#workload estimation

[maliciousalice]

🔥ATTENTION BAJORAN WORKERS!🔥 If you would like to see some custom J/C, your Blorbo , or maybe you'd like for me to draw you a thresholdsona I'm open for business! DM if you'd like something, hope to hear from you soon.

[sunlit-mess]

Commissions closed

I didn't expect July to be hectic and caught up with other sh*t to deal with and hopefully I can last til august. For previous and listed commissions, I'm slowly working on them and I'll be updating you soon ^^ ILY!

[everythingundertheskycomics]

(...Hm, who could that be?)

Hi all!

Due to a temporary life kerfuffle, comic postings are going to be a little more erratic for a few weeks!

I won't have enough time to keep up my regular pace (which was already a lot), and since I'd rather not switch to posting single pages at the moment, it's better to simply pause.

With any luck, I'll be able to polish up the next series of updates in-between tackling this particular Life Hurdle! I've got a solid draft of the next one, but am Compelled to make all the pages equally pretty.

I'll still post these little weekly Turtle Tuesday updates to keep y'all up-to-date!

And also because they're fun. =)

[machinavocis]

threw together some 3d-render-screenshot-mockups literally just to prove to myself that Progress Has Been Made.

[reasonsforhope]

"Tilia is a vest-wearing conservation dog that the 444-acre [Mequon] nature preserve relies on for vital conservation and restoration work.

The dog’s responsibilities include sniffing out invasive and endangered species in the prairies, forests, and wetlands of Mequon.

Conservation dogs have become more commonplace in wildlife organizations, tapping into their astonishing scent-detecting abilities.

“Dogs in general already have up to 200 million olfactory sensors,” Cory Gritzmacher, the director of operations at the nature preserve, told Wisconsin Life.

Humans, on the other hand, have about 5 million.

“[Dogs are] already set up and designed for scent detection,” Gritzmacher added. “It’s really just finding a dog that’s motivated, that wants to do it on a regular basis and is excited to do it.”

Tilia was the pup for the job.

One of her main roles is to detect wild parsnip, an invasive species that staff removes once it is found on the property.

Compared to humans, Tilia can find parsnip in its first year, while it’s still close to the ground and camouflaged by other plants. This is vital, since parsnip will start to spread rapidly by the time it reaches its second season in the preserve. 

Studies show that the estimated damage caused by invasive species has cost the United States around $120 billion annually, as it impacts agriculture, recreational industries, and wildlife management. 

By catching invasive species that take hold of local flora and fauna early, Tilia achieves something no humans can.

“The best trained volunteers or staff in the world won’t even be able to find what a canine can,” Gritzmacher said. “That’s the pretty impressive part of it. And who doesn’t want to go to work with a dog?” ...

Tilia began training as a puppy, and now nearly seven years old, she’s a pro at scent detection — which all started with some treats hidden in cardboard boxes...

“As she continues to hit on the correct scent, then she gets rewarded. So, she’s going to get paid again. We do our work, we get paid. She does her work, she gets paid.”

Tilia can also spot Blue-Spotted and Easter Tiger Salamanders, which are endangered in the area. Her other scents include Wood Turtle and Garlic Mustard.

Of course, her workload remains balanced with time off. Her official owner is the director of Mequon Nature Preserve, who is happy to embrace her as the family dog when she’s not out sniffing.

But Gritzmacher, who trains and works alongside Tilia, adores her, not only for her companionship, but for the miracles she is able to work as an asset to Wisconsin’s conservationists.

“Canines are going to start to play a huge role in the conservation field just because of their amazing detection skills,” Gritzmacher said, “especially when resources are limited, staff is limited and you have to search potentially thousands of acres or miles.”

In fact, Tilia was joined by a partner in crime a few years ago: Timber, another chocolate lab who is actually the offspring of Tilia’s sister.

By following in her pawprints, Timber’s “powerful nose will be a key tool” in the preserve’s “land restoration efforts,” according to its website.

“For years, scientists have tried to replicate the power and efficiency of the canine nose,” Mequon Nature Preserve adds on a webpage for Tilia and Timber.

“The results keep coming back the same: The canine nose is second to none. Coupled with an insatiable desire to work and serve, Tilia and Timber help us find things humans often can’t.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, December 2, 2024

[mimikyusrealform]

globalization

Spencer Reid x Reader. Word Count: 3703. Summary: Three times you leave Spencer speechless, and one time he leaves you speechless. Notes and Warnings: Set during S1 at the beginning, and then at S2. Mention of Somebody's Watching and North Mammon. There's a misogynistic comment, but it's quickly dealt with.

1.

The rivalry started innocuous enough. Three months after Dr. Spencer Reid joined the BAU, you were recruited as well. Fresh out of the academy and without a prebuilt rapport with the rest of the team, you felt out of place. They listened to your suggestions, but after a week and a half, it was like they were still teaching you the ropes, coddling you. Hotch didn’t even let you go out in the field. This piling dissatisfaction reached its culmination without warning.

“C’mon now,” Morgan said one day. You didn’t even remember what led to the following statement, but you remembered the phrase that started the domino effect. “Robberies have been declining since last year.”

“The robbery rate declined last year,” you corrected him as you skimmed through your oddly small workload for the day. They weren’t working on any cases. “It’s been declining since 1986, but it’s possible that the rate will increase this year in comparison to last year’s, which was at an all-time low, at 137.”

“136.7,” Dr. Reid corrected you from his own desk. He had already finished half of his work. “That is given a population of 293,656,842.” He looked at you and Morgan. “Did you know that the U.S Census Bureau estimates the population as of July 1 for each year? Except when it's a decennial census count, like 2000.”

It took Dr. Reid a whole minute to notice your glare. What a genius. He looked as if he was panicking a bit, and his gaze drifted between you and Morgan. He seemed to be begging with his eyes for Morgan to, somehow, reveal to him the secrets of the universe and what he should do to stop your glaring. But Morgan was not a pious entity, and he turned around, suddenly blind. It took Dr. Reid another minute to figure out why you were killing him in your head.

“I—I mean, you round up from 5, so 137 is accurate,” he rectified, staring back at you, like you were the abyss and he, the hero who needed to face it.

