the best part of field trip experiments is a chance to become THE experiment yourself ;)

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Three Goblin Art
taylor price
Misplaced Lens Cap
Show & Tell
One Nice Bug Per Day
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
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blake kathryn
hello vonnie
Claire Keane

Love Begins
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wallacepolsom
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Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă

romaâ
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
seen from United States
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seen from Romania
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seen from Belgium

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@omnitf
the best part of field trip experiments is a chance to become THE experiment yourself ;)
The Evil Prince
orc
I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesnât work. itâs never worked. itâs notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it peopleâs works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.
the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.
"stop saying shit that pisses me off" witch vs. "come over here and make me why dontcha" officer
you are challenged by Dragon Tamer Harmony!!!
Is this the mpreg blog? Iâm trying to find tournament records.
Wrong blog. I donât do MPREG stories. Sorry.
Legend holds that our language was buried fully-formed from the desert sands. Our ancestors sank to their knees, plunged their hands deep into the sand, and found the first word. It sparkled in the sunlight - blinding if you held it at a particular angle. This was the word for 'dig'.
The language wasn't a flat object, nor was it buried too close to the surface. Its veins and tendrils snaked in every direction, forming a cage that contained nothing but tonnes and tonnes of sand.
To uncover it, our ancestors started digging. With their bare hands, they dug into the sand until they could uncover more and more of this language left to them as an inheritance. Wood, metal, shovel, pickaxe, love, camaraderie, curiosity, endeavour, all these words entered the virtual lexicon.
As they uncovered more and more of the language, our ancestors learnt about more and more things. Ideas that existed in a time before they arrived in the desert, tools and implements, and of course, violence and weapons. There was conflict, and collateral damage. Many words were smashed to pieces, lost forever in a jumble of shining syllables or crumbled into dust that became one with the sand.
The hole in the desert grew wide and deep. Our ancestors learnt about things that they had not, could not have conceived of. With the wealth of other words they had uncovered, they began working their way towards making those inconceivable words conceivable. They worked to make the hypothetical real.
Away from the hole where new words were mined, an entirely new occupation coalesced. The words uncovered from the hole were processed, their properties determined and re-arranged, so that our ancestors could do something unprecedented. They created new words.
These words could be purer, bigger, shinier. You could use them in ways heretofore unimagined.
A rift was formed between those who created and used these artificial words, and those who worshipped the words in the desert. After all, if the language was fully-formed, there was no need to create new words. The right words only have to be found. They would occur naturally.
Further problems emerged as artificial words were passed off as natural discoveries. One perpetrator of such fraud was unrepentant about his actions. "This word, when found, will be of the exact same composition as the artificial word. So what difference does it make if we use it now, before it has been uncovered?"
No one knew the true extent of the language. Did it stretch across the entirety of the desert, or perhaps comprise the entire sphere that formed the planet? These thoughts, which could not have been put to words once, were now on the lips of every citizen.
These speculations eventually caused the digging to slow down. Did we really need more words? The sand reclaimed the hole. And now, the language lies buried so deep, that if you were to start digging now, it would take years to find the first new word.
Huh, my head feels kinda funny... Oh well, no need head for big muscle đŽ
Commission for @/flexwag on bsky and twitter
huuuughhhhh yahoo selling scraped data from tumblr to AI sloo probably uughhhwaaauuwghhhhhh
Parent company Automattic will reportedly sell Tumblr content to OpenAI and MidJourney for training data. Here's how you can opt out.
bwwaaaughhhhhhgggh enshittification continues
this is what you're looking for to opt out!!!
It's under Visibility, noy Privacy like I assumed at first.
every day I learn bot comments on ao3 are stooping lower and lower
anyway if you get a comment like this, chances are that they are bot and their goal is to do whatever it takes to get you to delete your work, most certainly (from what Iâve heard) itâs because they want to âsafelyâ steal your work, use it to train their ai without you being able to rightfully claim ownership of your work since âthereâs no proof that the work was stolen/was posted elsewhere first by youâ because the original source has already been deleted.
THEY ARE ALL BOTS. at first it was âao3 is deleting fics and your entire account will be affected unless you delete the fics yourselfâ then it was âthis work contains contents that are illegal and they have already reported you and your fic to the policeâ (yes, thatâs how desperate these bots are), and now itâs this.
report their comments to ao3 for spamâin this case, specifically, I think you may be able to report them for harassment tooâand donât pay attention to them, most importantly donât delete your works, donât feel discouraged by their comments. remember that they are bots and they mass comment something like this on peopleâs works at random to get people to delete their works. (or even if theyâre not bot, they are still pathetic bullies who donât deserve your time or attention.)
