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piningforstan · 11 months ago

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Memories

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You’re relieved to see your husband alive, but you have yet to learn at what cost.

Pairings: Stan Pines x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: memory loss, it’s a bittersweet fic (let me know if there’s anything else)

A/N: I could honestly stay in this story forever. I hope you enjoy! (If you don’t think the small attempts bits of humor are funny, just do me a favor and pretend like they are)

Life moved on, of course, even though it felt like yours had ended. The town needed rebuilding. Newspapers and media outlets needed to be dealt with — Ford recommended telling reporters that there had been a series of animal attacks. But most townsfolk just wanted to forget. The lasting effects of the memory gun meant they preferred to just pretend like nothing happened.

You busied yourself however you could, clearing fallen brush and trees, reuniting families, making do with whatever food you could find and cooking for anyone who hungered.

And when you weren’t focused on resurrecting the infrastructure of Gravity Falls, you focused on doing it for your family. Dipper had withdrawn inside himself. Mabel practically resided in Sweater Town. And Ford largely made himself scarce as he puzzled out ideas for getting Stan’s memory back. So you invited Dipper to join you for nonsensical errands and you laughed your way through Mabel’s favorite movies and you always made sure that Ford had something to eat.

You had time for everyone, it seemed, but Stan.

He floated along the edges of your day to day life, suspended in a state of limbo — wanting to participate but not knowing whether his presence would be tolerable or not. And you didn’t want to provoke his already weakened mental state so you let him be, an observer to a family that he had been the nucleus of.

“Oh, uh, mornin’.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing in particular when Stan shuffled in, donned in his boxers and wife beater. It ached to see him how you had so many other mornings. Perhaps that’s why you avoided him; to do so was easier than confronting this pain.

“Stan. Good morning.” You sat up a little straighter. “Coffee is made already.”

He grumbled his thanks. You noticed that he grabbed his favorite mug, one Soos bought him that stated WORLD’S GREATEST FARTER, without thinking. There were small, fleeting moments like this that made you believe that he might regain his memory. But they often slipped away, just like Stan clearing his throat and saying, “So, uh, we’re married?”

“Yes,” you said, inhaling sharply. “Thirty years.”

Stan wrapped one large hand around the mug. He let out a whistle as he reclined back on the counter. “No offense sweetheart, but that doesn’t speak highly of your intelligence.”

You can’t help it. You croaked out a laugh. “No, no it doesn’t.”

“How’d I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Keep ya around for thirty years.” He gestured in your general direction, veritably flustered. “I don’t need to ‘member much about myself to know you’re too good for me.”

“Well, you could be very convincing,” you supplied after a moment of consideration.

Stan scoffed. “Bullshit. What’s the real reason?”

You eyed him, then said in a resigned voice, “A wife can’t testify in court against her husband.”

A beat of silence ensued, followed by the loudest belly laugh of anyone you’ve ever known. Stan clutched at his chest, coffee spilling over his mug and onto the floor. He all but wheezed out, “I knew it!“

“It was my idea, actually,” you said, smiling fondly at the memory, “we had only gone out a few times when it happened. You wanted to make a run for it. Even though we hadn’t known each other long I already knew that I didn’t want to go a day without you. So we got hitched at the courthouse and the case was dismissed on account that I was the only eye witness.”

You were surprised to discover that relaying the story brought you more comfort than sadness. It fanned the dying ember of hope inside you.

Stan processed this information. “What was the crime? Must’ve been bad.”

“If I told you ‘stealing my heart’ would you believe me?”

“I’d believe you’re a shitty liar.”

Stan pestered you for an answer but you staunchly refused to give it to him, if only to prolong the conversation even more. Eventually you lapsed into a comfortable silence, but after thirty years of marriage, you knew that Stan hadn’t given up, rather reconsidered his angle. It wouldn’t be the end of that conversation.

Only the dredges of your coffee remained but you sipped it every now and then, taking the time to study Stan when you didn’t think he noticed.

Did he realize that he remembered more than he thought? Like the mug, for instance. The way he stood. How he moved around the kitchen. How much did the memory gun erase? You read once that memories consisted of just the last time you remembered something — a great portion of your life would pass without recollection. But the feelings stayed the same. You might not remember specific moments of your mother being kind to you, but when you looked at her your chest swelled with affection for her.

Was that how Stan felt now? Wading through residual feelings and sentiments without the memories to attach them to?

“Listen, uh.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I know this is weird ‘tween us. But I-I hope we can be friends. Still. If you want.”

Hopefully your expression did not betray the stab of pain in your heart. “I’d like that.”

Apparently, rebuilding your friendship with your husband meant him “Stan-napping” you.

“If it’s Stan-napping wouldn’t that mean you’re the one being —”

He flapped his hand. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”

You grinned and slid into the front seat of El Diablo like normal. Gum wrappers scattered the ground at your feet, along with a lighter and several cassette tapes. You inserted one, faint rock music playing from the radio. A laugh escaped you. “Remember when —”

You stopped. Stan smiled sadly.

“It’s a’right. Promise. Tell me anyway.”

And so you did, retelling the story as best as you could in detail. Stan listened intently as he drove, interjecting his own comments and questions, laughing at all of the parts you knew he would. The tape had played on repeat during a week that you spent running a con in Arizona. An unsuccessful one at that.

“You really did all that w’me? Now I really don’t trust the likes of ya.” Stan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door with his elbow out the side.

“In my defense, I was always more of a reluctant volunteer.” You focused on the trees flying past, silhouetting Stan’s handsome features and his easy smile. “But I would follow you anywhere.”

It’s an embarrassing admission.

You stumbled over your words, but Stan was quick to cover for you. “So I didn’t need to Stan-nap you?”

“No, but I’m still glad you did.”

“And to think, all of the work I put into it.” Stan feigned clutching his chest in indignation.

You snickered. “By all of the work do you mean withholding caffeine from me until I agreed? That was more of a hindrance than anything. I would’ve said yes much faster with coffee.”

“Noted. Anything else I should know?”

“I can also be persuaded with chocolate.”

Stan mock-glared at you. Whenever he spoke, he used his hands in big gestures, emphasizing whatever point he was making. “Wait, wait, wait. Chocolate? What happened to followin’ me anywhere?”

“I’m just saying it helps,” you told him.

For the duration of the ride you regaled him with whatever tale that came to mind. Eventually the trees thinned out and the lake came into view, water shimmering. An outcropping of cliffs hugged one side of the lake, extending an almost natural awning over the small hut Stan parked in front of. Picnic tables dotted the sparsely grassy area and families darted in and out from between them, children laughing with sticky faces and parents chasing after them waving napkins.

“Ice cream?” You climbed out of the car, the door swinging shut behind you.

Stan watched the children with soft fondness, making faces at them as they passed. Together you walked down the worn path to the counter manned by a pimpled teenager.

“Ford said I should do things I used to like to try and jog my memory,” Stan said. He peered at the menu — 107 flavors! it boasted — instead of meeting your curious gaze. “He, uh, told me we used to come here.”

“We did.” Your throat felt thick.

He had kissed you for the first time on that picnic table over there, when dusk had settled and fireflies lit up the night around you. You had been sitting on the table with Stan slotted between your legs. His mouth was cold from the ice cream but soft and sweet tasting, dancing across your tongue. You never cared for mint before that day.

When it was your turn to order, Stan persisted that you deserved a senior discount. The teenager caved, leading you to roll your eyes as Stan put his change in the tip jar only to draw out more than he put in. He took the first taste of his mint, double-scooped cone and winked at you.

“You’re insufferable,” you said with a laugh.

“He made it too easy,” Stan replied. “Sucker.”

You sat down at one of the empty tables. No one approached you but they cast glances in your direction, undoubtedly interested in the hero of Gravity Falls. If Stan noticed he didn’t say, challenging you instead to an ice cream eating contest until one of succumbed to brain freeze.

Stan had a voracious appetite, as did you, and you won out in the end. Stan, as a result, had to jump into the lake with his clothes on.

“Wait, before you go.” You couldn’t hide your amusement as you leaned up on your tiptoes and wiped ice cream from the corner of Stan’s mouth. Your thumb lingered. Recognition flashed in Stan’s eyes, then disappeared as soon as it appeared. Had you imagined it? “Um, there.”

“Thanks, kid.”

A moment passed between you, the span of a few heartbeats, before Stan braced himself. He yelled, “TELL MY STORY!” before racing off towards the shoreline of the lake. You doubled over with laughter as his youthful sprint soon turned into a hobble, the wind carrying Stan’s curses back to you. He collapsed on the sand mere inches from the lake.

Concern worried the edges of your mind. You called out to him, “Stan? Stan!”

No response.

You smiled sheepishly at the townsfolk observing the whole situation, then trotted after Stan. Upon inspection he was still breathing, one hand draped on his chest. The sand crunched underfoot as you stood over him. “Did you die?”

“Maybe.” He cracked open an eye. “Does that make you an angel?”

Your worry vanished. Staring up at the sky, you searched the clouds for an answer about why you still put up with this old man. “No use flattering me. This doesn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a hand, would ya?”

You reached down for his hand, but instead of meeting yours it clasped around your wrist, pulling you down on top of him. You cried out in surprise. The water lapped at the pebbled beach, soaking through your clothes as Stan caged you with his body and rolled you both into it.

You shrieked in protest. Entrapped in his arms, he hauled you out into knee-deep water. It was no use trying to fight against him, though you gave your best effort. He could’ve held you like that all day and you knew that when you twisted to face him, it was only because he let you.

Somehow you winded up with your hands on his chest, his shirt plastered to his skin and revealing a glimpse of the body beneath. The moment reminded you of how young Stan made you feel, still blushing over him. He never treated you as if you were old or frail and you might as well have been in your late twenties again, when you first met, not a crease or wrinkle in sight.