You stayed silent for a while. And then, you said, “That's dumb. The rate was 136.7. Sigh. I thought you were a genius, Dr. Reid, how could you even suggest that the rate was 137? Maybe you should check if you need to reinstall the eidetic memory package.”

Morgan made a sound that was between a dog barking out a laugh and a dog choking on its bone. But it was Dr. Reid's perplexed expression what you burned in your memory.

It wasn't your fault, really, that your antagonistic nature decided to pursue a war with the resident genius of the team. If you were to bluff in case of being questioned why you were so adamant in aggravating Dr. Spencer Reid in any way you could, you would say, “complacency is the enemy of natural selection and I'm truly benevolent—so I'm making the Doctor a favor by keeping him on his toes.” The truth was, Dr. Spencer Reid's geeky enthusiasm and nerdy rambles had charmed you. While you weren't on the same level as him when it came to intelligence—your latest IQ test had put you around 137, and that was knowing the common patterns the test tended to use—you had a knack for deconstructing things. When you were 8, you couldn't finish a Rubik cube for the life of you, but when you broke it down to its simpler parts, you found a way to solve it after learning how the core mechanism worked.

Antagonizing was how you dealt with your crushes. All the crushes you ever had, you actively treated them as if they were your mortal enemies. In a sense, they were. Understandably, none of them ever liked you, and you couldn't blame them. But, for some reason, the idea of Dr. Spencer Reid not returning your affections was—troubling, to say the least. And that only made you pricklier.

2.

Lila Archer was not an enemy but a victim with very poor timing. You draped a towel around her febrile shoulders, and patted her back in an ode to comfort. Then, you went out of the house to deal with your real foe. Dr. Spencer Reid was still trying to dry himself with a pathetically small cloth. In another occasion, it would have made you laugh. But you were, at loss of a better word, jealous. How shameful was that? You hadn’t been jealous since Nathaniel Sterling, your crush in tenth grade, started dating Rose Harding, the cloistered girl who ruined your straight-A-record in Math because you were paired with her during one assignment.

You had the bad habit of swallowing the acid that dripped from your own soul and regurgitating it when you were alone. For now, you compartmentalized. Weirdly enough, you found yourself feeling tired, instead of murderous. You understood, then, how having a crush on someone didn’t compare to being in love.

A crush was a candle in the wind; being in love was a fire in a forest.

The color of the night sky, that reflected on the blue water, covered the world of depth and beyond all bounds. Even the air was blue; it bit your skin. Or maybe it was your own feelings that prickled down your spine. If porcupines did mate for life, they would be the most tender lovers in the world, you thought. The prickliest beings loved carefully and purposefully.

Only after Elle left his side, did you approach. Though the look she gave you was too perceptive for your liking. “I didn’t know kissing with the girl you’re supposed to be protecting from her stalker was part of the protocol. Please, forward me the exact article that describes the effectiveness of French kisses as a method of protection against erotomaniacs.”

He tried to ignore your wording, but his ears were red, and so were his cheeks, despite the fact the air had cooled the water clinging to his clothes. “I, uh, I fell in,” was all he could muster given the fact you had a gun, a motive and a cold heart.

“I see,” you nodded. “That’s what tends to happen when you pool your women.”

“I don’t pool my women! I-I don’t even—I don’t even have women.”

“Relax, Doctor, you won’t drown. If you know how to two-stroke, two-timing should come naturally to you.”

Dr. Reid made a pitiful sound when he realized there was no winning against you.

“She kissed me first,” he said.

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“Don’t make it sound like a punishment.”

“I’m not.” You were sincere.

3.

You were pretty good at remaining unmovable, and you were proud of that. But—this guy. This guy.

“All I did was show them who they really are,” he was saying with that stupid self-satisfied smile. “What they were truly capable of. People pretending to be decent. When it came down to it, they… They reacted just the way I knew they would.”

“Is that so,” you couldn’t help but interrupt his little monologue. Gideon looked at you from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t try to stop you. “Congratulations. Be proud of discovering the sky is blue for the rest of your life, I commiserate you; it must have been so hard for you. Do you really think you’re a mastermind for this?” His smile slowly disappeared, replaced by a glare directed towards you. “If you starve a dog, are you a genius for knowing the dog will end up becoming aggressive? But then, that’s a Nobel-worthy dissertation for someone so simpleminded like you.”

He started to say something, voice shaking from barely contained rage, but you were already leaving the basement. He yelled after you. You couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in your ears.

In the plane, you were shutting down the world around you by pretending to read a Russian Copy of The Brothers Karamazov. You didn’t speak Russian. That was—until Reid sat in front of you. He didn’t speak for a moment, just observed you. You flipped five pages before he finally said,

“Are you okay?”

“What an unpleasant question,” you replied. He kept looking at you, which annoyed you because it made your stomach twist. “I suppose. That guy got on my nerves.”

“I thought you didn’t have nerves,” he said. “I mean… you always act as if you’re untouched by the world.”

“I try my utmost not to be perceived. The world is a scary place, after all.”

“It is scary,” he agreed. “But, scary—how? How does someone like you find the world to be scary?”

You put your book down on your lap. “Full of people.” You twirled a strand of hair around your index finger. “And what I hate most are the people who lie to themselves. That guy—lied to himself that he was right. He decided to believe other people were his enemies instead of realizing… realizing he was his own worst enemy.”

It wasn’t without tact—though it startled you all the same—when he said, “Sounds a bit like you.”

“Oh, right.” You supposed it was a fair assessment; you never gave him any indication that you actually didn’t see him as enemy. You acted like you did, after all. Maybe he really believed you hated him. So, “I don’t hate you. If I was smart, I would go as far as to say that I like you.”

You watched him freeze for a split of a second before his face turned red, like a M-class star. It gave you terrible ideas and horrible impulses. You couldn’t help but reach for his glasses, and—gently push them up the bridge of his nose. Your index finger brushed against his skin. His face went a class up in the Morgan-Keenan classification.

“But you are smart,” he managed to choke out. “Very smart.”

“What are you implying?”

He couldn’t answer, and you returned to your book, a bit disappointed, maybe. You had thought he was ready to give in. You still couldn’t read a single word. Reid must have noticed because he ended up prying the book from your hands, and began reading out loud, just for you, just for your enjoyment. It was enough.

