#but it's saved in my phone where I don't draw things

[cozylittleartblog]

random note about king on that animation, i got really lucky with how simple his animation was and how clean my sketches were to begin with that i was able to do very minimal cleanup on what i had sketched (and add back. his horn. it's supposed to take place just after echoes of the past, Oops) and call it done that way instead of having to redraw the entire thing like i had to on his dad

first sketch > line cleanup > nearly final animation (i'd added slight eye movements last-second but otherwise that's the final)

[aziraphale-is-a-cat]

DPxDC Warlock Batfamily

They're not warlocks in the traditional sense, no fancy spell work or obvious theming. In fact, most anyone less magically attune than John would just assume they were metas like anyone else on the team, but they weren't.

It took a while to notice, just passing off the magical fluctuations around them as the ebb and flow of the natural world, or maybe some residual curse vibes from Gotham (ew). But it was too consistent. When Batman slipped into the shadows it pulsed, and when Oracle seized control of nearby computers it surged. When Nightwing took his inhuman leaps into the air simply trusting that he would reach his lading point it soared and when that nightmare of a Robin brought a room to darkness it rested like a heavy weight on his shoulders.

They weren't individual users, their eclectically cohesive group structure was too uniform for that; but they weren't some family of sorcerers either, being quite obviously unrelated by blood save for a few. The most likely answer was that they were all warlocks in service to some common diety, taking on aspects of its power to enforce it's will upon the mortal world- and John really hoped it was a helpful entity, because they were in deep shit.

Peeling the partially liquefied tentacle off from across his chest, Constantine sat up and brought his hand up to cup his bruised face. He prayed to whatever was least likely to hold a grudge that their little hail Mary there had bought them enough time to perform a summoning.

"Hey Bat, get your patron on the phone, this is getting fucking Eldritch."

"What the hell are you talking about," Hal Jordan pushed himself out of the rubble with a massive green fist construct. "Bats isn't a magic user."

"Hm." Batman grunted as he picked bone shards out of his gauntlets. "I'll need to get something for the ritual."

Everyone present sat up to look at him like he'd grown another head, except Superman and Wonder Woman who seemed a little excited.

"I'm sorry, you're a magician?" The Flash pipes up from behind the ruins of an old altar, only to receive a level glare from his black clad coworker.

"Warlock."

"Oh."

Constantine grabbed onto some chains hanging from the precariously damaged ceiling, rising to his feet. "We don't have much time; that thing's off licking its wounds in space or something, but it'll be back. You go off and collect whatever artefact you have from wherever you hid it and I'll start drawing the circle, where are we pulling your Patron from?"

Batman nodded in agreement. "The Infinite Realms."

"Fucking Hell."

-

The Watch Tower was crowded when Batman returned flanked by two other members for his little hero coven, carrying a small case decorated with constellations and nebulae.

Wonder Woman stepped up to look at the container, obviously curious, but not touching it.

"It will be wonderful to see him again, Batman. After this is dealt with I hope to hear the tales of my sisters from beyond."

"He'll definitely be happy to chat after we're done," Nightwing commented. "I hear he's been training with Pandora."

Red Robin nodded to that, an exasperated look on his face as he likely anticipated a long and drawn out conversation about different kinds of swords. Amazons liked their blades.

John gave that idea some concideration, Amazonian ghosts probably get up to some killer fights without having to worry about, ya know, death. He called out to the Dark Knight, "I've got the circle done, now we just need your call."

The three of them walk over to the summoning circle unceremoniously carved into the watch tower floor, Batman narrowing his eyes at the damaged paneling but saying nothing otherwise. The Dark Knight opens the case in his hands and pulls out what appears to be a small model space station.

The Coven spread themselves evenly around the circumference of the circle and Batman begins the ritual. "Salve patrōnem, egō stellam vocō." He throws the model space station into the circle where it appeared to float as the symbols in the ground lit up.

Slowly, a figure formed in the center, first as hands holding the model and spreading out over its arms and to its body in the shape of a young boy. He seemed to be wearing a black rubber hazmat suit with white accents and green lichtenberg figures crawling up his left arm. White hair appeared and with it piercing green eyes that seemed to be fixed on the toy in his hands. A cape flowed out behind him less like fabric and more like the endless void of space littered with stars and a cold weight settled on the room.

"Damn B, y'all really fucked up the floor this time."

Red Robin snorted, "Nice to see you too, Danny."

[luveline]

Would you write for Spencer with shy!reader? I feel like they'd be so cute together, neither of them would feel confident enough to make the first move until the team pushes them together probably

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

"Hi," Spencer says in a whisper. 

You look up, extremely relieved to see him, even if your tongue ties into tight knots whenever he's around. "Hi, Spencer. Is it only you?" 