Stan cleared his throat and the spell broke.

You removed your hands and stepped back, already missing the warmth of his proximity. In an attempt to ease the tension, you quipped, “I won’t forget this, Stanley Pines.”

Stan’s mouth twitched into a smile, eyes soft. “Neither will I.”

Stan assured you that evening that the outing had roused a memory, but you knew that he just wanted to console you. It didn’t matter. You were determined to recreate as many memories as possible, some alone, others including Dipper and Mabel. Great fun was had by all but you could tell, sneaking glances at Stan whenever he looked away, that it wasn’t registering.

Dipper and Mabel’s last days in Gravity Falls were swiftly approaching. It was a general consensus in the Pines household to pretend that this was not happening.

“You know, you could go with them.”

Admittedly, while watching Stan entertain Dipper and Mabel with an outlandish story, you forgot Ford was sitting beside you. The sinking sun created an orange glow over everything, glinting in Ford’s glasses as he waited for your answer.

“Who?” You asked, distracted.

“The kids.” Ford made a flippant gesture towards them. “Back to Piedmont.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t given any thought about it. It was, after all, never your plan to leave Gravity Falls. Was Ford trying to get rid of you?

Ford continued, “Just…I see the way you look at Stan. I know it hurts that he doesn’t remember.”

“It does.” You grew a sudden interest in the fray of your jeans. For the kids you put on a brave face, recreating memories with enthusiasm, but in truth, each one that failed was a stake through your confidence in Stan's memory.

“My theory might be incorrect. Or just an outlier in Stan’s case,” Ford added with afterthought, never the one to admit failure. Unlike you. “It doesn’t seem he will ever recover his memories.”

“We can’t give up, though,” you said, voice wavering with emotion.

Ford’s jaw feathered. So much of him reflected Stan down to the last detail, but with an air of superiority that Stan lacked. “Stan told you about Stan-o-War.”

A statement. Not a question.

“Yes.” Irritation raised under your skin like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

“I want to take him out. On a boat. Explore the world like we promised each other.”

“What boat?”

“I have one,” Ford vaguely promised.

“What about The Shack?”

“We can leave it to Soos. Assuming that you go with the twins.”

“Why would I do that?”

A lull happened in the conversation as Dipper and Mabel exploded in uproarious laughter at something Stan said. You suspected Ford was gathering his words. “I’m afraid that if we carry on as we have, the stress on Stan’s mind will break it completely. We need to face the music.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” you gritted back.

Ford heaved a sigh. “I’m not suggesting that you do. I don’t think you ever would. But we have to do what’s best for Stan.” He put his hands on his knees and pushed up, his shadow falling over you as he stood. “Just think about it.”

And think about it you did. A lot.

You still hadn’t come to a decision a week before the twins left. Ford informed you that he planned to surprise Stan after they left, leaving you with the decision of staying with Soos or going with Dipper and Mabel. Could you just…up and leave?

Reportedly, their parents were looking for help; from what you understood, a divorce lingered on the horizon. It brought comfort to you to think about caring for them during a tumultuous time. Not to mention you couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing them every day — but to gain it at the risk of losing Stan?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Stan strode into the room, dapper in his Mister Mystery suit. Your cheeks heated. Too many times you had been caught this week lost in your thoughts. “Oh, I —”

“No, seriously. I need a penny.”

You opened the register. He proceeded to take said coin and spin some elaborate tale to a group of tourists about how it had been crafted from a rare alien metal. Stan sold it for “only ten dollars” after pretending to meditate on the offer, chuckling as the unsuspecting tourist walked away.

He tapped the money into his sleeve. “Okay, but really, what’s eatin’ at ya?”

“I’m just sad about the kids leaving,” you told him after a pause, which wasn’t a complete lie. Unable to bear the flicker of sadness across his face, you panicked, racking your brain for something else. “We should…throw a going away party for them.”

A party? That was the last thing you needed to concern yourself with. But Stan had already latched onto the idea.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. We could promote the Shack, invite their friends, exorbitantly mark-up entry tickets.”

Stan listed each idea on his fingers. Although you regretted suggesting it, it filled you with warmth to see him invigorated by the notion of a party. You couldn’t steal that away from him now.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you that Stan was an expert party planner considering he was the life of one wherever he went. He got to work assigning roles and soon after you were hiring a caterer (Greasy Sue’s), a DJ (Soos, who insisted you call him despite being in the same room), and security (the man you only knew as “the one with the tattoos”).

The more you inquired, the more people wanted to participate. It opened your eyes to how much the Pines family impacted the town over the last few months. It was heartening, to say the least.

And by the time the party started, everyone in Gravity Falls was either attending it or volunteering at it. Everywhere you looked there was someone you knew, someone there to celebrate the people you loved most.

“You think they were surprised?” Stan’s booming voice floated over the music.

Strobe lights flashed overhead, casting him in an array of colors as he parted the crowd to your side. Dressed in dark slacks and a deep v-necked shirt, gold chain nestled in a patch of chest hair, Stan cut a perfect image of himself in the ‘70s. And although the outfit invoked memories of a younger man, you found this older one much more preferable.

“Definitely,” you replied.

Stan leaned down. “What?”

“I said definitely!” The music blared, pulsing through the whole building like a living thing. It didn’t help that Mabel and her friends had acquired full access to the speakers that Wendy’s dad lugged in earlier.

“What?” Stan wrapped one hand around your waist and pulled you in, putting your mouth dangerously close to his ear.

Heat flooded you. You yelled, “Let’s go outside!”

“Lead the way!”

To your pleasure and mortification, Stan removed his hand from your waist just enough to rest on your lower back, steering you through the crowd of partygoers. The cool night air was a balm to your heated skin as you stepped onto the porch.

Stan strayed from you long enough to shoo away two people kissing passionately on the couch — Blurbs and Durland— before patting the spot next to him for you to sit down.

“Are we old or is that music too loud?” Stan asked. He fished a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

You were entranced by the smoke curling from the end, the fixture of the cigar resting against his bottom lip. You swallowed and uncrossed your legs, then recrossed them.

“All that matters is that the party is a success,” you said.

Stan chuckled. “Heh, it is, isn’t it? Little twerps didn’t know what hit ’em.”

A small eternity passed in which you hunted desperately for something else to say. Stretched out above you on an inky canvas, the stars shone, rendering you small and insignificant. You stared up at them as exhaustion claimed you. You were so tired of thinking, of inventing conversation, so you said the one thing you knew to be irrefutable.

“You’re a good man, Stanley.”

He guffawed. “Don’t let anyone hear ya say that.”

“It’s true.” Since that day at the lake you had been careful not to touch him, but now you put your hand on his knee. “You’re a good man. What happened doesn’t change that. Your memories do not amount to your character.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, and you could tell he was fighting a swell of emotion. “I wish I could do better. Everyone has these…expectations of me. I dunno how to live up to them. I want to be that person.”

“You are that person, without even thinking about it. You’re still passionate about your family. And you’re clever and brave.”

“I’m, uh, not complain’ or nothin’ but I can see the disappointment in your eyes. And-And not just you. Everyone.” He took a drag from the cigar, chest expanding with an inhaled breath. Stan blew the smoke out slowly. “I’m a stranger in my own life, ya know?”

Ford’s words, his expression grim, emerged: We have to do what’s best for Stan.

Tears sprang to your eyes but you willed them away, swallowing until your throat no longer felt quite as thick. It wasn’t fair to push Stan to be someone he couldn’t remember by clinging to a past that only you knew.

Maybe Ford was right.

Maybe the best thing for Stan was to shed the weight of these expectations and carve out a new existence for himself. He would be thrilled to explore the world with his brother — who might as well have just been introduced to him considering the time they spent apart.

There was no room for you in this new life. You knew he could never look at you without thinking about his shortcomings, even if they existed only in his mind. You were standing on one side of a chasm, yelling at him; Stan on the other side, but he was too far away to hear you.

“Well that got depressing.” Stan stubbed out the cigar, ash crumbling. He stood and held his hand out to you, eerily reminiscent of how Ford had last week. “C’mon, dance w’me.”

He looked nervous to ask you this, which dumbfounded you — you would do whatever he asked. The quiet observation made you smile.

You took his hand and allowed him to pull you back inside, a sense of bittersweet finality settling over you as you did.

The party prevailed. People were drunk on the cheap beer and good company, cheeks reddened, smiles wide. When Soos played a string of throwback songs, Stan animatedly swung you around the dance floor, surprisingly graceful for his age and size. Every touch and graze seared through you, and Stan’s gaze lingered on you in a way that heated your core and stole your breath, his dark eyes glinting with customary mirth.

A particularly enthusiastic move spun you nearly into the beverage table. You stumbled but Stan was upon you in a moment, catching you and steadying you with his hands on your waist.

“You okay?” He inspected you from head to toe, then chuckled. “Heh. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

One moment you were like that — brimming with happiness, entangled, chests pressed together — and the next Stan had pinned you to the wall, the darkened corner lending plenty of privacy to his wandering touch and fervent kisses. You kissed him back with similar urgency.

There was no part of him that you hadn’t mapped at one point or another, though it felt jarringly now like new territory, the same broad shoulders and thick arms but somehow different.

And you wanted to explore all of it.

With your teeth you tugged at his bottom lip, teasing open his mouth in order to get a better taste. Stan, pliant and obedient under your lead, sighed in pleasure. Nothing you did sated the need inside you to consume him, devour all that he offered so that you could never miss it again.

Stan had just moved his hand from your ass down along the curve of your lower thigh to lift your leg up around his waist — hardly an appropriate position for a Grauntie, you thought vaguely— when you were interrupted with unmistakable cheering. “Get ’em! Get ’em!”