+1.

“Kid,” Morgan called as he slid in the seat next to him. “Seriously, when are you gonna ask her out? Save the rest of us from her pining.”

Spencer frowned. “Ask who out?”

He was only half listening, but when Morgan said your name, he spluttered. “What?!” He lowered his tone after that voice break. “Morgan, are you crazy? She hates my guts.”

Morgan looked incredibly amused. “No, she doesn't. She's just pulling your hair. And, if she actually hated you, well, I don't think I need to remind you what happened to Officer Harrison. I really wish I had been there to see it.”

Spencer almost smiled at the memory. A few months back, a case had brought them to Texas when the local police discovered two independent pairs of hands scattered across their state line. The second in command, Officer Harrison, had been a flagrant misogynistic and a stereotypical macho-man.

“But what does cutting the hands-off mean?” Officer Harrison had asked.

JJ, you and him were the only ones from the team still in the bullpen.

Hotch did trust you with fieldwork, but he found that you and Spencer were an especially good match, so he mostly paired the two of you together. You bounced off each other’s ideas with an uncanny synergy.

Before he could ramble off, you beat him to it, “The ancient Greek sometimes mutilated the body of their victim. There's a theory that says that the mutilation of the body corresponded to the mutilation of the soul, so that the shade, without limbs, couldn't enact vengeance over the killer. Maybe the Unsub’s superstitious and believes that by cutting off their hands he’s saving himself from their ghosts.”

Officer Harrison had looked at you, before dragging his gaze up and down your body. He had mainly interacted with Morgan and Hotch, sometimes himself; and almost none with you, JJ and Emily. Then, he whistled sarcastically. “That's very impressive, darlin'. I didn't take you for the smart type. No offense, but you don't look like it.”

Rage was born in the pit of the stomach, Spencer found out that day. It rendered him immobile for a moment, and before he could tell the officer off, you beat him to it, again. Intelligence wasn’t quantifiable, he knew this. But you always managed to prove it to him. Some tests might say he was several points smarter than you, but you were two steps ahead of him, every single time.

From the corner of his eye, he could see JJ’s appalled expression. He wondered how his own face looked.

“Oh,” you had said. “Looks can be deceiving. It's alright. No offense taken. I myself was deceived by your looks—I thought you were a conventionally ugly man, maybe even a rare ugliness, but you're actually a piece of shit in human form. Tell me, did the doctor perform a colonoscopy on your mother to find out if she was pregnant, as opposed to an ultrasound?”

JJ's lips were pulled inwards in a tight, flat grimace, as if she was trying and failing to stifle her laughter, and Spencer found himself playing side-eye ping-pong between you and Officer Harrison.

“Why, you bit—” Officer Harrison stammered, face growing a tint of red and fists comically clenched.

“Jonathan,” Sheriff Mendoza had interjected then, sternly. “Why don't you take a walk? Go on, get some air.”

Officer Harrison looked as if he was going to self-combust from how ruddy his face was and how sweat accrued on his temple. His shoulders were trembling when he attempted to storm out. He seemed ready to shoulder-check you, but you put a hand on his chest and held him in place.

“Officer Harrison. Harrison. Jonathan? Johnny? Johnny, by all means, please underestimate me again,” you told him lowly. “It'll make the look on your face when I ruin your life funnier.”

With that, you finally let him go, and he bulldozed his way out of the bullpen. You could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“... I'm sorry for him,” Sheriff Mendoza had offered awkwardly, a deep sigh pulled out of his chest.

You had shrugged. “Natural selection will do its work.”

Spencer thought you had never looked lovelier than in that moment.

He shook his head to clear the memory away. “Maybe she doesn't hate my guts,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I'm still his least favorite person here.”

“Wow,” Morgan said exaggeratedly. “For a genius, you can be stupid sometimes. She clearly likes you, man. Look, tell you what, the next time she picks up a fight with you, tell her this: ‘you are hot when you're talking about statistics’.” He was laughing by the end of it while Spencer choked with his own saliva. “She'll love it, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” he replied. “She's so emotionally repressed and so unapologetically herself, I don't think anything I do will ever get a real reaction out of her.”

“Trust me on this one, kid,” was all Morgan said with a pat to his back.

Spencer spent the rest of the day thinking about his words. When he first met you, you had offered him a handshake like most other people. He rambled his well-practiced explanation, “A study shows that the number of organisms, both pathogenic and non-pathogenic, that are passed during handshakes is staggering. Kissing is actually more sanitary than handshakes.” But instead of looking at him like he was a weirdo, you had stared at him, unshakeable, and replied,

“I can say ‘a study shows that shooting yourself in the head is an efficient way to de-stress’, but if I don't say what study it is, then does the study really exist?”

That was the first time his heart lurched in your presence. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit breathless, “Uh, it's a study published in The Public Health Journal, by H. W. Hill and Helen M. Matthews. Volume 17, number 7, July, 1927, I-I mean, 1926. It's titled Transfer of Infection by Handshakes. Pages 347 to 352. I-I can get you a copy of it.”

You blinked at him, but he didn't feel as if you thought he was a freak. He felt like you were amazed by him. It brought his heart to his throat.

“Is that so,” you had said. “Then, I expect it to be delivered at my doorstep at 5 o'clock sharp, tomorrow. Military time.”

He had been stunned into silence for a few seconds. “That's... unreasonable. I don't even know where you live.”

You said, “It's quite standard.”

“Then you have unreasonable standards.”

“I've been told.”

Spencer had thought you and him would become something like best friends. For the first week and a half, you had been quite friendly with him, and often listened to his rambles. But then, then he had made the terrible mistake of correcting an innocuous error you made regarding a statistic, and the look you had shot at him could have curled water. From that point on, you seemed to have made it your life mission to fight him at any chance.

And yet—he never got the feeling you did it out of malice. He thought you did hate him on some level, but when you argued against his points during a case, there was a glint in your eye. Like you were still amazed by him. Sometimes, you even finished his rambles when he couldn't land them. Sometimes, you were the only one who listened to him when he sidetracked. To him, you defined the wonder of globalization. When you were there, it was like talking to the stars, and having the stars answering him back in perplexing, secret ways. He kind of figured this out when you smiled at his existentialist joke. You told him it wasn't funny, but your eyes were bright.