MORE ABOUT BOTS AND SCAMS PLAGUING AO3âS COMMENTS SECTION HERE
"Witch Hat Atelier (Tongari Boushi no Atelier)" TV Anime new character visuals & PV unveiled
Air Date: April 2026
In a world where everyone takes wonders like magic spells and dragons for granted, Coco is a girl with a simple dream: she wants to be a wizard. But everybody knows magicians are born, not made, and she was not born with a gift for magic. Resigned to her un-magical life, Coco is about to give up on her dream until the day she meets Qifrey, a mysterious traveling magician. After secretly watching him perform magic in a way she's never seen before, Coco soon learns what everybody "knows" might not be the truth and discovers that her magical dream may not be as far away as it seems...
Was the rest of the story for School of Buff Jocks ever mapped out? Like do you know what a was meant to happen next and how tbe story was going to end?
I usually write as the story moves forward. Sometimes I have a more thorough outline, but I didnât in this case. I just wanted to have it flow naturally as I worked on it with the plot in my head. Thatâs how I often write. It was originally a commission piece that the commissioner stopped paying for, so I paused it. I may finish it one day, but it is not one of my current projects.
Going to Hex
This Image comes from: @arongreywolfe
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"Jacob, are you in here?" you call to your friend as you enter the apartment. "I brought those supplements you asked fo-ooooh my gosh!" The bag you were carrying clattered to the floor as you stared at the man before you. He wore what looked like a singlet stretched to the utter limit. The straps were so worn that they were little more than a pair of threads at this point while the rest of the singlet or tanktop or whatever it was draped so low that most of his pecs and part of his diaphragm was visible. His legs were bent in a deep squat, two massive dumbbells resting on either side of him. A pair of sweat bands or support bands of some kind were wrapped around his wrists while his bare ankles jutted up from his shoes. You couldn't help but wonder if he was doing this barefoot or just had a pair of socks on that were now too small to cover his ankles. "What?" Jacob asks in a deep voice that seems to have become his new norm after he recovered from that cold he caught. "Jake, have you looked in a mirror lately?" "Well, yeah, of course I have. How else am I supposed to keep track?" "Track of what?" you ask hesitantly, even as he rises to an imposing height you ... don't recall him standing at before. ... or ... did he? You can't help but feel a sense of vertigo when he draws near to squat down and pick up everything you dropped. "My gains. Doc said I needed to make my body stronger again after the virus, remember?" "Yeah, I know, but this isâ" "This is exactly what I need." He rises. And as he does, you swear you see his crotch throb bigger. He shudders and smiles as he carries the supplements over to the small kitchen table and lays them out. "This isn't normal, Jake." Jacob turns to face you. "Sure it is. I'm just being healthy, doing what's right for my body. You sweat the virus out, right? Huhuh." His chest and shoulders bounce like rocks down a mountainside, but they seem to grow bigger, broader, and ... shinier? "Jake, ... that's a myth," you say hesitantly. "And you already knew that." "I did?" He lets loose another deep chuckle as he absently raises a muscular arm and rubs the back of his head, flexing his bicep, pectoral, and trap without realizing. "Guess I forgot." The moment he says that, he shudders and smiles. "Not like it's a big deal. I mean, fever already broke, right? So it's not an issue anyway." "Jakeâ" "Dude, call me Jack." Another wave of vertigo sweeps over you more strongly as he speaks, and you stumble briefly before regaining your balance. "This ... this isn't right, Jack. Something's wrong." Didn't ... didn't you usually call him Jake? Then why ... why was it so easy to switch to Jack? "Dude, we get it. I'm hyper obsessed. Ha ha." He rolled his eyes. "Just because my body piles on muscles all the times doesn't mean I shouldn't still work out. Besides, it feels good." He walks over and grabs your arm, furrowing his brow as he looks at your expression. "You all right, bro?" Before your eyes, Jack grows bigger, his jaw thickening into a prominent block as his neck thickens and his voice deepens further. "What the hell...?" Jack's brow furrows. "You should sit down." You can't muster the will to deny him, despite the weirdness of everything going on. He guides you to the couch. His hands feel wet and hot. "This ... this isn't normal," you say weakly again. Jack puts a massive wrist to your forehead. "You coming down with what I had, bro?" You shudder at the feel of his body so close to you. You smell a hint of onion and garlic, no doubt a result of the exertions Jack was going through before you walked in. Jack frowns. "Don't feel like you're sick. At least not yet."
FCA Files: âThe Restaurant Chainâ
Federal Containment Authority
File: AE-2043
Nickname: âThe Restaurant Chainâ
Status: Active
Acquisition Log:
AE-2043 manifests as a chain of self-generating restaurants that appear sporadically in airport terminals and other public spaces. To date, FCA has identified multiple iterations of the anomaly, each offering cuisine and cultural theming consistent with a particular nationality:
âJuntosâ â Mexican cuisine; patrons display physical, linguistic, and behavioral traits consistent with Mexican heritage.