Stan ensured to cover your body with his own as he whirled on Tyler in a move of unexpected gentlemanliness. The next words out of his mouth? Not so much.

Stan rasped, “I swear to God if you don’t get outta my sight right now I’m gonna rip out your eyes and sew them on whatever horrible affront to nature I have in my shop. Now scram.”

Tyler paused. He breathed out a small, “Get ’em” then turned tail and fled.

You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Pervert,” Stan grumbled.

“Can you blame him?”

“Nah. I’d watch us, too.” Stan grinned then, renewed in his delight. He gestured with his chin towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The music, muffled by distance, sounded like an erratic heartbeat from the living room chair where Stan pulled you on top of him. You both laughed as your knees protested against the maneuver, Stan carefully guiding your legs to rest on either side of him. He kissed you at once. It was as if there had been no interruption from before, his hands in your hair and your fingers clumsily working the buttons of his shirt.

Stan shifted to accommodate the subsequent unbuckling of his gaudy belt, taking the opportunity to also unburden you from your top. Your entire being seemed to warm as he admired this new development, gaze drifting lazily, drinking in his fill. Stan always made you feel desirable. Even after your skin freckled and your breasts no longer held their perkiness.

Smiling with the ease of a contented man, Stan reached out and brushed a thumb under your collar. “How’d ya get this?”

You froze. You didn’t have to look to know what he was talking about — a tiny, heart-shaped scar.

The obvious shift in attitude made him recoil. His features spasmed with regret.

“I should know that, shouldn’t I?”

Your chest tightened. You whispered, “Yes.”

“Damnit.” He breathed your name. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to say anything —”

The rest of his apology fell on deaf ears. You awkwardly climbed off his lap and collected your shirt. The shag carpet nearly swallowed your bare feet, having kicked off your shoes sometime after crossing the threshold into the house. Stan sat motionless, watching you.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you quietly said.

Stan’s fingers flexed, an effort not to reach out to you again. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It…it’s okay.” You felt, somehow, as if you were both shrinking and expanding. The words you managed to eke out next sounded hollow. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a good idea.” For the second time that night, tears burned your eyes. Stan, upon noticing, leapt out of the chair but you stepped out of his reach, wrapping your arms around you.

Stan deflated. Actually deflated, shoulders curving into his usual rounded posture. “What’s going on? Listen, I shouldn’t have said —”

“It’s not that,” you interrupted.

But wasn’t?

Not exclusively, you corrected. It was a whole jumbled, tangled mess of things. We need to do what’s best for Stan.

You couldn’t do this to him. To yourself. Couldn’t cycle through these moments of normality that inevitably tainted themselves. Like oil in water, you couldn’t separate one from the other. You had been delusional to think that you could defy that basic logic.

You would do anything for love, wouldn’t you?

Didn’t that include letting it go?

“I can’t do this, Stanley,” you told him. You were floating above yourself, presiding over the conversation in incorporeal form. “I-I can’t move out of the past. And I want to move forward, I do. But it’s impossible, and I can’t have both. I can’t.”

Tears flowed steadily down your face now.

Stan moved to console you but must’ve thought better of it. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going to go to Piedmont. With the twins.”

“What? What about us?”

“There is no us anymore, Stan.”

His throat bobbed uncertainly. “I know that it’s not like before but I…I’ve really enjoyed our time together. We could make this work.”

You shook your head. Sobs racked you, great shuddering, choking cries.

Stan stepped tentatively forward. “I dunno what to say.” His mouth worked as he searched for his next words. “We’ve made so many new memories together. Ain’t that enough?”

Was this really happening? You couldn't believe that it had come to this, all of those years. You didn't have any words for the emotions wholly encompassing you.

“Look, kid, I —” Stan’s brows twisted up in grief, in regret and confusion, “— I wish you would stay. I think I’m fallin’ in love with you again.”

The pleading tone of his voice proved exactly why you needed to leave. Realistically you could never have him this way, and you would only hurt him because of it. Stan deserved more than a constant reminder of the consequences of his heroic deed.

You turned from him. “I’m sorry, Stan.”

Your name from his mouth sounded like the prayer of a man desperate for salvation. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Heart heavier than it had ever been before, vision blurred, that’s exactly what you did.

As anticipated, the next day brought an onslaught of tears and goodbyes. You traipsed the halls of the Mystery Shack alone, ghosting your fingers over the chipped paneling and peeling paint. You were married to the old house as much as you were to Stan. Deep down you knew that you would return, but it didn’t make the goodbye any less difficult.

You avoided Stan at every possible turn. Only when you all piled into the car with your luggage did you force yourself to acknowledge him, fatigue creasing his face. You wanted nothing more than to comfort him. But this would be good for him — no more sorrow, no more pain. After the bus departed, Ford would surprise him with the boat and he would start a new life.

The walk from El Diablo to the bus station seemed to stretch on forever. You held Mabel’s hand while Dipper pushed ahead, feigning bravery, though last night you heard him crying softly in his room. So much had transpired over the summer, and now the days of adventure and laughter were over.

“I made these for you,” Mabel said. She handed Stan and Ford a pink sweater each, the former putting it on immediately and glaring at his brother to do the same. “I’m gonna miss my Grunkles.”

Ford smiled wistfully. “We’ll miss you too, kiddo.”

“C’mere, sweetie.” Stan brought Mabel in for a hug. It didn’t elude you that he used the endearment he chose before the memory wipe.

You felt as if your chest might burst from all of your suppressed, cresting emotions. Dipper bid his goodbyes next. The bus rumbled to the station then, kicking up dust, and the four of you fell into a tightened embrace.

You pulled away last. Stan regarded you with large, reproachful eyes as you kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Stanley. We’ll see each other again.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He looked jarred by the interaction, a faint blush burning his cheeks.

Ford dipped his chin in your direction, a silent acknowledgment between you. Your lower lip trembled. But, as you turned to Dipper and Mabel, you summoned your most convincing smile and led them to the bus. Stan and Ford ensured that the driver allowed Waddles on the bus, who squealed his delight at entry. The duo, Stan outfitted in his brass knuckles and Ford with his gun, watched over your departure like two handsome, vengeful guardian angels.

Your bus seat creaked as you settled down into it, Dipper and Mabel on either side of you.

“To Piedmont,” you said.

“To Piedmont,” Dipper echoed. His grim smile had you reaching out to hug him again.

Mabel sadly waved Waddles’ hoof out the window. You couldn’t bear to look out it, staring straight ahead until the bus gained traction on the gravel road and the bus station — and your heart, your home — shrank in the distance.

For a long time the only sound was the bus chugging along and the only other rider, a snoring old man. You weren’t sure what the twins were thinking. Perhaps they were recounting their many adventures just as you were, Stan starring in most of yours.

No. No Stan. You needed to be brave.

You tried valiantly to raise morale. “We had so many great memories this summer. Fishing, swimming, being with Wendy and Soos and —”

“Grunkle Stan!”

You nodded somberly, adding, “And Grunkle Stan.”

“No! Look!” Mabel clambered in the seat, stabbing her finger at the window. Both you and Dipper righted in order to peer around her sweatered form. Sure enough, there was Stan, running to keep up with the bus and waving his hands.

“Wait! Stop!” He yelled, panting. “Stop the bus!”

“We have to stop the bus. He wants to tell us something,” Mabel said, eyes wide with urgency.

You eyed Stan, stumbling over rocks and roots, knowing that he wouldn’t last much longer. You signaled for the bus driver to stop; after the Waddles incident, he was only too willing to obey. The bus sputtered to a halt and the three of you piled off, Mabel and Dipper darting out in front to meet Stan’s breathless approach.

“Stan, what are you doing?” You shielded your face, blinking into the sun.

Stan doubled over, hands on his knees. He signaled that he needed a minute. You stood, smiling sheepishly at the bus driver, who looked less than impressed to be waiting. You started, “Stan —”

“I remember!” His face absolutely beamed. “I remember. I remember it all.” Stan grabbed Mabel’s shoulders. “You eat glitter when you think no one is looking. You told me once that you invented invisible ice cream but couldn’t find it when it fell on the floor.”

It was Dipper’s turn next for this onslaught of information, brimming out of Stan like an overflowing sink. “You! At the beginning of the summer you thought Mabel’s pet rock was an alien tryin’ to blend in. You were freakin’ out because it kept movin’.” Stan burst into laughter. “But it was just ME!”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel and Dipper leapt to embrace him. He hugged them tighter than you had ever seen before.

He remembered? He remembered?

“Don’t think I forgot about ya.” Stan released the twins, crossing the space between you in only two strides. “I’m sorry, doll, ‘bout everythin’.” His large hands cupped either side of your face, gaze roaming over you with renewed wonder. “Everything is so clear now.”

Your lip wobbled. “You remember?”

“Yes I remember you beautiful, crazy woman!” Stan laughed and suddenly he was wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off your feet, spinning you in a circle. “I remember! I remember!”

You put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself. “Stan! Stan! Are you sure?” You couldn’t let yourself hope again if it wasn’t true, fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

He set you down again, grinning like a child. “Like hell I’m sure. When…When Bill went in my mind, I ‘member thinkin’ that I could never lose you. None of you. I suppose I was s’scared of it that I repressed it deep enough to protect the memories. Then when you got on that bus, when I thought I lost you for real, it all came rushing back.”

“Really?” Tears strained your voice.

“Really.” Stan’s features softened. “I understand now why you fought so hard to get these memories back.”

A sound of strangled, delirious joy burst from you and you threw yourself against him, arms encircling around his neck. Stan’s mouth hovered near your ear, lips brushing the outer shell of it. “I love ya, doll. Even-Even when I didn’t remember why, I loved ya.”