Maybe trying Morgan's advice wouldn't go so bad.

If only you weren’t so prickly. And clever and quick, he added in his head, just in case you were hearing his thoughts. He wouldn’t put it past your abilities. For three weeks, Spencer hadn’t managed yet to seize a situation in which Morgan’s advice worked at his favor. It wasn’t until the team, you and him included, obviously, went out for drinks that he finally got his chance.

“You aren’t drinking?” he asked you. You were cradling a Virgin Margarita in your hands, and for a moment he wished your fingers were curled around his own instead of the glass.

“No,” you said. “You’re clearly the best in the profiling game. Take pride on this display of your observational skills for the rest of your life.”

He sighed. You were impossible. Still, he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice when he said, “You don’t have to be so defensive with me.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, and he arched an eyebrow. “I have to be especially defensive with you.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Why do you have to, uh, be ‘especially’ defensive with me?”

You didn’t answer him. But he knew you couldn’t go without having the last word, so he patiently waited for you to gather a satisfactorily poignant response. In the meantime, he took the time to examine your face; there was a quality to it he would never find a perfect word to describe it. Maybe it was your supraorbital ridge, or your posterior zygomatic arch, or even the vertical length of your forehead. He just knew you were lovely. He had never been comfortable with not knowing something, but with you, he didn’t need to know. He would rather discover you, if you would let him. If you were full of secrets, he would work them out; if he only found hatred for him, he would press his mouth to it and relish in it.

“Because you have a BA in Psychology,” you ended up saying, stoic as ever, “and I’m a soft girl with mental health issues.”

He laughed. It took him a lot of time to figure out that—the more matter-of-factly you said something, the less serious you were. Your lips quirked up in a little smile, and you sipped your drink. The rest of the team—besides Hotch—hadn’t yet realized your tell-tale sign.

The words escaped him before he could think them over, “You’re cute when you pretend to be emotionless.”

Your facial expression didn’t change, and that was alright, because when you turned your head to the side—he could clearly see the faint blush on your cheekbones. “Fool.”

Ah, he realized. I won. You were at a loss of words. Because of him.

“You know, the word ‘fool’ comes from Old French fol, which means ‘madman, insane person’ and ‘idiot, jester’, and fol is from Medieval Latin follus, adjective for ‘foolish’. The evolution of its meaning can probably be attributed to the use of follis in a sense of ‘empty-headed person’. The word was also used in Middle English for ‘sinner, rascal, impious person’. It actually must have been passed to the English language via its borrowing in the Scandinavian language of the Vikings. And did you know that the association between April 1 and foolishness in Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales could have been a copying error and...”

You didn’t look at him as he continued going on his tangent, but he knew that you were listening intently. Because your body was angled towards him, even if you kept your face away from his gaze, and when he took a pause to breathe, you hummed in acknowledgment only for his ears.

Globalization was saying hello and someone answering hola from miles away.

But you didn’t need to answer him for Spencer to understand you were in love with him and he was in love with you.

[gghostwriter]

Time is a Fickle Thing

Girl Dad!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how important it is to occupy the present and be active in the little things Trope: Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.48k a/n: this was inspired by an essay I read over the week titled ‘Learning to Measure time in Love & Loss’ by Chris Huntington. It’s very profound so I would suggest you go read it—Andrew Garfield also read it on the podcast called ‘Modern Love’ so go listen to that too. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

There was still an array of paperwork to be done in his desk at Quantico. Case files that needed to be written down and reviewed by his unit chief, Emily.

The past Dr. Spencer Reid—the one who was still wet behind the ears and green in the eyes of his team members, would have found the droll of filling out forms therapeutic. But now at his age of 40, everything else—typing out information and grading essays, were chores that demanded his every waking attention. He had found himself agitated with the looming workload that seemed never ending.

“Daddy,” a sweet voice murmured beside him. The source—a small body nestling closer to his side.

He hummed in reply, absentmindedly as his brain was preoccupied with estimating how many hours he needed to finish checking submissions in lieu of sleep.

Tiny hands patted his cheeks. “Daddy,” the sweet voice now coated with a hint of urgency.

Spencer’s hazel eyes locked with a pair of replicas. “Yes, Aurora?”

“What happens next?”

Shaking his head, he glanced down at her choice for a bedtime story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and realized it was the end of a chapter. Reading together was a sacred ritual he formed ever since he had found out you were pregnant.

It made you giggle when you pointed out that she, still a fetus cocooned safely in your body, would not understand the works of The Giving Tree or The Rainbow Fish. He rattled of statistics that although she couldn’t understand the meaning, she could still hear quite well.

In truth, he wanted her to know him—his voice, his presence. Her father who was quite scared to bring in an innocent into the world.

Still, scared even.

Her pink bottom lip jutting out into a frown, reminiscent of the ‘look’ his wife gives to him that renders him speechless and pliable to demands.

It was fascinating how you and him created such a perfect combination—a seven year old daughter who was into reading, as he was, and confident, as you were.

“Daddy, what happens next?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. The look of exasperation on her tiny face was adorable.

Everything about her was captivating.

“Well, sweet pea,” he began to close the book. “That would be a story for another night.”

“But—”

“Remember what we promised?”

She sighed, gripping her white bunny—a gift from Aunt Penelope, closer. “One chapter only.”

“That’s right,” tucking the stray tendrils away from her angelic face.

As he started to stand up from his precarious lying position on her gingham patterned bed, Aurora’s tiny warm hands gave his sleeves a double tug.

“You’re forgetting something, Daddy.”

He leaned in to give her forehead a kiss.

“Is that it?” He teased.

She giggled, her feet kicking under the covers. “No!”

Brushing his fingers behind her neck—her tickle spot that matched yours. “What about this one?”

Aurora squealed, her infectious happy energy warming his heart. She was a treasure and he felt blessed to be considered her father.

“Stop Daddy, stop!” She sat up, hands crossing over her chest to state she meant business.

Spencer conceded, showing his hands in front of him—a sign of surrender. If she was standing, he could just imagine her little foot stomping on the ground and taking in a wide stance she learned from observing Uncle Morgan.

“Mommy always said you never forget anything,” she argued. “She said you have an ei-eid—perfect memory.”