âMaâanaâ â Arab cuisine; individuals adopt Middle Eastern features, language patterns, and culturally aligned behaviors.
[REACTED] â [REDACTED] cuisine; entry results in [REDACTED] physical traits, speech fluency, and culturally consistent behaviors.
The names of these restaurants roughly translate to the same conceptâunity, togetherness, or âwe are one.â While the precise purpose remains unknown, FCA theorizes that the anomaly may aim to create a form of homogeneity between patrons and the cuisine, altering individuals to align physically, culturally, and behaviorally with the nationality represented by the food. This hypothesis remains under investigation.
Subjects entering any AE-2043 iteration exhibit a strong, often irresistible compulsion to consume the meals offered. Observations via CCTV indicate that longer exposure increases the speed and permanence of physical and cognitive transformation. Changes include:
Complete alteration of physical features to match the cuisineâs associated nationality.
Acquisition of speech patterns, accents, and linguistic fluency appropriate to the new identity.
Behavioral and cultural adaptation, including memory restructuring consistent with the adopted identity.
The precise mechanismâwhether genetic, memetic, or otherwiseâis undetermined. Attempts at containment by direct intervention have been unsuccessful; the restaurants disappear after the [REDACTED] time frame. All affected subjects lose memory of their previous identity, and no reversal method has been identified.
Subject File: H-7 (Most Recent Confirmed Case)
The most recent confirmed subject influenced by AE-2043 is a male adult identified as Henry [REDACTED]. A detailed reconstruction of his interaction with the anomaly and subsequent transformations follows.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Henry leaned against the cold metal railing of the JFK airport terminal, tugging nervously at the sleeve of his thin jacket. His carry-on rested at his feet, slightly scuffed from months of travel, while he stared at the departure board like it held all the answers. He was supposed to meet his smarter younger brother who got a scholarship to teach English in Italyâa chance to reconnect after months of missed calls and text messages, a week of sightseeing and family dinners he had been looking forward to for months.
Except now, the flight had been delayed. Twice.
His stomach growled in protest. He hadnât eaten since the night before, and the thought of waiting another hourâor twoâwas unbearable. Most of the airport restaurants were closed until dawn, the lights off, metal shutters down, leaving only a few desperate signs glowing in the dim terminal. Henry glanced around, frustration rising. Heâd packed snacks, sure, but they werenât enough for a long wait, and he didnât want to waste his energy on candy bars or stale sandwiches.
Then he noticed it: a small, warm light in the corner of the terminal, a restaurant he could have swore hadnât been there a minute ago. The sign above the door glowed softly: Uri â Korean Cuisine.
Henry hesitated. He wasnât a fan of Asian food, always preferred burgers, pizza and pies. In fact, he was pretty sure heâd never even tried Korean food before. He barely knew it existed beyond the takeout places covering the streets of New York City. But hunger gnawed at him relentlessly. He pulled out a stool at the bar and watched the, admittedly handsome, Korean cooks busy cooking rice on the boiler.
âIâm probably not gonna like any of this.â Henry huffed, eyes scanning the Korean words on the menu: Bibimbap, Japchae, Sundubu Jjigae. It all seemed like gibberish to the uncultured man.
âWhat can we get for you, American?â The waiter asked with a polite smile.
âUmâŚâ The way he was addressed through Henry off center. âIâll have this oneâ.
He pointed at one of the only pictured items, choosing the one that had chicken in it - Dak Galbi.
When it arrived, he couldnât deny, it smelled decent - especially for airport food. He tentatively took his first bite, only for his tastebuds to explode with pleasure.
Fire and sweetness danced across his tongue. His eyes widened. He had never eaten anything like it. Not that he could remember. He wondered how heâd been missing out on this his entire life.
He took another bite. Then another. And another. Without thinking, he waved to the server. âOne more,â he said, and it arrivedâa plate of grilled meats, perfectly caramelized and tender. Then noodles. Then a sizzling pancake. Soon, he had ordered enough dishes to fill the table, bowls and plates spilling over, steam curling into the air.
He ate without restraint, shoveling food into his mouth with both hands, eyes wide, teeth tearing through morsels of rice, kimchi, pork, and spicy broths, his clothes feeling tighter and tighter with each bite. But he couldnât stop. He couldnât afford to not feel like this. It was almost like an addiction that had taken hold within a milisecond. One that heâd carry for life. Never able to escape.
As he chewed like a pig, he rubbed his belly, straining against his tight shirt. He was lost in thought. He took another bite of the Kimchi Jeon.