“I love you, too,” you sighed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, believe it.” Stan retracted enough to study you, curious and awed all in one. “You can’t get rid o’me that easily.”

“I-I really thought…” you shook your head, unable to get the words out. You just held him tighter.

“I know. I know, doll.”

You didn’t need to speak to understand each other, to know what the other one was thinking. When he held you now, he held you with thirty years of memories, a bind stronger than even the ring on your finger.

Mabel broke the embrace, tugging on Stan’s shirt. “What happens now?”

In the distance, Dipper and Ford were chasing Waddles. Stan observed this, then took a long look at you before turning to his niece. He waved off the bus driver, saying, “You ever been on a boat before, kid?”

A/N 2.0: In my head, they all get to go on their adventures together and reader homeschools Dipper and Mabel and they’re a big, happy family.

There’s little nods to the Swooning Over Stans dating game by @gfdatingsim and By Steps and Inches by @funkingrunkles . Memories is kind of my love letter to both stories that I enjoyed so much. (So if you read this, thank you💕)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #fanfic #writers on tumblr #writing #stanley pines x reader #memories #Your Honor I love this weird old man

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pizzawriters · 1 year ago

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Text Your Life - Chapters 1 and 2 are now AVAILABLE! English / Spanish - ITCHIO & STEAM

Play now on Itch.io! Available in English and Spanish

(Early Access - Windows, Mac, Linux & Android)

Play now on Steam! Available in English and Spanish

(Early Access - Windows only)

This game is still in an early access state, and only Chapters 1 and 2 have been released. Follow us on social media and don't miss any content update!

As a fourth-year Law student with a part-time job at the Catal Café, you might as well end up going bald from stress. Fortunately, you can keep in touch with your peculiar group of friends and Daniel, your long-distance boyfriend, through your favorite messaging app (😉). They help you see the fun side of your busy life, as well as keep every hair in its place (or not).

Now you've just moved out of home and into your new apartment, and everyone knows that means... party time! Music, alcohol, laughter, kisses... Wait, what?! Kisses?! Your memories are blurry, but somehow you clearly recall the feeling of someone's lips on yours. A warm and pleasant feeling. Hold on!! Pleasant!? 😳

Who did you kiss that night? Will you be able to find out with the help of your girlfriends-turned-detective? How will that kiss affect your relationship with Daniel? And most importantly - how much does a good wig cost 😱?

Trigger Warnings: alcohol, smoking, cheating, swearing, mention of violent acts (only in a humorous context), ghost stories, and sexual themes/jokes.

Text Your Life is a mobile phone chat simulator for android or PC that lets you put yourself in the shoes of our protagonist, a female university student with a group of eccentric friends and a love life that has suddenly turned somewhat... complicated.

* Play comfortably on your mobile phone, or on PC if you prefer, as if it were a real messaging app. Chat, receive and make calls, browse the profiles of your contacts...

* Shape the protagonist's personality with every choice you make, as well as her level of affinity with every character. Your personality and your choices will affect the course of the story.

* The complete game will have a total of 10 chapters (Common route: chapters 1-4. Specific love interest’s route: chapters 5-10).

* 7 different routes, and 6 unique love interests. Will you continue your relationship with Daniel, or will you catch feelings for someone else? Surely you won't end up in a love triangle with two best friends, right...?

* Only Chapters 1 and are available for now, with more than 73,600 words of content and roughly 644 choices (about 7 hours for playthrough). Make a choice every 20 messages at most! Already finished the available content? Play again and change your choices to experience completely different playthroughs!

* This game was originally written in Spanish, and it's been completely translated into English.

What are you waiting for? Log in, create your profile, put an inspiring quote that makes no sense as your status, and start chatting right now!

Enjoying Text Your life so far? Then show it some love! There are different ways to do it:

* Leave comments, follow us on social media, send feedback or report bugs… Your opinion is of great help!

Itchio

Instagram

X / Twitter

TikTok

* Share your experience with your friends or on social media. The more the merrier, so spread the word!

*Become a member on our Patreon, and get early access to the following content updates!

* Writing: Alma Moral and Vera Lobo

* Programming, icons and app UI: Vera Lobo

*English translation: CeCe and Vera Lobo

*Profile pictures, emojis, fonts, music, sound effects and other assets: Text Your Life makes use of several assets under attribution license. See in-game credits for detailed attribution.

Artificial Intelligence WAS NOT USED in any way to create this game or any of its assets.

Download here:

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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The $10 billion container shipping industry, the one that moves boxes full of everything and anything around global seas, has this phenomenon called “blank sailings.”

To understand the term of art, think of the world-spanning ocean-bound trade economy like a bus system, where several buses—or ships—are making stops along a set route. If the people running the bus system—or the shipping company—realize there’s not enough passenger demand for their bus to run the route in the middle of the day, they’ll cancel one of those circuits. Same with shipping companies: If they realize there aren’t enough bookings to justify a container ship running its standard route, the company will “blank” the sailing, combining the goods that were supposed to be on that ship with those traveling later in the week.

This is normal shipping stuff. But not this month. As the effects of President Donald Trump’s new tariffs on foreign goods—and the trade war they’ve ignited—set in, many shippers who usually send goods across the Pacific Ocean have paused or canceled their shipments. Data from the supply-chain research firm Sea-Intelligence shows that blank sailings to the US’s West Coast spiked 13 percent this week, and is due to jump to 28 percent the week after. The Port of Los Angeles, the nation’s largest, expects 17 total blank sailings in May, which means the port will lose 224,000 “twenty-foot equivalent units of capacity,” the standard metric used to measure the contents in one container. In total, the port’s data shows, import volumes will be down 31 percent next week compared to the same week last year.

That means a lot of stuff once bound for the US is no longer coming—and an especially lot of that stuff is from China. This is the unusual part. “This is very extreme,” says Simon Heaney, the senior manager of container research at Drewry, a maritime research and advisory firm. “It’s unprecedented in the history of containerization.” The blank sailings, he says, are “an early canary in the coal mine. When you see carriers suspending services, it tells you there isn’t enough demand [for goods], or that freight rates are falling very quickly.”

What does that mean for consumers? Right now, the US government has said that it is negotiating tariff levels with many countries, including China, so the container shipping picture could change quickly as deals are signed or dashed. But at this point, some shortages are baked in. Experts say low-cost retail goods, like toys, are very likely to get more expensive in the US, as fewer ships make it to port and scarcity pushes up prices.

Trump acknowledged as much in a Cabinet meeting this week: “Maybe the children will have two dolls instead of 30 dolls, and maybe the two dolls will cost a couple of bucks more,” he said.

But beyond a few weeks, even the tea leaves of the global container shipping industry and its “blank sailing” schedule can’t predict what will happen to global trade. Some of the blank sailings currently being recorded are happening because of economic uncertainty, says Jean-Paul Rodrigue, a professor of maritime business administration who studies port operations at the University of Texas A&M-Galveston. Firms and countries are “delaying until they know what the new rules of the game are. We are setting up the board, we are rolling the dice,” he says. “The rules have changed.” That means that, if deals are made, those goods can come back.

The real global warning sign, experts say, is if shipping companies nix those blank sailings for outright route cancellations. Blank sailings are “a Band-Aid measure,” says Heaney, the researcher. If container shipping companies abort routes altogether, though, it’s a sign that they believe the global economy is seeing lasting structural changes. These cancellations have built up but are not yet widespread, experts say—meaning it’s possible the global trade apparatus could get back on track.

No matter what happens in May, the question marks surrounding the global economy, and what things will cost consumers, will likely linger for months. Drewry, the research firm, has warned shipping clients of two upcoming periods of potential instability.

The first is in late June to July, when the Trump administration will decide whether to reimplement so-called "reciprocal tariffs” levied on individual countries for trade imbalances. Delayed since last month, these specific import tariffs could reach levels exceeding 40 percent, shocking the global supply chain. Between now and then, global manufacturers will scramble to discover whether they can source consumer products including electronics and apparel from countries beyond China. But the idea that other producing countries, including Vietnam and Cambodia, might be able to replace demand for Chinese goods in that period is “fanciful,” says Heaney. If tariff levels go through as planned, “there’s going to be a contraction.” That means prices for consumer goods will likely go up.

The next big timeline question mark comes in October. That month, a new policy from the United States Trade Representative (a government agency in the executive branch) is due to kick in that would add extra fees for Chinese-operated and Chinese-built ships entering US ports. When the rule goes into effect, container shippers will likely have to reconceptualize their entire network, sending Chinese-associated ships to other parts of the world. And finagling a billion-dollar container shipping industry has its downsides, even if they’re temporary. “Whenever you get dramatic network changes, you also get scheduling issues, the network will be suboptimal. That will lead to higher costs,” says Heaney.

Whatever happens, the message is clear: Consumers concerned about rising prices should look to the sea.

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planetformer-central · 1 year ago

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New Oc because I have no self control! This is Null, based heavily off Bioshock's Big Daddies, he's my newest creation and I already love him.

Lore and rant below the cut.

Null was forged an Outlier. His unique ability? The nullification of other Outlier abilities when they are within a certain radius. However, this power has not been without consequence. His spark produces his nullification field by producing a severe excess of energy. This doesn't hurt him in the slightest since the energy seeps right out of him as he goes about his business. But for those around him? Their sparks can desynchronize or otherwise become unstable due to the influx of outside power. Interacting with him can cause sickness for normal Cybertronians and even death through prolonged exposure.