Spencer takes the empty seat beside you. Your entire row at the back of the theatre is a line of unbroken, crimson velveteen, not a friend in sight.

"Yeah, I'm…" His lips quirk into a confused pout. "Not really sure where Garcia is. I was supposed to meet her on the way." 

"I was supposed to give Emily a ride, but she said Derek's bringing her instead." You rub your lips together, worried for your friends and feeling sorry for yourself; being alone with Spencer is agony, you like him that much. Sheepish, you hold out your popcorn bucket. "Popcorn?" 

It's huge to account for Emily and her light fingers. Spencer laughs under his breath, hurrying out of his jacket to take a handful. "Think you'll have enough?" he teases. 

You tuck your arms in tight from the rests so as not to touch him. His phone pings, drawing his bright eyed smile down to his lap. He clicks through the page and then leans over to show you what he's been sent. 

Hey garcia, I'm outside your apartment. :) 7:32PM

Spencer!! Going to be late!! Go without me, I'll catch up! <3 :) 7:33PM

I'm heading into the movies now, unless you want me to wait? 7:46PM

No, Y/N's in there go find her and save our seats!! 7:46PM

Then, another from Garcia. 

Change of plans Spencer, I can't come anymore Kevin threw out his back!! Give Y/N a hug for me :D. 8:09PM

You'll miss Penelope, but surely Derek and Emily are on their way. You frown at Spencer, as if to say, That sucks. The lights go down and the trailers start rolling, and things aren't as awkward as you imagined. Spencer whispers half facts and half jokes with his face inclined to yours, his breath warm where it kisses your ear. You giggle at him and, with startled pleasure, realise that anyone looking might think you were on a date. It's shameful how much you like that hypothetical. 

Your phone dings in your pocket. 

hey babe, me n Derek got waylaid by two hot blondes. be there as soon as we can ♡ 7:56PM

You're not nearly as scared to receive it as you thought. "Spence," you whisper, showing him your phone. 

He snorts. "Typical. Well, we'll be alright without them, yeah? I'll go get us some drinks and stuff before the movie starts." You dig for your purse, Spencer waves his hand. "I got it." 

He gets your favourite. You don't even have to tell him what you want. Your hands touch as he passes you your drink. You're about to say thanks, but the screen turns black before the movie title and age rating fills the screen. 

It only takes Spencer a solid forty minutes to work up the courage to take your hand. Eyes pinned to the screen, you let your fingers relax under his, his palm to the back of your hand and his fingers twining between yours. 

He leans over, and you think for sure he has a fact to tell you, some tidbit about the movie or how it was made. "Is this okay?" he whispers. You can hardly hear him. 

You turn your face, meeting his eyes in the dark. "Yeah. It's okay." 

He smiles (dreamily, so dreamily) and turns back to the movie. You do the same, the two of you wearing twin grins, his hand a steadying warmth. His thumb rubs the side of your pinky finger softly. 

From a row much further down, Emily hisses. "It's my turn with the binoculars." 

"They're holding hands!" Penelope croons. 

Derek looks up from the mouthful of nachos he'd been enjoying. "What? Let me see?" he says, snatching the binoculars from Penelope's hand.

"Twenty dollars says they kiss by the end of the night." 

"As if." 

"It's my turn!" 

[karajaynetoday]

hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings:  i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs. 

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either. 

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely. 

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing. 

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you. 

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?” 

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.” 

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity. 

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session. 

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in. 

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.” 

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?” 

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans. 

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control. 

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out. 

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack. 

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx 

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

Xo

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant. 

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out. 

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before. 

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied. 

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there. 

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator. 

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit. 

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished. 

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone. 

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be. 

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window. 

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.” Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called). 

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast. 

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes. 

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh. 

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended. 

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head. 

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix. 

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.”  Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing. 

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands. 

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension. 

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands. 

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten. 

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

 

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Humans are not perfectly vigilant

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Here's a fun AI story: a security researcher noticed that large companies' AI-authored source-code repeatedly referenced a nonexistent library (an AI "hallucination"), so he created a (defanged) malicious library with that name and uploaded it, and thousands of developers automatically downloaded and incorporated it as they compiled the code:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/03/28/ai_bots_hallucinate_software_packages/

These "hallucinations" are a stubbornly persistent feature of large language models, because these models only give the illusion of understanding; in reality, they are just sophisticated forms of autocomplete, drawing on huge databases to make shrewd (but reliably fallible) guesses about which word comes next:

https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3442188.3445922

Guessing the next word without understanding the meaning of the resulting sentence makes unsupervised LLMs unsuitable for high-stakes tasks. The whole AI bubble is based on convincing investors that one or more of the following is true:

There are low-stakes, high-value tasks that will recoup the massive costs of AI training and operation;

There are high-stakes, high-value tasks that can be made cheaper by adding an AI to a human operator;

Adding more training data to an AI will make it stop hallucinating, so that it can take over high-stakes, high-value tasks without a "human in the loop."