“Eidetic memory, Aurora, and yes, mommy is right.”

She tilted her head then, her wavy hazel hair swaying behind her. “Then how come you don’t remember?”

“How about giving me a clue then?”

She huffed. “Best part, worst part, Daddy! You forgot to ask me!”

Oh.

That was another ritual he added when Aurora started to learn how to string words along. Although there were nights away from a case that he could not read to her, he always made it a point to ask her via call the best and worst part of her day. It made him feel connected with her even though he was miles away.

“Oh how could I forget, sweet pea,” Spencer sat back on the bed, tucking her back as he went. “Now, can I know what your worst part is?”

She went silent for a moment. Deep in thought, brows scrunching together.

“When Mommy didn’t allow me to wear my new rain boots to school. She said it’s because it wasn’t raining but I really wanted to wear them.”

He laughed, having heard of the small disagreement you had which made you late for work. “We only wear rain boots when the weather is sad, remember?”

Aurora nodded.

“And what about the best part?”

She smiled, the answer quickly spilling out of her. “This is, Daddy.”

Spencer could feel the effect her simple words had to his system. It warmed his heart that expanded for two when she came into the world. It put a halt to any train of thought in his brain.

“Want to know a secret?” He whispered. “This is mine too.”

Tiny hands rubbed her drooping eyes before further nestling in her bed. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

He slowly crept out of the room.

“I love you too,” he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him.

Spencer found himself repeating those words and slowly lamenting over missed milestones in her burgeoning life.

Her first steps.

Her first tooth falling out.

Her latest family presentation in school in which you recorded her explaining where he was and what he does for a living—catching bad guys.

In his focused dedication in trying to make the country a better place for her future, Spencer had forgotten to appreciate the present, her growth, and the very notion that time could not be reversed to live the mundane things that make everyday worth living.

Aristotle once said ‘time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of time and is forgotten through the lapse of time.’

It was a concept he was familiar with by the ripe age of nine, having spent his early youth in isolation and soaking up every thinking thought from the great minds that had roamed this planet before him.

He never forgot the words—not that his memory would allow him to.

And yet, as he found himself sitting on his desk, a cup of fresh tea in front of him, the phrase came to surface like a forgotten pair of lucky socks hidden within the depths of a cabinet.

Perhaps it was his heart that kept it hidden or better yet forgotten, a feat on its own. Perhaps during his tender age, he had yet sculpted the capacity to digest what it meant to his very soul.

Or perhaps, it was a sign from the unknown to focus and live in the present.

She was growing and becoming her very own person right before his unfocused eyes.

Spencer sighed, feeling a pair of arms glide to wrap around his shoulders.

“What’s got you so down, handsome?” You left a kiss on his cheek.

He intertwined your hands together. “It’s just—I missed out on so many milestones. Does that make me an absentee father?”

You walked around him before propping yourself on his lap. “I don’t think so, Spence. Why? What brought this on?”

“I found myself thinking about work when I should be focused on spending time—reading to Aurora. It made me feel sad that she was looking forward to our nightly routine and there I was, thinking about paperwork.”

There was a flash of sadness in your eyes as you caressed his cheek. “That’s alright. We all have our moments, Spence. You just got caught up with life and the responsibilities it has given you,” a lithe finger twisted a loose tendril blocking hos vision. “I know—we know, Aurora and I, that you being busy doesn’t mean you love us any less.”

“I just wish I wouldn’t miss anymore, love.”

You trailed kisses all over his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before landing perfectly on his awaiting lips. “And I know you’d try your best moving forward.”

“Have I told you I love you?” He teased, arms securely on your waist. “Because I do and I feel lucky to have an understanding partner as you.”

“I love you too, Spence, and Aurora loves you too,” you giggled. “And between you and me, I think you’re still her favorite parent.”

Head thrown back, he laughed, thighs shaking from your admission. “It’s because I cave more to her whims more than you do.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

You gave him another kiss.

“We can try to be more present next time—together. I won’t let you doubt yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[favorvn]

Hi! I'm so sorry if this has already been asked, but I was wondering—will Favor be free to play? And if so, is there any way we can support you, whether financially or otherwise? I know you’ve been pouring so much time and energy into the game, and I’d really love to give back in any way I can.

Also, if you don’t mind me asking—how far along is the game at this point? Do you have an estimate on when the next chapter might be released? I hope this isn't rude to ask. I dont want to rush anyone 😅🥲

Thank you so much for reading, and as always, please take care of your health and make sure to rest, and as always, your hard work is always appreciated 🥹♥️♥️

Episode 3 will be free to play, for the rest I will probably be deciding at a later date, but I am leaning away from F2P. Episode 5 and 6 are especially SOO much content with (at times) very mature themes, so I'm leaning towards releasing the full game together at that time as a paid release 💕.

Honestly, I'm going to be so for-real, if I try to determine how long it will be until release of Episode 3, I'm afraid I will get overwhelmed and get some ADHD/task paralysis 🥲 so I try not to think about everything and instead keep working on each task individually until it's a manageable enough workload left that I feel confident in giving an estimate of time. When I get closer to that date, I will for sure update everyone. I know it's not ideal, but I am just one person, and to manage my ADHD symptoms and make sure I continue to make steady progress, I can't think about what I have left to do when I already feel a bit overwhelmed by it all if I start to think about everything I need to do. But I assure you I'm locked tf in and that there is steady progress being made! 💕

I really appreciate your kindness and consideration when asking these questions 😊💕 thank you for the encouragement as well.

[korpuskat]

Multitasking

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Megatron/Reader/Soundwave Rating: E WC: 600 Contents: Gender/Sex neutral Reader. kinda dubcon voyeurism, but it's Soundwave so like, what do you expect? === Written for Day 1 of @tf-kinktober2024 but I'm bad at posting things on time lol ===

There were few luxuries Soundwave afforded himself, few that would interfere with his near single minded focus. It was fortuitous, then, that his aptitude for surveillance dovetailed so neatly with his desire for you.

The other members of High Command were perfectly pleased to turn their attention away from their actual duties and to instead busy themselves with their little organic distraction. Not that this was your fault, you are simply so small and delicate and soft in their collective servos. For the record, Soundwave did enjoy when his workload lightened enough for him to be able to be the one cradling you in his spindly digits, even if it was not fundamental to his own satisfaction. Still, Soundwave does resent his fellow officers' inefficiencies, because unlike them, Soundwave can multitask.