For these reasons, the Council took him when he was still very young and melded him with a suit they created for him. The suit is now as much a part of him as his original frame and it takes all his excess power and stores it within the canisters on his back while keeping him from remaining a walking biohazard. With his suit, he can control how much power he exerts and when he does so. Additionally, he can turn his excess energy into fuel for his inbuilt blasters, powerful weapons that are practically military grade. The cost of this is that he is incapable of interacting with the world normally and occasionally has aggressive fits due to being unable to project his excess energy normally. He desperately needs time outside of his suit, but he is forbidden to exit the armor, and so has largely dealt with his bursts of aggression by taking it out on anyone who looks at his wards wrong.

He had the Council on his side to give him free reign to do as he pleases so long as he fulfills his function.

To make use of him, Null was made into the Outlier Overseer. His entire function is to watch over Outliers, specifically the young ones, and keep their powers under control. They do not suffer from the usual side effects of his ability due to their similar level of oddity and instead find him soothing to be around since they naturally absorb the power he emits without issue. Null has been shadow played to be obsessed with his role, so much that he does not care for any faction. His only function is protecting Outliers. While intelligent and fully aware, he is so dogged in his duty that he can and will fall into bouts of what could be considered insanity when on a mission. The younger the Outlier, the more protective he will be.

Surprisingly, he does not mind in the slightest when his wards decide to leave of their own free will. He only acts when they are taken from him forcefully.

With that said, He can and will go on murderous rampages against anyone and everyone who tries to harm an Outlier. This has led to many sticky situations where, with the rise of the war, Null has found himself protecting Autobot and Decepticon alike. He refuses to take a badge, instead wandering in order to better care for his wards and keep them safe from harm. Even still, there have been several occasions where he has protected Tarn from a few stray missiles, Soundwave from a reign of bullets, and strangely enough, Prowl, from oncoming enemies.

(His care for Prowl raised many MANY questions. To this day, the Autobots chalk Null's behavior up to assuming Prowl's processor augments were the work of an Outlier ability.)

Null wears an Autobot badge, but kind sparks on both sides of the war have helped him with repairs he cannot do himself from time to time. They know he is a victim of the Council, and so long as he is left alone, he is a peaceful being. The only times factions have actively made use of him where during the final years of the war while it remained on Cybertron. The Decepticons lured Null in with an Outlier and actively placed the Outlier in front of an incoming Autobot assault. Null was quick to protect who he saw as his charge.

He fought well, but was overwhelmed. His injuries were severe, but the Autobots had no desire to kill him, and so placed him in stasis. He has only awoken again now that the war is over, and he is trying to return to his role in a healthier manner with the help of medical professionals and quite a bit of aid from what little data Shockwave left behind.

He's really quite a softie, albeit very very cautious of his proximity to others. Well of course, right up until someone touches one of his wards.

#transformers #maccadam #digital art #transformers prime #character reference #character design #transformer oc #draws oc doodles #Null - Outlier Overseer

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vague-humanoid · 5 months ago

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In a startling admission, a senior defense official is laying bare the Pentagon's accelerating interest in autonomous killer robots.

Speaking to Defense One, which didn't print the official's name so that they could speak freely, that official said that the Pentagon is looking to move away from funding research on the topic and investing in actual AI-powered weaponry instead.

"We're not going to be investing in 'artificial intelligence' because I don’t know what that means," the official told the website. "We're going to invest in autonomous killer robots."

"This administration cares about weapon systems and business systems," they added, "and not 'technologies.'"

That kind of big talk is perfectly fine for policy wonk types, but when it comes to the dollars and cents, another official said that there's an incoming shift that offloads costs onto the private sector.

"We're trying to change a business model from 'the government pays $100 million for research and [the company] builds a prototype' to more of 'us paying a couple million dollars and industry pays $98 million and then they build a prototype,'" the second Pentagon official, who also spoke on condition of anonymity, told Defense One.

"As the [Department of Defense] looks ahead toward accelerating the delivery of the most lethal, advanced technologies and capabilities to our warfighters," they continued, "we are examining our current structure to best determine how to align our efforts to achieve maximum effect and efficiency."

Translation: the DOD wants to streamline its acquisitions so it can get autonomous killer robots as fast as possible. While the military has quietly commissioned research and some ground testing with these so-called "lethal autonomous weapons" or LAWs, the Pentagon has been slow to fully embrace killer robots because, basically, they freak everyone out.

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keyforrestuk · 15 days ago

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Build a Solid Enterprise Foundation with SharePoint Server 2013

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To maximize the benefits of SharePoint Server Enterprise 2013, securing the appropriate licensing is crucial. For detailed information on licensing costs, visit sharepoint server 2013 enterprise license cost. This ensures you acquire the right solutions tailored to your organizational needs, paving the way for a resilient and efficient enterprise infrastructure.

In conclusion, building a robust foundation with SharePoint Server Enterprise 2013 is an investment in your organization's future. Its proven capabilities in enterprise search, document management, business intelligence, and legacy application support make it an indispensable tool for modern enterprises seeking to thrive in a competitive environment. Embrace this powerful platform today and unlock your organization's full potential.

#buy sharepoint 2013 enterprise key #cost-effective enterprise search #business intelligence services #reliable platform for legacy applications #advanced document management

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viscountess-nila · 1 year ago

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A little chaos - Theloise oneshot

Set in the social season after the season Polin gets married. Benophie could or could not be happening, that is up to you. In conclusion, Lady Danbury's boredom can lead to quite a few amazing things.

It seems that even gossip can become boring when it is a person's only source of entertainment.

It was truly a phenomenon that shocked Lady Danbury, and that was not something that happened often.

It had started gradually, a few months into the off-season, as the effect of Lady Whistedown's reveal (something Lady Danbury has suspected; the now Mrs Penelope Bridgerton was a genius indeed) slowly lessened, the excitement of secrets and scandal gradually faded away.

Now as the next season was to commence, the ton made their way back to London, and sitting in her glamorous carriage, Lady Danbury had concluded that gossip would not be enough, the season would only be the slightest bit entertaining with something more.

But what?

Lady Danbury sighed, completely stumped (a first for the intelligent matriarch), and looked out the blinds to see the huts and smoke of Bloomsbury.

And just like that, a plan clicked into place within her devious mind.

A grin unfurled, 'Entertaining indeed'

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

A few hours after the next dawn, Lady Danbury arrived at an edge of Bloomsbury, a list of successful worker's names.

The ton had been lacking both drama and population, and Lady Danbury would quench both deficiencies. And it would also align with her opinions on the imbalance of power between the high-fashioned ton of Mayfair and the hard-working citizens of Bloomsbury, who faced blatantly unfair discrimination.

So, starting now, every year, Lady Danbury had decided to provide for 4 of the most successful from the town, so they may also get a chance of the glamorous life Mayfair was born into.

Give them the chance to marry into it. Or to gain powerful influences from it.

Yes, part of this was fueled by the matriarch's guilt of the unearned privileges of her birth, but mostly by the need for something chaotic, something beyond glamorous life.

She looked down at the carefully acquired list of names of the newest members of the ton

Miss. Elina Bernard - silks and velvet merchant, best quality material Violet has used

Violet's clothes were quite impeccable.

Mr. Jacob Clint - import business, from America to Asia, freshest and most authentic Indian products Kate has purchased in London

The new Viscountess could not last a lifetime in London without mangoes and had hunted down this businessman almost immediately.

Miss. Esther Addams - doctor, provides service free of cost and always guarantees recovery, saved Lady Mary in her initial years

Life had not been kind to Mary Sharma in the years after her marriage, but this doctor had been.

However, Lady Danbury's favourite recommendation was the last.

Mr. Theo Sharpe - Printer, most successful in Bloomsbury due to being Lady's Whistledown's preferred printer

Now all that was left was teaching them the basics and introducing them at her ball, the first of the season.

This was going to be fun.

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

Theo Sharpe, a man of hard work and dedication did not expect a Countess summoning him to take part in the ridiculousness the uppish ton called a social season.

Two years ago, he would've scoffed in the Lady's face, niceties be damned, for he did not need her charity work or pity.

But then a maddeningly beautiful and terrifying intelligent woman had entered his life (and left, quickly), leaving a mark in his heart that nothing could erase.

And taking Lady Danbury's offer would give him the chance he thought he'd never get, to see Eloise Bridgerton again.

She, evidently, did not think of him every waking moment the way he had these last two years, but being able to see her once again would sustain his feelings for the rest of his life.

And maybe an apology for his damning words the last time he saw her, to erase the guilt of how he's broken their friendship.

And maybe-

She deserves better than you. She deserves better. She deserves better.

Theo watched as Elina, Jacob and Esther accepted Lady Danbury's offer, all varying shades of wonder, shock and scepticism, then their eyes turned to him.

A few seconds of silence then-

"Yes, I'll do it"

I can see Eloise Bridgerton again

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

Eloise Bridgerton had come from Scotland's mountain views and brimming libraries, back to London's bustling ton for the sole reason of her mother's masquerade ball, two weeks from now, and had no intention of setting foot in a ballroom that was not hosted by her mother or Kate.

But then she had received Lady Danbury's invite to her Introductory ball, which had boasted a phenomenon that had never been seen before, and now Eloise was intrigued.

From anyone else, that claim would've been untrustworthy, but from Lady Danbury...

It was something considerable indeed.

And so, Eloise sat in a carriage, donning a simple blue dress, riding towards the introductory ball of her 3rd season.

From her right, Benedict asked, "Is there any reason you decided to join us last minute, sister?"

Eloise turned, her eyes showing her confusion.

"I mean, anything or anyone...", the rest of his question trailed off into nothingness as Eloise fixed Benedict with a deadly glare.

He immediately assumes it is about love

Anthony, who was seated beside Kate, grinned, "No brother, Eloise simply wanted to see Lady Danbury's grand phenomenon, as the invite stated"

Her glare and Anthony's grin did not die down until they reached the ball.