These are dubious propositions. There's a universe of low-stakes, low-value tasks – political disinformation, spam, fraud, academic cheating, nonconsensual porn, dialog for video-game NPCs – but none of them seem likely to generate enough revenue for AI companies to justify the billions spent on models, nor the trillions in valuation attributed to AI companies:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

The proposition that increasing training data will decrease hallucinations is hotly contested among AI practitioners. I confess that I don't know enough about AI to evaluate opposing sides' claims, but even if you stipulate that adding lots of human-generated training data will make the software a better guesser, there's a serious problem. All those low-value, low-stakes applications are flooding the internet with botshit. After all, the one thing AI is unarguably very good at is producing bullshit at scale. As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/inhuman-centipede/#enshittibottification

This means that adding another order of magnitude more training data to AI won't just add massive computational expense – the data will be many orders of magnitude more expensive to acquire, even without factoring in the additional liability arising from new legal theories about scraping:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

That leaves us with "humans in the loop" – the idea that an AI's business model is selling software to businesses that will pair it with human operators who will closely scrutinize the code's guesses. There's a version of this that sounds plausible – the one in which the human operator is in charge, and the AI acts as an eternally vigilant "sanity check" on the human's activities.

For example, my car has a system that notices when I activate my blinker while there's another car in my blind-spot. I'm pretty consistent about checking my blind spot, but I'm also a fallible human and there've been a couple times where the alert saved me from making a potentially dangerous maneuver. As disciplined as I am, I'm also sometimes forgetful about turning off lights, or waking up in time for work, or remembering someone's phone number (or birthday). I like having an automated system that does the robotically perfect trick of never forgetting something important.

There's a name for this in automation circles: a "centaur." I'm the human head, and I've fused with a powerful robot body that supports me, doing things that humans are innately bad at.

That's the good kind of automation, and we all benefit from it. But it only takes a small twist to turn this good automation into a nightmare. I'm speaking here of the reverse-centaur: automation in which the computer is in charge, bossing a human around so it can get its job done. Think of Amazon warehouse workers, who wear haptic bracelets and are continuously observed by AI cameras as autonomous shelves shuttle in front of them and demand that they pick and pack items at a pace that destroys their bodies and drives them mad:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

Automation centaurs are great: they relieve humans of drudgework and let them focus on the creative and satisfying parts of their jobs. That's how AI-assisted coding is pitched: rather than looking up tricky syntax and other tedious programming tasks, an AI "co-pilot" is billed as freeing up its human "pilot" to focus on the creative puzzle-solving that makes coding so satisfying.

But an hallucinating AI is a terrible co-pilot. It's just good enough to get the job done much of the time, but it also sneakily inserts booby-traps that are statistically guaranteed to look as plausible as the good code (that's what a next-word-guessing program does: guesses the statistically most likely word).

This turns AI-"assisted" coders into reverse centaurs. The AI can churn out code at superhuman speed, and you, the human in the loop, must maintain perfect vigilance and attention as you review that code, spotting the cleverly disguised hooks for malicious code that the AI can't be prevented from inserting into its code. As "Lena" writes, "code review [is] difficult relative to writing new code":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773779967521780169

Why is that? "Passively reading someone else's code just doesn't engage my brain in the same way. It's harder to do properly":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773780355708764665

There's a name for this phenomenon: "automation blindness." Humans are just not equipped for eternal vigilance. We get good at spotting patterns that occur frequently – so good that we miss the anomalies. That's why TSA agents are so good at spotting harmless shampoo bottles on X-rays, even as they miss nearly every gun and bomb that a red team smuggles through their checkpoints:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

"Lena"'s thread points out that this is as true for AI-assisted driving as it is for AI-assisted coding: "self-driving cars replace the experience of driving with the experience of being a driving instructor":

https://twitter.com/qntm/status/1773841546753831283

In other words, they turn you into a reverse-centaur. Whereas my blind-spot double-checking robot allows me to make maneuvers at human speed and points out the things I've missed, a "supervised" self-driving car makes maneuvers at a computer's frantic pace, and demands that its human supervisor tirelessly and perfectly assesses each of those maneuvers. No wonder Cruise's murderous "self-driving" taxis replaced each low-waged driver with 1.5 high-waged technical robot supervisors:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

AI radiology programs are said to be able to spot cancerous masses that human radiologists miss. A centaur-based AI-assisted radiology program would keep the same number of radiologists in the field, but they would get less done: every time they assessed an X-ray, the AI would give them a second opinion. If the human and the AI disagreed, the human would go back and re-assess the X-ray. We'd get better radiology, at a higher price (the price of the AI software, plus the additional hours the radiologist would work).