With just over half his processor focused on the sifting of actual surveillance data from his Earth-based network, the other almost-half sorts through cameras aboard the Nemesis itself. He calculates the likelihoods on where he'll find you- his schedule dictates you should be awake with your diurnal sleep cycle and when he cross references that with which officers are off duty... It doesn’t take him long. Well below his estimated time in fact to find what he’s looking for. The habsuite is familiar- even from the elevated, unnatural angle of the camera’s lens- and it is occupied.

Soundwave is almost surprised; Megatron is well known among the crew to have no compunction on enjoying his pets anywhere he likes. In his own berth is practically mundane in comparison. But there he is, lounged back against one wall, half-turned with his legs spread. One servo lazily strokes his own spike, his warframe claws drawing thin lines up and down the underside, while his other holds... you.

Soundwave’s fans click on.

So tiny in his liege's palm, Soundwave has to zoom in on the feed, enlarging the image until it’s nearly entirely Megatron’s unpainted plating and the shining sweat on your skin. Soundwave watches you, focuses on how your limbs twitch and twist as Megatron’s glossa glides against your body. You're close, Soundwave can tell from the tremors in your legs, the rise and fall of your torso, how your mouth opens in silent cries. Megatron slows, changes his angle before you can overload. And in the tight frame of the camera, the corner of Megatron’s intake quirks upwards, revealing a few more of his sharpened dentae.

Was he so pleased with your vocalizations, with having denied you? Soundwave zooms out a touch, to capture all of his lord’s faceplate and-

Red optics meet his through the screen, white arpetures burning directly into the camera. His dermals still curled into as much of a smug grin as they can while also licking incessantly between your legs. If you even notice his distraction, you don’t seem to show it, tiny servos clutching at Megatron’s plates in fervid desperation.

::How is the angle, Soundwave?:: To the untrained optic, Soundwave knows his reaction to Megatron's com is nearly imperceptible. Still, Soundwave adjusts his posture, self-aware in the way only Megatron can make him feel.

Now, Soundwave understands that Megatron's unusual position- half turned, legs spread to frame his spike- was intentional. By way of response, Soundwave sends him the feed.

He watches as steam rises from Megatron’s vents, the servo on his spike squeezing at the base, his optics darkening as he watches himself. You, in his palm, have latched your tiny hands onto his digits, body rolling into each teasing lick.

::Join us.:: He orders after a moment. ::And send me the full file after.::

[gm--requests]

POSSIBLE WIP! CEO!Hyuka

warnings - Dom! HueningKai, Fat!y/n <3, implied power dynamics

words - 871

request - closed                     inbox thirsts: open 

plus size reader :) 

an: this is just a wip, i wanted to know if anyone would be interested? i'm living and breathing hyuka these days (especially w this comeback), so please lmk it is of interest.

——————————————————————————

Ceo Hyuka! Who gets a new secretary and is genuinely upset about it at first, and because of his scary exterior and cold gazes, she just does as she is told to do.

Really, she is extremely helpful and proactive and as time goes on and they begin spending late nights in the office together he begins to realize that he is developing some kind of feelings towards her. 

Each day that passes by he becomes more fascinated with her, more enamored… he eventually becomes fixated on her soft and round body. He begins finding reasons and ways to press up against her, feeling her soft body only making him more crazed

Every day you wore business-appropriate attire, but it was the way the pencil skirts hugged against your tummy, the outline visible, and the way you tucked your shirts at the waist so it was harder to see the tiny muffin top you were creating with the tight skirt. Not to mention the way your tiddies were sitting in your slightly unbuttoned blouse. 

One night, after almost a month of late-night shifts, you began bringing and wearing more comfortable attire. This of course was only because your boss encouraged it. He promised to do it as well, but kept “coincidentally” forgetting his change of clothes each day. Claiming that it had just slipped his mind since it was a new and random addition to his morning routine, and after a while, you just gave up, but you didn’t stop doing it yourself. It was nice to feel comfortable while working hard to reorganize 100s of files that we are actively being added to. It was an estimated workload of 4 months, you were both hoping to bring it down to 3, if not less. Comfy clothes were a must. 

This is when hyuka! Began to crumble. Your cute, fat body in pajama pants that hugged your waist and stomach, almost accentuating the roundness. His hands ached with the need to grab at it, sink his fingers into the flesh. The strappy tank top you had paired with it wasn’t helping. So immersed in work that you couldn’t be bothered to care about or think of hiding your tummy in any way. Your tiny muffin top is proudly on display. And on top of that, no bra. If he wasn’t so painfully aware of the hellish work laid before him, he would have thought that he was in heaven. 

He watches this go on for 3 agonizing weeks before he finally loses his cool. 

“y/n,” he says from his desk seat, his eyes meeting yours easily over the tall computer monitors. 

“Yes sir?” you turn towards him curiously. 

“Your clothes.” 

He says it as if you should already know what he means. You don’t. 

“Hmm?”

His expression shifts to subtle annoyance as he repeats himself, “Your clothes.” 

This time you just stare at him, allowing the confusion to rest on your features. He huffed and rolled his eyes, a small blush on his face. 

“They’re distracting me. I know I said that you could wear them, but I think I may have to retract my statement. I apologize.” 

“I- I don’t understand sir,” you begin, “I’ve been wearing things like this since the very first time I agreed to wear comfortable clothes.” Normally you would never get even remotely upset about something like that, but after the long hours… and with your more relaxing attire having been your comfort as you were drowning in the files; his change in leniency felt almost offensive. 

His blush deepens and his eyebrows furrow as he starts to seem a bit angry, “I understand that. And in full transparency, it was just as distracting then, but I respected the fact that I should just be a man and allow you this one luxury while you work overtime out of the kindness of your heart and not because you have to…but God, I can’t take it anymore!” 

Hyuka! Stands up from his desk, slamming his hands down in frustration. His outburst scares you a bit, but not enough to keep you from standing your ground. 

“How is a tank top and a pair of pajama pants so distracting all of the sudden?” 

