The rules I use for elves names are adjacent but not directly the same as other fae, such as the faeries of the overgrown. Elven names hold power over the individual still, but its far less than what a faerie might hold. It more a social power than anything else. Elves keep public and personal names. These “true” personal names can only be chosen by the elf themself. They are only given to people who you trust absolutely. May that be family, longtime friends, or lovers. Its not uncommon in Rivendell for lovers to not share their true names until their wedding day, though even if they have the vows are much the same. Giving their spouse the gift of their name, to use as they please. This is done both out of trust (much like the merlings pelts), trusting their lovers not to hurt them with their name. And more importantly it offers devotion to your spouse, which would be returned of course.

Now when it comes to Flower Husbands... this all falls apart. These two have not had a real conversation till their vows. They have no trust or love for one another, and are in fact quite afraid of each other. Neither want to give over something so terrifyingly precious to the other.

Jimmy feels pressured to do so, despite Lizzie insisting he doesn’t have to, because he knows how a wedding should go. He knows the citizens of the Ocean Empire do not trust that his mother, The Empress, has made the right choice in allowing this marriage to go through. He knows if he doesn’t do his best to make this look and feel legit for them, then they’ll only have more problems in the future. And he really is trying to be responsible, trying to prove himself to his family and his kingdoms that he can do the right thing. He isn’t just the prince, the second born. He is loved by his country, deeply so, but nothing is expected of him. He wants to do one good thing for them in turn. Hell, he volunteered himself so that his sister wouldn’t throw away her preexisting courtship. He loves his family and his country, and he has never been asked to do a thing for them. He just wants to prove he can.

So he drapes his pelt over Scotts shoulders, careful and with the sudden understanding of how badly it hurts to see. How easily being separated from it would destroy him. And he can only hope Scott will return it soon.

Scott meanwhile doesn’t believe in another choice. He is the Chosen Champion of Aeor, god of Winter and Stasis. He is a representative of tradition for Rivendell. As much as he is fuming about the marriage, he has rarely acted out in his life. The golden child for so much of his adolescence that even when that love has left he knows little more than to hold his tongue and obey... for now. Still, he knows what is expected of him for the wedding. And despite there being no way for his family or the citizens to verify he abided by tradition in this instance, he is loyal enough to his god (and in fact fairly knows his god perceives him and he would know he wronged him) to not try and get around it.

So he gives his name, as coldly and objectively as he can. It is not a gift, but Jimmy, traditionally, has a right to it through their union. He can only pray Jimmy be kind with it.

Ultimately both spouses are careless with their exchange. Scott misunderstands the importance of the pelt, and keeps it far to long. Jimmy misunderstand the weight of Scotts name, and speaks it carelessly. Its rough, and terrifying. But it leads them to understanding, to finding common ground and for the first time finding hope in their situation as they understand the other not as an enemy but as the only ally in the same situation as them.

Finally I’m gonna do a quick run through of details I was happy with, kinda lore relevant but with less flowery language on the plot.

At their wedding both are dressed in traditional wedding garb for their empires, as well I’ve referenced my board loosely to dress the crowd properly. Rivendell brides/grooms tend to wear white. It represents purity, white is typically only worn in formal settings o it wont be dirties anyways, and it doesn't represent either individual god. Allowing neutrality. Jimmy is wearing a loose cut deep blue outfit with small decorative. Dark colours but especially deep blues are traditional as they connect with both the deep waters and the sky, tying an individual throughout to the world and their life.

In their renewal of vows they wear nearly the same outfits, however Jimmy sports some golden Rivendell jewelry and Scott in turn sports some pearls in his hair much like how Jimmy had at their wedding. Its about the sharing <33

Wedding day was very formal, very controlled. Both of their hair pulled back and styled in very proper traditional ways. At their vow renewal everything was up to them, so Jimmy looks a bit more like himself (as messy as that may be) and Scott has both his kingship and his hair cut (lore) so he’s a feeling a lot more stable

Scotts wears gloves at his wedding, vs without gloves at renewal! Tied in, at his wedding Scotts hair and skin is patterned with growing frost as he gets cold feet (hah) and is very upset about the situation versus his renewals where he has much more control of his powers and very explicitly happy with the situation

That is all for now! Day I hope you liked the pinch! Everyone else i hope you liked the lore! I would love to do more with the au going forward, I have a growing plot document and love talking about it. If anyone wants me to expand on any thoughts, has questions about the plot or characters or otherwise, my inbox is always open and I am attentive to both tags and comments ;) <3

#smajor #solidaritygaming #empires smp #empires smp 1 #empiresshipping #flower husbands #flower husbands arranged marriage au #hoursart #hourspost #pinch hit #the real miracle here is how i managed to get a background on tw oof these panels like what #pulled up my copy of the world download to reference the church and the prisma palace and everything #fun fact the one other post i have on this au is about a plotpoint that has actually straight up been moved #the tension goes on so much longer now lmaoo #long post #ig #rblogs appreciated!#also i do not believe in jimmy being that eloquent ever that was preritten and memoried lol #no id

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