But back to making the AI bubble pay off: for AI to pay off, the human in the loop has to reduce the costs of the business buying an AI. No one who invests in an AI company believes that their returns will come from business customers to agree to increase their costs. The AI can't do your job, but the AI salesman can convince your boss to fire you and replace you with an AI anyway – that pitch is the most successful form of AI disinformation in the world.

An AI that "hallucinates" bad advice to fliers can't replace human customer service reps, but airlines are firing reps and replacing them with chatbots:

https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20240222-air-canada-chatbot-misinformation-what-travellers-should-know

An AI that "hallucinates" bad legal advice to New Yorkers can't replace city services, but Mayor Adams still tells New Yorkers to get their legal advice from his chatbots:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/03/nycs-government-chatbot-is-lying-about-city-laws-and-regulations/

The only reason bosses want to buy robots is to fire humans and lower their costs. That's why "AI art" is such a pisser. There are plenty of harmless ways to automate art production with software – everything from a "healing brush" in Photoshop to deepfake tools that let a video-editor alter the eye-lines of all the extras in a scene to shift the focus. A graphic novelist who models a room in The Sims and then moves the camera around to get traceable geometry for different angles is a centaur – they are genuinely offloading some finicky drudgework onto a robot that is perfectly attentive and vigilant.

But the pitch from "AI art" companies is "fire your graphic artists and replace them with botshit." They're pitching a world where the robots get to do all the creative stuff (badly) and humans have to work at robotic pace, with robotic vigilance, in order to catch the mistakes that the robots make at superhuman speed.

Reverse centaurism is brutal. That's not news: Charlie Chaplin documented the problems of reverse centaurs nearly 100 years ago:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_Times_(film)

As ever, the problem with a gadget isn't what it does: it's who it does it for and who it does it to. There are plenty of benefits from being a centaur – lots of ways that automation can help workers. But the only path to AI profitability lies in reverse centaurs, automation that turns the human in the loop into the crumple-zone for a robot:

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

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/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle

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

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

--

Jorge Royan (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Munich_-_Two_boys_playing_in_a_park_-_7328.jpg

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

--

Noah Wulf (modified) https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Thunderbirds_at_Attention_Next_to_Thunderbird_1_-_Aviation_Nation_2019.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[hoshigray]

So I saw this tweet and thought then and there: Toji's fingers and how deliciously thick they are. Just imagine you always looking at his hands and being in absolute awe every time you look at them...And Toji uses this little infatuation to his advantage, to which you have no complaints.

A/n: Now I know it seems like I'm stalling my make-up sex Toji fic, but please accept this as a gift from my procrastinating ass (I swear idk what's wrong with me, I'm recently getting back into drawing and trying to relearn everything waaaaaahhh)!! I saw the new trailer and squealed seeing Toji (nothing new, lol), but then that tweet popped up right after, and I noticed how thick they animated his fingers!! So I just ran to my keyboard, and boom! Here we are!! Also, tysm for 400+ followers like???!!! Y'all are far too sweet and kind, ya know that!? Tysm~~~

Cw: dom! Toji x fem! reader - fingering (obvi) - fingers in your mouth - Daddy kink - breast fondling - finger sucking - praise - pet names (angel, baby, darlin', good girl, kiddo, sweetie, sweetheart) - clitoral play (pushed down by finger)- mention of violence (reason for Toji's scars) - ends with overstimulation (fem! receiving).

Wc: 1.5k

There is no doubt that you love Toji unconditionally and blatantly. That is the truth. There's no denying he isn't an ideal man; both of you understand that. He has many flaws that you're perfectly aware of. Yet despite said imperfections, you choose to stick beside and love him as if he's worthy (which baffles the older, tall man).

There are many things you love about Toji. But if you could pick one thing you loved about Toji, it would be his hands. When he holds them, your hand is dwarfed by his big palm. When he pulls you close to him by the waist when you two are in a crowded area. Or when he cups your face and kisses you before leaving for hitman work.

Palms are rugged and large that effortlessly warm you up. Fingers calloused and decorated with faded scars that each hold a story. Veins that stem from the bulky arms contour all the way down to the back of his palms.

His hands. His big, rough, warm, and scarred hands. You love them so much. And you're not the only one who knows this.

Toji is no fool. He can sense your eyes observing him from across the room as he's washing the dishes from the kitchen. He doesn't have to lift his head to see you on the living room couch where you're supposedly reading something on your phone. But it was apparent your attention wasn't on the small screen in your hands.

"Whatcha lookin' at me for?" Again, not looking at you and finishing the dishes. His scarred lip twists into a smile when you cough nervously before responding.