In an instant, he decided that he would just show you all of the thoughts that were plaguing his mind. So, he walked around his desk in long strides. Before you could back up, he was standing in front of you. His big body is drowning your small round one. Hyuka’s! Large hands come to your shoulders as he quickly spins you around. When your back is facing his front, he brings his big hands to your stomach and grabs it roughly, pulling you to him. 

Hyuka! Hunches over you, squeezing your fat while pressing you against him. You work hard to distract yourself from the feeling of his hardened length pressing into the top of your ass. His breath comes out labored, but all he’s done is grab at you. 

“This.” He says matter of factly, “This is what is so distracting. I can see your soft fucking body and all I want to do is eat you up like a lil dumpling.”

[gorgiawrite]

BLACK SAILS, timeline study :

I.

One day, a captain named PARRISH came across a Spaniard named VASQUEZ, at a tavern in Port Royal. There the man, dying, told him of the treasure galleon Urca de Lima and detailed its schedule to him.

A spy of Flint’s overheard the conversation and sent FLINT the information : the tale, and possibly the name of the man who had the details of the schedule (PARRISH, captain of an english merchant), but not the name of his ship (both FLINT and GATES call it Parrish's ship in conversations together)

It then took 3 months for FLINT to capture PARRISH’s ship and he had to seize 3 other (GATES mentions this ship as the 4th prize worth almost nothing, captured in the 3 months they have been chasing the schedule).

FLINT boarded PARRISH’s ship 1 day away from Nassau (SILVER says he memorized the schedule in 3 days : one day at see on the Walrus, one day at Nassau meeting MAX and snooping at night on the Walrus to read Parrish’s journal in Flint’s cabin, one day starting with the Singleton fight and ending at The Wrecks were he burned the schedule).

So, between meeting VASQUEZ at Port Royal and getting boarded by FLINT 1 day away from Nassau, PARRISH spent 3 months, doing God knows what, with FLINT needing first to capture 3 ships to find him.

Parrish's ship (x)

THE WALRUS'S SPEED

the Walrus top speed is 7.5 knots. That speed was reached while chasing the Andromache (V.) by risking the masts's integrity (argument between FLINT and DE GROOT, the t'gallants should not have been unfolded in that wind). With a proper carrening, that speed could be reached safely ("A clean hull means an extra knot or two in speed" in IV.), but the carreening was not completed (in IV: "A few more days, we'll have the keel cleared and tarred and she'll be ready to go back into the water", but the very next day they were chasing the Andromache, as established by SILVER mentionning Randall's amputation being the previous day).

the Walrus chasing speed is 6 knots, in favorable winds (the speed reched before risking the masts's integrity, see above).

the Walrus average cruising speed is 5 knots (my estimate, somewhat arbitrary : I take into account the occasional slow wind and a lighter workload on deck to allow shifts for the men to rest).

PARRISH'S SHIP SPEED

very similar to the Walrus : it is also a frigate with three mast, square rigged, with as many sails on each mast), maybe slightly smaller ? : 5 knots on average.

NASSAU - PORT ROYAL TRAVEL :

Port Royal, Jamaica - Port of Nassau, Bahamas: 754 nautical miles

1 knot = 1 nautical mile / h

5 knots = 5 nautical miles / h

754 / 5 = 150.8 ; so it takes 150.8 h to make the travel

150 h = (6 x 24 h) + 6 hours ; so the travel takes 6 days at 5 knots

CROSS ATLANTIC TRAVEL

In the 18th century, it took on average six weeks to sail accross the Atlantic. If weather conditions were bad, it could take up to three months.

So, either PARRISH went to and right back from England after his encounter with VASQUEZ at Port Royal (6 weeks to cross the Atlantique one way + 6 weeks to cross it the other = 3 months) ; or he stuck around - maybe traveled along the coast to make commerce in the main ports (back then, only noteworthy were Boston, New York, Newport, Philadelphia, and Charles Town).

Map of colonial america in the 18th century (x)

THE ISSUE :

When would have SILVER boarded the ship ?

I can't imagine him being on Parrish's ship since the VASQUEZ encounter and not learning about it (the actual cook of the ship found out, so I doubt a man like SILVER - clearly used to gather information and manipulate - wouldn't have, had he been there around the time it happened).

How did FLINT track the ship ?

Flint had to capture 3 other ships to get to it. I somehow doubt he randomly followed a route and hoped for the best, attacking ships at random intervals.

IF PARRISH WENT BACK TO ENGLAND :

It would have been a round trip (no delay in the timeline for more than a stop).

Did FLINT have words that Parrish went to England and right back from it, and hit 4 ships in a row on the right route at the calculated time frame of his return? It sounded, from MR SCOTT that it was a while since FLINT made a good earning. That would go against this theory : the 3 ship attacked to track Parrish's ship would have been spaced over 3 months.

Which means FLINT knew exactely the route PARRISH would take, and probably an approximation of his scheduled stops. How would 3 ships attacked in the Bahamas, or even the continental colonies's coast, know of the schedule of a captain on his way to of back from England? Even if Parrish told someone in England, he left right away, so no one could have preceeded him with the info.

This case figure also implies SILVER would have joined Parrish's crew in England.

IF PARRISH MADE SEVERAL STOPS IN THE COLONIES :

If all FLINT had - and it seems to be so - was PARRISH's name and the fact that he sails an english merchant, it could explain the 3 month to track him. The spies mentionned in the show (his, Guthrie's, Max's) are all in the West Indies (Jamaïca, Cuba). So it stands to reason that FLINT had a hard time tracking Parrish's ship.

The most likely scenario would be that FLINT spy in Port Royal knew in which port of the colonies PARRISH was headed, and FLINT attacked every ship he knew came from that very same port, until one of them told him that PARRISH was finally underway, at which point Flint could finally go after him now that he was back on the water.

But that would imply PARRISH spent three months not working : unlikely. Maybe FLINT had to track him from one port to another, but couldn't attack because he stuck too close to the coast guarded by the colonial navy?

That theory does imply SILVER joined the crew from an English colony port (most likely Charles Town, Philadelphia, Newport, New York or Boston). That, or he was picked on a recent new stop at Port Royal right before FLINT caught them.

--

And this, this is why I have avoided writing anything in the past decade. I overthink shit way too much.