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

Penelope, Kate and Eloise stood together, though the two married women were whispering with grins on their faces, and clueless Eloise could not last without answers.

"What are you-"

"Eloise", Kate replied, not waiting for the question to be completed, "If you wish for Lady Danbury's surprise to be a surprise, then you cannot know what we are speaking of"

What?

Eloise's mouth fell open, "You know?"

"We were part of planning it", Penelope replied with a cheeky grin.

"Betrayal", Eloise shook her head, "Betrayal, by the only two people I actually trust"

A beat passed, and all three women started laughing, lost in the mirth and comfort of sisterhood.

As Eloise opened her mouth to shoot back another playful retort, an announcement rang out asking everyone's attention and silence.

Lady Danbury stepped onto the podium, a smirk playing on her face.

Eloise's mind was reeling, "But surprises are usually not revealed until the end of the ball!"

Kate simply smiled in response, mirth dancing in her eyes.

Lady Danbury's voice echoed across the room, "Within London, there is a section none of us really consider, and yet is the backbone of our society. Bloomsbury"

Eloise's heart clenched at the memories flooding her brain.

No, don't think about him, he's probably forgotten you already

"The people living there are just as strong and worthy as us all"

Eloise's eyebrows furrowed, Where is she going with this?

Lady Danbury's smile grew, and Eloise's heart picked up the pace in anticipation, "And so, I have decided to present four of Bloomsbury's most successful in this year's social season and will continue to do so every year"

Eloise's mouth fell open, her mind blanking, 'What'

Lady Danbury powered through the rising murmurs of dissent and disapproval, her eyes hardening and her voice turning to steel, "Treat them with the respect you give each other, they work much harder than we do and still succeed beyond our own achievements"

Four people walked out of a door behind Lady Danbury, and Eloise's heart stopped altogether.

"Miss Elina Bernard, Mr Jacob Clint, Miss Esther Addams and-"

His eyes scanned the room and found hers, and suddenly the whole room reduced to the two of them.

"-Mr Theo Sharpe"

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

When he was a child, the colour blue had been a favourite to Theo, whether it was the sky, the oceans he read of, or the cover of the only book he owned at the time.

As he grew, preference in colour didn't matter, only the smell of ink, the feel of parchment and the all-consuming need to succeed in his life as his mother had wanted him to.

Then, one unsuspecting day two years ago, a girl had walked into the print shop with eyes somewhere between the skies and the oceans and that childhood fascination had come back in full force.

And once he was better acquainted with her devious mind and knowledge-hungry soul, the fascination had grown into a raging love, love as natural as breathing.

She deserves better. She deserves better, Theo.

This last year, it had morphed into heartache, dull, throbbing and constant, but as their eyes met over a thousand judgemental ones, all he felt was that maddening all-encompassing love, and a smile formed on his face.

The shock lighting those cerulean blue eyes and the faint blush on her face morphed his smile into a grin.

Oh, how he had missed seeing her.

Of course, he could not walk up to her and brazenly declare their friendship and his feelings, which would tarnish both their reputations and this once-in-a-lifetime offer, but before the night ended, he would speak to her.

She would be the only person he thought of all night.

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

An hour, it had been an hour since Lady Danbury's announcement, and while most members of the ton were enamoured with Esther's kind smile and caring words (who Eloise had to admit were very pleasant), the 5th Bridgerton's eyes had not left Theo.

It had been an hour. Why hadn't he approached her yet?

Eloise sighed 'He does not care for you anymore Eloise. He has moved with his life and found his success'

Then why couldn't she? Move on, and go forward in her life beyond this pain.

It wasn't entirely her fault, though, for every time she convinced herself he didn't care, his eyes found hers, lingered a little too long for it to be coincidence, his lips curving upwards and all semblance of the belief disappeared.

Why did talking to a friend have to be so complicated?

Maybe because there was a little more-

No. She had decided never to be so careless as to fall in love, she wanted a life of freedom and independence.

But wouldn't Theo give her that?

Caught up in, by her confused heart and raging mind, Eloise did not hear her sisters-in-law approaching until they started speaking.

"You should go talk to him", Penelope's voice rang out from behind her, startling Eloise.

She fixed Penelope with her reproachful eyes, "Yes after my association with political radicals-", Penelope winced, "-that would be an amazing idea"

Kate, who had been clueless until now, lit up with realization, "So this is who you were working with to discover Whistledow-, well Penelope"

Eloise nodded while Pen's expression grew sheepish.

A grin bloomed on the Viscountess's face, "He seems like more than just an acquaintance"

"Yes, he-", Eloise took a deep breath, memories flooding her in full force, "He was a friend, an intellectual, whose thoughts resonated with mine so perfectly it was like debating and talking with myself and yet my best opposition"

Both Kate and Penelope's eyebrows raised in expectation and Eloise blushed, despising the interrogation.

Why me

"Alright maybe, just maybe, mind you", Eloise continued, berating her thundering heart, "I felt a little more than just platonic friendship for him"

The Viscountess smirked, a true successor to Violet Bridgerton, "Very well-"

"But", Eloise interrupted before any plans were hatched, "we broke it off on bad terms, and Theo has probably forgotten all about me"

"You may want to reconsider that Miss Eloise", the voice behind her caused her heart to drop to her stomach, "You make quite the impression"

The girl in question whirled around, and despite her confusion, the rawness of the wound their broken friendship had left on her, the cruel words he had thrown at her last time they had spoken, the sight of his warm brown eyes, the small smirk gracing his lips and the familiar rightward tilt of his head tugged the corners of her lips upward.

The retort came as natural as breathing, "I made an impression on you, Theo Sharpe, because I was the only person who deigned to read your musings and crazy writings"

His eyebrows furrowed in mock confusion, "But were you not the one who came to me for discernment due to the complexity of my ideas?"

She stepped closer to him, tilting his head upwards and relishing the flare of surprise in his chocolate brown eyes, "That was, as I mentioned that day, due to your ineffective communication"

"And as I mentioned that day", he replied, leaning the slightest bit closer to her, "ideas such as those require more exposure to this world of ours", his smirk grew, "and a less fragile mind"

Eloise glared at him, though her smile remained and was about to shoot back another scathing retort when a sharp, pointed cough came from the Viscountess behind her.

Immediately, the two intellectuals became painfully aware of the mere millimetres of space between them and the hundreds of other people in the ballroom with them, jumping back as though they were burned.

A small smile replaced the smirk, "I've missed you, Eloise"

"More like you've missed being in the acquaintance of someone with some semblance of wit, unlike yourself", Eloise's blinding grin at his confession softened as regret passed over her features, "I've missed you too"

Guilt and regret clouded his eyes, "It was my fault, I shouldn't have spoken so cruelly, you can do nothing about your birth and its privileges and...", his voice grew quieter and timid, "Sorry, about the other thing"

The almost kiss

Eloise did not wish to talk of that, she wished to rebuild the friendship she had lost, "No, I- I must apologise. Both of us reacted rashly that day", her ocean-blue eyes met his forest brown ones, "We're not doing whatever the last 2 years was again"

A slight nod and determination shining in his eyes, he offered his arm to her, "Very well, Miss Bridgerton, let us take a turn around the room and discuss Wollstonecraft's Memoir, shall we?"

Butterflies fluttering in her stomach, her grin returning in full force, Eloise took his arm, "I suppose we shall"

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

Not so far away from this reunion, three chestnut-haired brothers stood beside each other, each holding a glass of champagne and wearing an expression of disbelief, all looking toward their second younger sister.

"Why is he willingly talking to her, of all the people in this ballroom?", sheer confusion laced Benedict's question, though his soft smile at his sister's happiness was in complete contrast to it.

Colin shook his head, unable to believe what he was witnessing, "Why is she so happy about it? Eloise hates conversing with men of the ton"

"How sightless can the two of you be", Anthony sighed, though he was also shocked (pleasantly, that is), by the turn of events, "They are formerly acquainted, close friends judging the way are conversing. If my speculations are correct, then Mr. Theo, was it? He should be the political radical she was associating with her debut season"

Realisation dawned in Colin's face, while Benedict turned to his older brother grinning and surprised at his perceptiveness, "I'm surprised, brother, this is not the kind of analysis I expected from you", his grin widened, "but I suppose Kate and little Edmund have softened you"

Anthony lit up at the mention of his gorgeous wife and adorable son, "You will get there soon, Benedict, I am sure you will"

"I hope I do"

A few moments of comfortable silence passed and was broken by Benedict once again.

"Well, which one of us is going to interrogate him?"

Anthony replied solemnly, "We do not need to, Eloise herself is enough. If he survives her, our interrogation will be insignificant"

A beat passed and all three brothers burst into laughter, all three rejoicing the happiness of their headstrong sister.

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

Had it been seconds, or had it been years? It didn't matter to Theo, for all he cared for was holding onto his arm, speaking at the speed of light, her eyes lighting up like sapphires in sunlight, emotions from excitement to sarcasm taking over her face as they talked and talked and talked.

In his opinion, beautiful was an understatement.

She deserves better. She-

Theo stopped himself. What was he saying? Who was better for Eloise?

Sure, she would live a more comfortable and influential life if she married one of the ton.

But that wasn't what Eloise wanted, was it? No, she was an intellectual, a woman who wanted to advocate for the rights of others, who wanted to read and read and read and might even want to publish one day.

And even the most open-minded of these men would not allow her that life. Theo would.

Theo would do anything for her, but that was another matter entirely.

And the inkling of the thought of her smiling at another man like this had him seeing red.

Yes, economically, she deserved better. But he could not imagine her with any other man, so instead he would become better, for her.

His attention shifted back to reality, where Eloise (still holding onto his arm) had been silent for a few moments, the reason he had let himself spiral into his thoughts.