"Oh, you know. Just looking at my man being so handsome washing those plates." You internally sigh in relief, saving yourself with a quick excuse.

Now Toji looks and grins at you, placing the last plate into the dish rack and drying his hands before walking up to the couch to sit comfortably beside you. His left arm is positioned behind your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. Your heart skips a beat.

Toji grabs the TV remote to change the channel to something interesting, probably sports or some sitcom. Not that you care, because you just watch his fingers press on the channel buttons and place the remote back onto the coffee table. His right hand then moves to his chin to scratch the slight stubble, and your orbs trace the outlines of the tiny scars that harbor on Toji's knuckles. He never entirely told you how those faded tissues came to be, but he'd say that he came out way better than the guy on the other side of his fists ("Fucker had it comin', sweetie. Shouldn't bring a knife to a fist fight.")

Despite coming from such rough events, you don't mind the scars on his fingers. If anything, they make his hands even more attractive to look at.

"Somethin' wrong with my hand, kiddo?"

Uh oh. Your eyes drift to Toji's face, sharp green eyes leer at you, and a smirk is plastered with a mischievous expression. I got caught!

"No, nothing's wrong with them." You place your phone on the coffee table, and your hands move up to grab hold of Toji's hand resting on his chin. "They're...I just like looking at them."

Toji lifts a brow as he hums, removing his hand from your grasp and placing it on your cheek. A big thumb lays on top of your plump lips. "Is that right, darlin'? Ya like my fingers, yeah?"

You nod sheepishly while turning into putty when his fingers squeeze your cheeks with affectionate warmth. The left hand that once rested on your shoulder snakes down to your chest, and small gasp results from the sudden grasp on your soft mound.

"You want Daddy's fingers, baby?" He asks while massaging your breast, lowering his head to your ear so his gruff voice makes you shudder. You answer him with hooded eyes and a wistful nod, his eyes narrowing slightly at the blissful sight. "Lay down fr' me then."

You follow his instructions as he spreads his legs, your upper body resting on his right thigh while the other stations your ass for him. He whistles before rubbing and kneading your ass, while your breathing becomes irregular when he removes your leggings, revealing your panties.

The position limits your view, so you use your senses to feel his fingers teasing from your spine down to the wet spot on your underwear. Your shivers aren't missed by Toji. He laughs. "Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers on ya, right, angel?"

"Yes, Daddy." Toji sneers at the title and slides your panties down, your pretty pussy glistening for him to see. Your breath hitches when you feel his left ring finger nestle between your folds. The thick digit slowly but surely makes its way inside you, and a short squeal leaves you when it's entirely within. "Relax, princess. Bein' so good fr' me right now." The older man coaxes you as your cunt adjusts to the finger, his right hand caressing your cheeks for comfort. He pushes the finger further when your breathing returns to a steady rhythm.

Even with the sound from the television present, Toji only listens to the mewls you let out every time he pushes and pulls his thick digit inside you, rubbing on the walls of your tight slit. He enjoys the view of your bare ass and cunt for him to see and toy with, silently humming to himself when listening to your cries of pleasure.

When he feels as though you've adjusted to his ring finger, his middle finger brushes between the lips of your pussy, prompting you to clench hard on him. He laughs at your reaction, "Easy, sweetheart. I know you can take more of me." Toji sneaks his middle between your wet cunt, and a giant gasp quits your body as your hands grip his grey sweatpants. The soft pants from your open mouth fill the room, only for Toji to insert another pair of fingers into your mouth. "It's okay, cry on these hands you love s' much."

And that's all you could do as you let the man bully your poor pussy, your mouth sucking on his right fingers in your mouth while his left-hand abrade your insides. Thick digits stretch your aroused hole, causing your heart to race and your skin to heat up.

"Mmmm, Mmmph!" Words are muffled, and a scream is prevented when you can feel the digits make a 'come hither' motion. The tips of his fingers scrape your velvety walls, your brain turning fuzzy while tears and drool render your face from the stimulating abuse you're going through.

His fingers slide in and out of your slick-covered pussy faster, and you accidentally bite on the digits in your mouth. But Toji doesn't mind, for he knows he's making you feel so fucking good. "Yer grippin' on me so hard, sweetie." His fingers switch to a slow pace, making sure the pads of his two fingers tantalizingly graze your hypersensitive sex. "Gonna come on Daddy's fingers?"

Finally, Toji frees your mouth. Heavy pants exit your lips pooled with drool, saliva from your mouth coats his right middle and forefinger that retreat to holding your face once more. "Yesss, Daddy. Haaaah, I wanna come on y— Aaahh!! F-fingers..."

How can he deny you when your tearful eyes beg for release? His emerald orbs go dark in hunger, and his grin widens with his teeth emerging from under his scar.