Still, I'm doing this. So if anyone feel like going crazy with me, feel free to message me. Otherwise, ignore this, I just need to put it in writing to figure it out.

[shroomerr]

OPENING 1 COMMISSION SLOT !!!

SLOTS ARE NOW CLOSED !!!

THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT !!! <3333333

Hihi y’all !! I’ve been meaning to do this for a while now, but I had a school assignment that gave me the opportunity to finally kickstart my commissions! For now, I’m only opening 1 slot because of my busy schedule. Once that slot is filled, I’ll have to close my commissions (I will likely reopen them sometime this summer if possible).

If you’re interesting in commissioning me, please contact me through DM’s or via email at shroomer.illustration@gmail.com ! Please also make sure to carefully read my ToS below before you contact me.

I hope you’re as excited as I am, and thank you as always for your support!! Reblogs are also super appreciated 🫶🫶🫶 LOVE YOU ALL !

Terms and Conditions:

General

By paying for my services, it means that you have read and accepted my Terms and Conditions. 

Terms of Service and Prices are subject to change at anytime. You are only subject to the ToS and prices agreed upon at the time of the transaction.

I reserve the right to reject a commission for any reason.

All artwork is transferred digitally.

Payment

Payments will only be accepted through PayPal, in USD. I require 50% upfront or full payment before starting a commission. Once I accept your commission, I will send an invoice via PayPal. Only once the invoice is paid will I start working on your commission. If the invoice is not paid, I will have to cancel the commission.

Price can vary based on the amount of detail. 

Refunds will only be allowed if nothing has started. I do not allow refunds after the sketch approval.

Deadlines

Depending on my workload, the turnaround time should take no longer than 4 weeks. I will provide an estimate time for completion, and/or indicate if there is a delay in completing your commission. 

You may request a WIP at any time. I will try my best to respond as soon as possible.

Usage Policy

My artwork is for personal use only. No commercial use of my artwork is allowed. 

I reserve the right to my artwork and the right to post it. If you would like your commission to be private and not published on social media, please let me know!

If you would like to post your commission on social media, please be sure to include my signature or to tag me in the post. 

You may not use my artwork for any kind of Generative AI Training or for NFTs. 

Other

Please provide at least one clear visual reference for original character illustrations. It could be your own artwork, other commissioned work, or even a PIcrew. If not, descriptions and a moodboard/inspiration board can be accepted, though extra will be charged. 

I will only allow 2 major changes (ex: poses, characters) and 3 minor changes (ex: colors, accessories) during the sketch and colouring process. Any more beyond this will include additional charges.

For all lineart commissions, I do not allow having other commissioned artists to color it in. If the client would like, they can color it in themselves to be used as a visual guide or for personal use. However, I do not allow that modified version to be posted anywhere. 

I would also like to be transparent and say that because this is for a school assignment, I have to document the process of this commission, but I will not include your identity nor the contents of your commission! Everything will remain 100% anonymous. 

[ayumy1]

Scored My Heart pt3 progress

So...I've been getting a lot of activity from the previous parts and I feel really bad for making everyone wait for part 3 for almost 2 months.

I am actually writing it...it's just taking a while.

I'm already at 3.5k words and there are still more scenes I want to add. I really don't want to make a part 4. I think I'm semi-ready to move on from this fic.

I have made an extra part to dump extra ideas that I decided to cut from the story (mainly to reduce my workload for pt3 and because some of them are just for fun). I'll publish that when pt3 is done too.

As for a estimated publishing time...I'm gonna be realistic. It's probably gonna be in May.

Thank you for your support. I really wasn't expecting it receive this much attention as my first fic. (or maybe I'm just a stingy reader).

Like I literally wasn't expecting people to follow or repost. So thank you (ㅅ´ ˘ `)⊹₊⋆

(I'll be deleting this post when I publish pt 3)

[fuckmatpat]

Retirement Video Summary:

Lots of references to old memes surrounding the channel(s)

There will be nine weeks left of theory videos

On March 9th, he will have a going away video

Noticed he said that most of his recent videos are other people doing the research, not him

A group of four people will be taking over the channel(s)

Person named Lee is going to be taking over film theory (the same person who worked on Breakdown)

Person named Amy is going to be taking over style theory

Person named Santi will be taking over food theory

Person named Tom will be taking over game theory

matpat notes that he will be on gtlive untill at least summer (estimated)

He is also making his own media. He hopes that other channels will comment on it

YOUTUBER MERCH FASHION SHOW ??? in april

Animation show idea

Video game idea 

....

classic game theory wrap up outro. solid end 

All that said, he isn't completely gone, but he'll be in the background every now and then as well as some events. 

In this video he looks extremely tired. He gets understandably emotional, as the channels he has started from a very small channel and has grown into much more. He notes he felt very connected to the community and fanbase he curated.

I really think this will be good for him. Earnestly. From what he's described, his work schedule is very busy and stressful. It's unsustainable for any person. So, the decision to split the workload between four leaders of people.

I hope that alongside spending more time with his family and kid, he'll find the time to reflect a little bit on his history.

In addition, with new leaders taking over the four main channels, hopefully we will get better content out of it, better written videos/scripts, original work, or at least properly cited/credited stuff.

Just better quality stuff overall. I'm sure no one would mind waiting a little longer for better quality videos.

[meret118]

Excerpts:

Despite artificial intelligence staying a priority for many executives, with 99% surveyed saying they will invest in AI this year, desk worker enthusiasm is decelerating.

. . .

In particular, the number of US workers who said they're "excited about AI helping them to complete tasks at work" dropped from 45% to 36%.

. . .

The US also saw its AI adoption rates increase by only a single percentage point, from 32% to 33% among desk workers. 

. . .

The survey also found that 61% of workers have spent less than five hours learning how to use AI, while 30% said they haven't had any AI instruction.

This could become a major oversight as AI continues to affect jobs. A 2023 report by the World Economic Forum estimated that 44% of workers' skills will be "disrupted" within five years.

. . .

Yet though AI has been able to save professionals time on more menial activities, like writing messages, workers in the survey said the extra free time may be filled with even more tasks and result in a higher workload.

When asked which common work task AI is best at assisting, administration was the top answer. But when asked what workers would do with the potential time saved by AI, respondents said they would spend those hours on even more administrative tasks.