Eloise's attention had been captured by the dark-haired woman she had been talking to earlier and a man who looked rather similar to Eloise (Theo presumed it was one of her 7 siblings) and despite Eloise's usual distaste for the concept of romance, she seemed rather wistful at the sight.

Theo could see why too. While all the others danced to the music or the steps they had practised, the two of them seemed to be in a world of their own, dancing to a tune only they could hear.

"I thought you would make a remark on how sickening the romance was", Theo asked, "Not stare at them dancing as though you wanted it for yourself"

Eloise rolled her eyes at his remark, though the underlying pensiveness remained, "It is sickening, Theo, one cannot be in the same room as those two at home and want to stay there"

"But?"

Eloise smiled, "But, the man my brother was before Kate entered his life was a ghost of the man he was before my father died. He became entirely work and duty and protecting us, and existing solely for us, killing the side of him that had fun and read books and debated with me for hours about it and lived for himself"

"She brought it back"

"Yes, she did", Eloise's eyes fell once more, "And that is why, despite my distaste for romance, part of me hopes to find someone-", her eyes flicked up, met his, then went downcast again, "-who might change my life the same way"

"A suitor then?", Theo's eyebrows were raised, carefully keeping his jealousy in check.

Eloise scoffed, "As if any man here would let me live the radical life I wish to live. No, I am afraid these thoughts should remain dreams"

In her head, however, there was one man she had in mind, a man who would let her live the life she wanted. She was standing beside him at that very moment.

But why would he want her after how she had reacted the last time?

And it was because of these thoughts that she did not expect his next sentence at all.

"I would", his cheekbones became light pink, and Eloise was doing everything she could to hold in her smile, "I would live the radical life with you"

A few seconds of silence, and Theo continued his voice barely was whisper.

"If you were fine with it, I would court you, you know", he hesitated, but continued, "I know you aren't comfortable with romance and love, and if you tell me to stop right now, I'll stop"

Eloise wanted everything except for him to stop, "Don't"

Hope lit up his eyes as his gaze met hers and he kept talking, "Until you came into my life, my only opinion of the ton was that they're uppish, unempathetic and selfish. I wanted nothing to do with any of them"

Eloise laughed, "Yes, it was evident with how you reacted the first time you saw me"

Theo winced, "Yeah, let's not bring that up. Point is, when I despise the concept of classes and the obvious powerlessness I will feel as a part of this ton, why do you think I took Lady Danbury's offer?"

Eloise's lips curved upwards, her cheeks turning red, which had a smile blossoming on Theo's face as well.

"For you, I came for you, because your constant talking and crazy ideas and rebellious personality have made me fall in love with you, and two years without you in my life has been horrible"

Eloise's smile burst into a full-blown grin, though her eyes were suspiciously bright. Theo couldn't blame her, with tears pricking his own eyes.

"Well", Eloise dragged out the word, her tone childish, her happiness palpable, "Turns out you're in luck because despite you're mediocre writing skills, I love you too"

Theo laughed at her retort, "Very well, Miss Eloise, I suppose I have your permission to court you, then?"

"I think you will also require my brother's", Eloise directed his gaze to the brother who had been dancing, now standing at the edge of the floor, holding onto his wife, but for some reason looking at them.

Theo tilted his head towards her, "I do believe that to court you, your permission of more important than his"

Eloise nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet with unbridled joy, "That it is. Now that we've got all the emotional stuff sorted, may we please go back to discussing Wollstonecraft's various wonderful arguments"

"You started the emotional stuff, though"

"And you just gave that gods-damned speech about loving me"

"You loved it, don't lie"

And so, for the rest of the night, though neither of them got on the dance floor once, they too danced to a tune only the two of them could hear.

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

The next morning, Viscountess Kathani Bridgerton was helping her husband with the ledgers, when a footman entered the room saying a man named Theo Sharpe required an audience with her husband.

The Viscount and Viscountess exchanged a grin, and Anthony left the room, a second after which her mother-in-law entered.

"There's a man calling on Eloise?", Violet asked, her surprise written in her wide eyes, "No, even that is fine. But she seems overjoyed about it?"

Kate beckoned her forward with a conspirator's grin, "I do believe you are yet to hear the events of last night's ball"

A few minutes later, once all the information had been transferred from the current viscountess to the former, Anthony walked in and informed his mother, "I believe you have some chaperoning to do"

After spending a mere five minutes chaperoning Eloise and Theo, Violet started planning the wedding breakfast.

They already acted like a married couple, it wouldn't be long until her planning was put to use.

Violet chuckled under her breath. Yes, she was being a bit dramatic but-

What is life without a little chaos?

Thank you for reading this far <3

(Part 2 if you all like it)

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centelliltd · 6 months ago

Text

How to Overcome Common Challenges in Automation Solutions Implementation?

Automation Solutions is a game-changer for businesses, offering enhanced efficiency, reduced costs, and improved accuracy. However, the path to successful automation is not without its challenges. This blog explores the key obstacles and provides practical strategies for overcoming automation implementation challenges, focusing on infrastructure requirements, ownership within the business, and identifying the best processes.

Implementing automation requires a solid infrastructure to support the technology.

Automation Solutions: Overcoming Common Challenges

Resistance to Change

Employee Involvement: Involve employees early in the automation journey and communicate the benefits clearly. Address concerns and provide assurance about job security and new opportunities.

Incentives: Offer incentives and recognition to employees who actively participate in the automation initiatives and contribute to their success.

Technical Challenges

Pilot Programmes: Start with pilot programmes to test the automation solutions tools and iron out any technical issues before full-scale implementation.

Vendor Support: Work closely with automation vendors to leverage their expertise and support in addressing technical challenges.

Cost Concerns

Cost-Benefit Analysis: Conduct a thorough cost-benefit analysis to demonstrate automation’s long-term savings and ROI. Highlight quick wins to build momentum and justify further investments.

Scalable Solutions: Opt for scalable solutions that allow you to start small and expand gradually, managing costs effectively.

Implementing automation presents several challenges, but these can be effectively managed with the right approach. Businesses can successfully navigate the automation journey by ensuring a robust infrastructure, establishing clear ownership, and carefully selecting the best processes to start with. Embrace these strategies to overcome obstacles and unlock the full potential of automation solutions, driving efficiency, cost savings, and growth in your organisation.

#centelliltd #intelligent automation #automation solutions #AI Solutions #technology #Cost effective #digital worker #Business #centelli #Dubai #UAE

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

Text

"Open" "AI" isn’t

Tomorrow (19 Aug), I'm appearing at the San Diego Union-Tribune Festival of Books. I'm on a 2:30PM panel called "Return From Retirement," followed by a signing:

https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/festivalofbooks

The crybabies who freak out about The Communist Manifesto appearing on university curriculum clearly never read it – chapter one is basically a long hymn to capitalism's flexibility and inventiveness, its ability to change form and adapt itself to everything the world throws at it and come out on top:

https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1848/communist-manifesto/ch01.htm#007

Today, leftists signal this protean capacity of capital with the -washing suffix: greenwashing, genderwashing, queerwashing, wokewashing – all the ways capital cloaks itself in liberatory, progressive values, while still serving as a force for extraction, exploitation, and political corruption.

A smart capitalist is someone who, sensing the outrage at a world run by 150 old white guys in boardrooms, proposes replacing half of them with women, queers, and people of color. This is a superficial maneuver, sure, but it's an incredibly effective one.

In "Open (For Business): Big Tech, Concentrated Power, and the Political Economy of Open AI," a new working paper, Meredith Whittaker, David Gray Widder and Sarah B Myers document a new kind of -washing: openwashing:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4543807

Openwashing is the trick that large "AI" companies use to evade regulation and neutralizing critics, by casting themselves as forces of ethical capitalism, committed to the virtue of openness. No one should be surprised to learn that the products of the "open" wing of an industry whose products are neither "artificial," nor "intelligent," are also not "open." Every word AI huxters say is a lie; including "and," and "the."

So what work does the "open" in "open AI" do? "Open" here is supposed to invoke the "open" in "open source," a movement that emphasizes a software development methodology that promotes code transparency, reusability and extensibility, which are three important virtues.

But "open source" itself is an offshoot of a more foundational movement, the Free Software movement, whose goal is to promote freedom, and whose method is openness. The point of software freedom was technological self-determination, the right of technology users to decide not just what their technology does, but who it does it to and who it does it for:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

The open source split from free software was ostensibly driven by the need to reassure investors and businesspeople so they would join the movement. The "free" in free software is (deliberately) ambiguous, a bit of wordplay that sometimes misleads people into thinking it means "Free as in Beer" when really it means "Free as in Speech" (in Romance languages, these distinctions are captured by translating "free" as "libre" rather than "gratis").

The idea behind open source was to rebrand free software in a less ambiguous – and more instrumental – package that stressed cost-savings and software quality, as well as "ecosystem benefits" from a co-operative form of development that recruited tinkerers, independents, and rivals to contribute to a robust infrastructural commons.

But "open" doesn't merely resolve the linguistic ambiguity of libre vs gratis – it does so by removing the "liberty" from "libre," the "freedom" from "free." "Open" changes the pole-star that movement participants follow as they set their course. Rather than asking "Which course of action makes us more free?" they ask, "Which course of action makes our software better?"

Thus, by dribs and drabs, the freedom leeches out of openness. Today's tech giants have mobilized "open" to create a two-tier system: the largest tech firms enjoy broad freedom themselves – they alone get to decide how their software stack is configured. But for all of us who rely on that (increasingly unavoidable) software stack, all we have is "open": the ability to peer inside that software and see how it works, and perhaps suggest improvements to it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBknF2yUZZ8

In the Big Tech internet, it's freedom for them, openness for us. "Openness" – transparency, reusability and extensibility – is valuable, but it shouldn't be mistaken for technological self-determination. As the tech sector becomes ever-more concentrated, the limits of openness become more apparent.