The rough digits in your cunt quicken in reckless haste, forcing out moans to fill the room yet again. The middle and ring fingers assault the gushy walls deep inside your squelching cunt, the noises on par with the thrilled whimpers that exit your mouth.

And Toji uses this to distract you from his forefinger aligning with your clit. When the index finger comes down and swipes around the tender bud, your moans turn into electrified screams, hands gripping the man's leg holding you up. With the erratic pace of the two fingers deeply scraping your pussy, along with the forefinger pressing down on your clitoris, your orgasm hits you with no warning.

You chase out your climax with a euphoric sob, walls fluttering around the fingers responsible for your hips stuttering. After a few moments, your body relaxes onto Toji's legs which keep you still. His right-hand rubs circles on your back.

"Did so good, darlin'." He praises you, and it ends with you blissfully dozing off on his lap.

...Or so you thought.

Because it hasn't been a full minute before he starts moving his fingers in your wet vulva yet again, the abrupt movement pushing out choked cries from your throat. You send Toji a confused look which is answered with his childish smirk.

"Oh, sorry, sweetheart," No, you're not! He's absolutely not. The speed of his fingers getting faster proves it, your sensitive clit getting overstimulated by his forefinger brushing against it. "But don't think I'd let you come just one time. Make a mess on my fingers, baby. Make 'em real dirty like you."

[briefalpacashark]

~Hangover~

Synopsis: Titles pretty self explanatory.

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================================================

The next morning you were happily cooking away, watching the minutes pass by on the clock. Usually the boys would have been up half an hour ago. You would have to wake them up soon, though. You all had a mission briefing soon. Now you are a good person. But last night they did have you running across town and dealing with police because of their antics. So you set up a speaker in the hall, turned it on full blast and played an obnoxiously loud ‘Can Can Dance’ song. Hearing the cacophony of groans, you smile, returning to the kitchen. You watched as Gaz, Jonny and Price all dragged themselves into the wreck room heads bowed and pinched nose bridges.

“Well good morning sunshine’s and daisies!” you made sure to hit your voice with a slightly higher and louder pitch, making most of them flinch and groan.

“Shhhhhh,” Price hushed in your general direction. Hearing the speaker suddenly die out, you peeked around the corner to see Ghost standing there with his eyes barely open and a now impaled speaker on the end of his knife.

“Good morning,” you smirked. He looked at your smile, giving a grunt before walking to the table, throwing his defeated opponent upon the table, the bang making them all wince.

“Well well well. What happened to you guys' last night?” you asked, placing two large plates on the table. Full of food they might or might not want to eat. 

“We, uh, we had a few drinks,” Price said.

“Of, a few?” you asked, piling up your plate and beginning to eat.

“Yeah, I think,” he murmured, grabbing a plate for himself.

“How's your chest Jonny?” you asked. Jonny looked up at you with an accusing look, wondering just how you knew about the bald patch on his chest.

“Don't know what you mean, doc,” he grumbled.

“Aha sure. How's the head Simon?” you asked.

“Fine,” he muttered. Everyone looked at his head and to the slight bulge on his temple that the mask failed to hide.

“Got to say didn't pin you as a booty shorts type of man Gaz,” you added turning to Gaz. His face paled as he recalled the pink bedazzled pants he had quickly thrown into the bin. Your smirk widened impossibly wider. You were having way too much fun.

“And sir,” everyone went silent as you turned to Price. He looked up at you with a slight warning.

“I'm sorry about the hat,” you said. Everyone was silent for a few moments as they took in your smug grin.

"I'm to fucken old for this shit," he grumbled reaching for his tea.

“Alright you know what happened last night don't you?” Jonny asked.

“Who me? How could I know? I wasn't there remember,” you said. They pondered. That's the thing. They couldn't remember a damn single thing other than starting a drinking competition with the airforce boys.

“Did. I um d anything embarrassing?” Gaz asked bashfully. You pretended to think.

“What do you define as embarrassing?” you asked. He groaned, and Jonny chuckled.

“What are you laughing about Jonny?” you asked, taking a bite of food. His smile fell as he quickly shut up.

“You came to get us?” Price asked. You nodded.

“So, what happened?” Gaz asked.

“You know I don't think you would believe me even if I did tell you,” you hummed.

“Try us,” Ghost said.

“Right, ok,” you cleared your throat pushing your plate away. 