âMother used to make it just like this.â Henry let out a satisfied belch, in front of the cooks and staff. âMy brother, heâd always fight me for the last pancake. Heâd yell at me, so Iâd speak in English to annoy him. He never did really get the hang of English. Still canât speak it to this day. It still annoys him when I speak English in front of him.â
Henry sat back in his seat, giving time for his food to settle. As he does, the stool creaks under the newly added weight.
He caught himself, confused. What are these memories? That isnât true. Did I just make that up?
Still shoveling food into his mouth, his body expanding past its previous limits, the chair began to creak under his weight. But he couldnât stop. He tried thinking of his brotherâbut the image that sprang to mind wasnât the clever, familiar boy he knew and loved. Instead, it was a towering, muscular, almost brutish Korean man. It looked like him⌠just warped, reshaped, a version of him that felt both wrong and uncannily real.
Instead of recalling his brotherâs past boyfriends, all he can see is how much of a ladiesâ man he wasâbig, brutish, impossible to ignore. Memories of accidentally walking in on his 21-year-old brother breeding a chick or seeing him stroking it while playing Call of Duty invaded Henryâs mind. The clever, familiar brother he once knew has vanished from his mind.
âë´ ëěâŚâ Henry jumped at the sound of his voice. âI mean, my brother! What is happening to me?!â
He squeezed his chest absentmindedly, feeling his pecs swell under his shirt as he reached for more food, the pec filling his monstrous meaty hand. Panic prickled through him.
âIâm not-â Henry picks up his phone, the screen off, the black mirror reflecting back an undeniably Korean man where his white American face should be.
Henry looked towards the Korean waiter pleadingly. âI- I am American.â The words came out thick, impossibly accented. His own voice sounded foreign.
The server smiled, calm, unhurried. âDonât worry,â he said. âItâs on the house.â
âI am American!â he insisted, trying to make himself believe. His voice rising, nearly trembling.
The serverâs smile didnât falter. He leaned closer, pointing at the manâs face. âYou look⌠Korean,â he said smugly. âShow me passport.â
Hands shaking, he reached into his wallet. He blinked. There it wasâa passport, black leather, the words âëí믟ęľâ embossed across the cover. Fully Korean. The photo looked like himâyet the face he thought he knew as his own now seemed undeniably Asian.
As if on cue, seeing his own Korean face seemed to snap everything into place. Suddenly, it all made senseâwhy he had panicked, why heâd been convinced his brother was a nerdy gay English teacher, why he had thought he was⌠white? He was no pathetic white man.
He shook his head one last time, the old him clinging on. Italy. Italy. My family⌠my brother⌠my flight. He looked down at the boarding pass, expecting to see Rome. The letters glared back at him: ICN â Incheon International Airport, Seoul, South Korea.
âIâm go to Italy,â he whispered, trying to convince himself, but the thick, unmistakable accent betrayed him.
âNo,â the server said, calm and absolute. âYou go home.â
âI am Hyun Ki⌠I go home.â he murmured, voice soft, almost droning.
âI go to South Korea.â
And for the first time, everything made sense.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Post-Exposure Observations â Hyun Ki (FKA Henry [REDACTED] )
Following documented exposure to AE-2043, Henry has been observed living seamlessly in South Korea. Surveillance and open-source data indicate he maintains an apartment, has an established social network, and functions as a recognized citizen. These findings suggest that AE-2043âs influence extends beyond physical and cognitive transformation, altering surrounding reality to align with the subjectâs new identity.
During follow-up operations, FCA personnel located Henryâs brother, Jamie [REDACTED], in Italy, the original intended destination for Henryâs travel. The brother was found in his private residence, exhibiting extreme physical hypertrophy: significantly increased muscle mass, incredibly enlarged pectorals, and proportionally enlarged extremities. When personnel entered the premises, he was sitting squishing his massive pectoral muscles as he drooled onto them. Cognitive function was severely diminished; subject was unresponsive to standard questioning, displaying compulsive behaviors like bouncing his pectorals and stroking his enlarged penis through his grey sweatpants. Fluent English was no longer present, and the subject displayed fully reoriented heterosexual behaviors.
The image below shows Jamie (now legally known as Ji-Ho) as observed by personnel during their initial encounter in his private residence in Italy.
These findings confirm that AE-2043 not only transforms the initial subject but also rewrites the genetics and associated behavioral patterns of biologically related individuals, creating family-wide congruence.
Due to inability to fulfill prior professional obligations and irreversible physiological and cognitive changes, FCA has taken custody of the subject. Current containment protocols classify him as permanently altered and non-reversible. Monitoring and research into familial propagation effects continue.
The two are now reunited in their legally registered birthplace, Seoul.
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