But even by those standards, the openness of "open AI" is thin gruel indeed (that goes triple for the company that calls itself "OpenAI," which is a particularly egregious openwasher).

The paper's authors start by suggesting that the "open" in "open AI" is meant to imply that an "open AI" can be scratch-built by competitors (or even hobbyists), but that this isn't true. Not only is the material that "open AI" companies publish insufficient for reproducing their products, even if those gaps were plugged, the resource burden required to do so is so intense that only the largest companies could do so.

Beyond this, the "open" parts of "open AI" are insufficient for achieving the other claimed benefits of "open AI": they don't promote auditing, or safety, or competition. Indeed, they often cut against these goals.

"Open AI" is a wordgame that exploits the malleability of "open," but also the ambiguity of the term "AI": "a grab bag of approaches, not… a technical term of art, but more … marketing and a signifier of aspirations." Hitching this vague term to "open" creates all kinds of bait-and-switch opportunities.

That's how you get Meta claiming that LLaMa2 is "open source," despite being licensed in a way that is absolutely incompatible with any widely accepted definition of the term:

https://blog.opensource.org/metas-llama-2-license-is-not-open-source/

LLaMa-2 is a particularly egregious openwashing example, but there are plenty of other ways that "open" is misleadingly applied to AI: sometimes it means you can see the source code, sometimes that you can see the training data, and sometimes that you can tune a model, all to different degrees, alone and in combination.

But even the most "open" systems can't be independently replicated, due to raw computing requirements. This isn't the fault of the AI industry – the computational intensity is a fact, not a choice – but when the AI industry claims that "open" will "democratize" AI, they are hiding the ball. People who hear these "democratization" claims (especially policymakers) are thinking about entrepreneurial kids in garages, but unless these kids have access to multi-billion-dollar data centers, they can't be "disruptors" who topple tech giants with cool new ideas. At best, they can hope to pay rent to those giants for access to their compute grids, in order to create products and services at the margin that rely on existing products, rather than displacing them.

The "open" story, with its claims of democratization, is an especially important one in the context of regulation. In Europe, where a variety of AI regulations have been proposed, the AI industry has co-opted the open source movement's hard-won narrative battles about the harms of ill-considered regulation.

For open source (and free software) advocates, many tech regulations aimed at taming large, abusive companies – such as requirements to surveil and control users to extinguish toxic behavior – wreak collateral damage on the free, open, user-centric systems that we see as superior alternatives to Big Tech. This leads to the paradoxical effect of passing regulation to "punish" Big Tech that end up simply shaving an infinitesimal percentage off the giants' profits, while destroying the small co-ops, nonprofits and startups before they can grow to be a viable alternative.

The years-long fight to get regulators to understand this risk has been waged by principled actors working for subsistence nonprofit wages or for free, and now the AI industry is capitalizing on lawmakers' hard-won consideration for collateral damage by claiming to be "open AI" and thus vulnerable to overbroad regulation.

But the "open" projects that lawmakers have been coached to value are precious because they deliver a level playing field, competition, innovation and democratization – all things that "open AI" fails to deliver. The regulations the AI industry is fighting also don't necessarily implicate the speech implications that are core to protecting free software:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2015/04/remembering-case-established-code-speech

Just think about LLaMa-2. You can download it for free, along with the model weights it relies on – but not detailed specs for the data that was used in its training. And the source-code is licensed under a homebrewed license cooked up by Meta's lawyers, a license that only glancingly resembles anything from the Open Source Definition:

https://opensource.org/osd/

Core to Big Tech companies' "open AI" offerings are tools, like Meta's PyTorch and Google's TensorFlow. These tools are indeed "open source," licensed under real OSS terms. But they are designed and maintained by the companies that sponsor them, and optimize for the proprietary back-ends each company offers in its own cloud. When programmers train themselves to develop in these environments, they are gaining expertise in adding value to a monopolist's ecosystem, locking themselves in with their own expertise. This a classic example of software freedom for tech giants and open source for the rest of us.

One way to understand how "open" can produce a lock-in that "free" might prevent is to think of Android: Android is an open platform in the sense that its sourcecode is freely licensed, but the existence of Android doesn't make it any easier to challenge the mobile OS duopoly with a new mobile OS; nor does it make it easier to switch from Android to iOS and vice versa.

Another example: MongoDB, a free/open database tool that was adopted by Amazon, which subsequently forked the codebase and tuning it to work on their proprietary cloud infrastructure.

The value of open tooling as a stickytrap for creating a pool of developers who end up as sharecroppers who are glued to a specific company's closed infrastructure is well-understood and openly acknowledged by "open AI" companies. Zuckerberg boasts about how PyTorch ropes developers into Meta's stack, "when there are opportunities to make integrations with products, [so] it’s much easier to make sure that developers and other folks are compatible with the things that we need in the way that our systems work."

Tooling is a relatively obscure issue, primarily debated by developers. A much broader debate has raged over training data – how it is acquired, labeled, sorted and used. Many of the biggest "open AI" companies are totally opaque when it comes to training data. Google and OpenAI won't even say how many pieces of data went into their models' training – let alone which data they used.

Other "open AI" companies use publicly available datasets like the Pile and CommonCrawl. But you can't replicate their models by shoveling these datasets into an algorithm. Each one has to be groomed – labeled, sorted, de-duplicated, and otherwise filtered. Many "open" models merge these datasets with other, proprietary sets, in varying (and secret) proportions.

Quality filtering and labeling for training data is incredibly expensive and labor-intensive, and involves some of the most exploitative and traumatizing clickwork in the world, as poorly paid workers in the Global South make pennies for reviewing data that includes graphic violence, rape, and gore.

Not only is the product of this "data pipeline" kept a secret by "open" companies, the very nature of the pipeline is likewise cloaked in mystery, in order to obscure the exploitative labor relations it embodies (the joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians" comes out of the South Asian clickwork industry).

The most common "open" in "open AI" is a model that arrives built and trained, which is "open" in the sense that end-users can "fine-tune" it – usually while running it on the manufacturer's own proprietary cloud hardware, under that company's supervision and surveillance. These tunable models are undocumented blobs, not the rigorously peer-reviewed transparent tools celebrated by the open source movement.

If "open" was a way to transform "free software" from an ethical proposition to an efficient methodology for developing high-quality software; then "open AI" is a way to transform "open source" into a rent-extracting black box.

Some "open AI" has slipped out of the corporate silo. Meta's LLaMa was leaked by early testers, republished on 4chan, and is now in the wild. Some exciting stuff has emerged from this, but despite this work happening outside of Meta's control, it is not without benefits to Meta. As an infamous leaked Google memo explains:

Paradoxically, the one clear winner in all of this is Meta. Because the leaked model was theirs, they have effectively garnered an entire planet's worth of free labor. Since most open source innovation is happening on top of their architecture, there is nothing stopping them from directly incorporating it into their products.

https://www.searchenginejournal.com/leaked-google-memo-admits-defeat-by-open-source-ai/486290/

Thus, "open AI" is best understood as "as free product development" for large, well-capitalized AI companies, conducted by tinkerers who will not be able to escape these giants' proprietary compute silos and opaque training corpuses, and whose work product is guaranteed to be compatible with the giants' own systems.

The instrumental story about the virtues of "open" often invoke auditability: the fact that anyone can look at the source code makes it easier for bugs to be identified. But as open source projects have learned the hard way, the fact that anyone can audit your widely used, high-stakes code doesn't mean that anyone will.

The Heartbleed vulnerability in OpenSSL was a wake-up call for the open source movement – a bug that endangered every secure webserver connection in the world, which had hidden in plain sight for years. The result was an admirable and successful effort to build institutions whose job it is to actually make use of open source transparency to conduct regular, deep, systemic audits.

In other words, "open" is a necessary, but insufficient, precondition for auditing. But when the "open AI" movement touts its "safety" thanks to its "auditability," it fails to describe any steps it is taking to replicate these auditing institutions – how they'll be constituted, funded and directed. The story starts and ends with "transparency" and then makes the unjustifiable leap to "safety," without any intermediate steps about how the one will turn into the other.

It's a Magic Underpants Gnome story, in other words:

Step One: Transparency

Step Two: ??

Step Three: Safety

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5ih_TQWqCA

Meanwhile, OpenAI itself has gone on record as objecting to "burdensome mechanisms like licenses or audits" as an impediment to "innovation" – all the while arguing that these "burdensome mechanisms" should be mandatory for rival offerings that are more advanced than its own. To call this a "transparent ruse" is to do violence to good, hardworking transparent ruses all the world over:

https://openai.com/blog/governance-of-superintelligence

Some "open AI" is much more open than the industry dominating offerings. There's EleutherAI, a donor-supported nonprofit whose model comes with documentation and code, licensed Apache 2.0. There are also some smaller academic offerings: Vicuna (UCSD/CMU/Berkeley); Koala (Berkeley) and Alpaca (Stanford).

These are indeed more open (though Alpaca – which ran on a laptop – had to be withdrawn because it "hallucinated" so profusely). But to the extent that the "open AI" movement invokes (or cares about) these projects, it is in order to brandish them before hostile policymakers and say, "Won't someone please think of the academics?" These are the poster children for proposals like exempting AI from antitrust enforcement, but they're not significant players in the "open AI" industry, nor are they likely to be for so long as the largest companies are running the show:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4493900

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet to succeed the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #llama-2 #meta #openwashing #floss #free software #open ai #open source #osi #open source initiative #osd #open source definition #code is speech

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