“So I get a call at 2 am in the morning. You rang me from a random phone, at a phone booth, that you didn't use and you have my contacts up on Gaz phone that you also didn't use. You were all just sitting on the curb eating a shit ton of Macca’s. It was an event to get you all in the car. Then when I did get you all in we went to a bar to pay of your tab. A bar that takes away your left shoe to make sure you don't run out on a tab. Which you guys did. Oh, wait sorry. I forgot the part where you all took a dip in a fountain to save ducks from drawing. Well Simon saved the ducks, Jonny tried to help but somehow started to drown in knee high water. Gaz tried to save him but couldn't and then Price apparently saved you both. Anyway so across from this bar is a police station. And you brilliant genius’s tried to pick a fight with a whole police force. Because apparently one of them tried to arrest Gaz. And the only reason why was because Gaz stole a stun gun. Then when I threatened you with lazwell finding out you all legged it down the street. Ghost almost took out a low hanging beam and Jonny and Gaz took out each other. I then had to track you all down again. You all put up a fight thinking I was working with the police. I had to tie you three up and put you in the back. Captain you were in a fucking tree. Honestly don't know how you got up so high. And Simon was in the trunk the whole time. So half way back to base you somehow managed to convince yourselves that you were kidnaped and jumped out of said car. I looked for you again and you called me to inform me you all had been arrested. Lucky for you I'm a sweet talker and got you guys off with a warning. Then I got you back and had to lug all your asses back to your beds,” you finished of the story with a smile. The boys all stared at you, first processing your words and then flat out denying them.

“Bull shit,” Jonny said in denial.

“Well, have a look at this and say that again,” you pulled out your phone and showed them the photo. Their faces fell as they took it in.

“Delete it,” Ghost ordered.

“What? Fuck no. Do you know the shit I had to go through last night? I earned this,” you stated.

“Sargent, I order you to delete that photo,” Price commanded.

“Captain, can i just say you have the cutest sweetest little giggle I've ever heard in my life,” you cooed. Price's face snapped into a glare.

“Giggled?” Jonny smirked.

“Captain's a giggling drunk,” you nodded. 

“Delete it,” Ghost ordered again.

“Make me,” you challenged. A scream left your lips as they all pounced on you, successfully pulling the phone from your grip and deleting the photo. 

“You all assholes,” you grumbled, taking your phone back.

“Not a word about last night to anyone,” Price ordered, pointing at you.

“Yes sir,” You gave a mock salute, grinning ear to ear.

“What's that?” he asked, pointing to the smile.

“What's what sir?” you asked innocently.

“That smile. What have you done?” he asked.

“Nothing sir,” you smiled, batting your eyelashes before walking away. 

Across the base, Laswell had just entered her office, tea in hand. Sitting down at her computer, she opened her emails going through the more important once before finding one from you. Reading the topic of blackmail, she moved closer, taking a sip of her tea.

As she opened it her eyes went wide at the picture she saw spitting the tea out in a mist.

Later that day you found Ghost sitting on the couch rubbing his temple. 

“Here,” you said, holding out some tablets to him with a drink of water.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” you asked with a smirk. He shrugged, hiking his mask up to his nose and taking the tablets. You were slightly taken aback seeing the half of his face. And from the half you could see he was handsome. What you loved more was the stumble he wore. Yep he was definitely blond. 

“Huh,” you hummed.

“What?” he asked, pulling his mask back down.

“Knew you had a stubble. Jonny owes me a tenner,” you smiled. Again, the Dajuvu washed over you. Ghost thought back to the time you were in the hospital. To the time you held his face so tenderly and looked at him so softly. He wished you would do it again. 

“Hey, wanna hear something worth its weight in gold?” you asked, your cheeky grin taking over. He nodded, and you slotted yourself next to him, your arms pressed against each other. You opened up your phone going into your recorder. Shuffling impossibly closer you held the phone up between your ears. 

“What?”

“Shhhhh,” you hushed him, your hand unknowingly dropping to his biceps to pull him closer. He leaned down, his head gently knocking on the top of yours. It was comedic really. His whole upper body was bent over while you were just sitting there. 

Softly a giggle sounded from your phone.

“What the hell is that?” Ghost asked as he continued to listen.

“That is our dear captain giggling,” you chuckled. Simon couldn't help the laugh that burst from his mouth. And not one of his half chuckles. No it was a real laugh. I mean, who wouldn't be amused by it. Your smirk turned into a warm smile as you looked up at him. 

“Fuck, That’s hilarious. That's really Price?” he asked. You loved it, the way his smile reached his eyes.

“Yeah, but not as amusing as you tighty whities,” You grinned, patting his leg and getting up. He froze. Sure, he wore tighty whities when he was in civics. They were comfortable. 

“So you took advantage of me when I was drunk and unconscious?” he asked teasingly.

“Oh yeah definitely,” you grinned back with a wink. You went to leave but paused, stepping back to face him. “I didn't see your face if that's what you mean. I kept my eyes closed when I took your mask off,” you added. 

“I know,” he muttered. You frowned and were about to ask about it when Price called the two of you for the briefing. 

“Come on,” he said, walking up to you and putting you in a headlock. Which wasn't hard. He practically dragged you out.

“Don't go telling anyone about my tighty whities. Copy?” he asked.

“Sure thing, Sir,” you grinned tapping out. He smiled, releasing you. You walked side by side. Something you hoped one day you would always do.

“You owe me a speaker by the way,”

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=COD Master List Here=

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eddie Munson's second chance

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 14

Prompt: Angst with a happy ending

Rated: G

CW: referenced child neglect/abuse

Tags: Modern AU, Royalty AU, Royal Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson

Notes: Continued from day 11. This was angstier in my head, but Eddie is a silly goose.

Eddie Munson is no stranger to fucking up. He's long accepted that. It's just a thing that happens.

Sometimes, you'll miscalculate a stage dive and have to cancel the rest of the tour. 

Sometimes, you'll get so caught up in your stupid rockstar stuff, you'll forget about the youth center you founded to give other kids a better childhood. 

Sometimes, you'll meet an adorable guy named Dustin at said youth center, and rant about how useless the monarchy is, only to find out that Dustin isn't Dustin at all, but Crown Prince Steven Harrington, aka the future king, aka owner of the saddest pair of puppy dog eyes that Eddie has ever failed to get out of his goddamn head. 

Which brings him to his current predicament, sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for Chrissy to pick up the phone. She does after the second dial tone, which is pretty impressive for three in the morning. 

"We must cancel the royal visit," Eddie blurts before she can ask what's wrong. 

"Eds," she yawns. "We've been over this. Just because you can't stand the guy-" 

"That's not it," Eddie groans. "Listen … I met him yesterday? Only I didn't know it was him? And I flirted with him and he was really cute but I couldn't keep my fucking mouth shut and now I can't ever see him again because I don't wanna rot in some dungeon, understand?" 

"No," she says. Damn, it sounded perfectly logical in his head. "But this doesn't seem like something we should discuss on the phone. Stay put, I'm coming over." 

*

They don't cancel the royal visit, but Eddie refuses to make an appearance. Instead, he watches from behind the curtains of the office window like a creep. The Prince looks dashing in his tailored suit, smiling for the cameras, joking with the kids, listening to Chrissy with polite attention as she shows him around the place. Eddie loves her so fucking much, will be forever grateful that she filled in for him. 

Even if she tied it to one condition. 

He watches how she whispers something into the Prince's ear, how his smile melts into an angry frown. How they both turn to stare at the window. Eddie flinches away from the curtains, heart in his throat. 

He wonders if the dungeons have WiFi. 

*

"You have exactly ten minutes," says the bodyguard. It’s the same one from yesterday, the one called Hop. Eddie doesn’t reply, just nods stiffly. Hop looks at him like he's contemplating murder, but then he ducks out of the room with a muttered all clear.

Prince Steven steps in. The door clicks shut. Silence descends. 

"Well," Eddie finally mumbles. "I guess this is the part where I bow and grovel." 

The Prince snorts. "Please don't, Mr Munson. I'd rather you save us both the embarrassment."

Eddie winces, because ouch. That stings more than it should. 

Neither of them says anything for a long while. The clock on the wall keeps ticking. 

"So," Eddie rocks awkwardly on the soles of his combat boots. "Who's Dustin?" 

Those plush lips twitch into a smile and those pretty eyes light up. For a moment, Eddie glimpses the boy from yesterday. 

"My housekeeper's kid. He'd be so mad if he knew I met you and didn't get him an autograph." 

He says it with genuine concern, like he's honestly afraid of getting shit from a little kid, and Eddie can't help but grin. 

"Don't worry, I won't tell." 

This gets him a huffed laugh. 

"He'd love this place, it's really cool." 

When Eddie looks up, the Prince is looking at the picture frames on the walls, photos of smiling kids and drawings in crayon and watercolors. Eddie sighs and joins him, stares long and hard of a picture of Max on her skateboard. 

"Thanks. I, um … grew up around here, and I wanted to give these kids a safe space. Where they can just … be children. I never really had that myself." 

A thoughtful hum. Those hazel eyes are soft with an expression that looks weirdly like longing. Eddie remembers watching stories about the royal family on his uncle's rickety TV set. A solemn-faced boy his own age trailing behind his parents outside of private jets, in lush parks and gilded halls. Always in expensive suits. Always well-behaved. Always way too grown-up.

Well, shit. 

"Listen, your highness …" 

"Steve is fine." 

"Listen, Steve …" Eddie lets the name linger on his tongue, finds that he likes the feel of it. "I guess I've been a bit of a dick." 

A hint of that bitchy little smile. "You guess correctly." 

"Whatever," Eddie huffs. "I'm trying to apologize here, so may I? Or are you throwing me in the dungeons?" 

"The …" Steve blinks. Then, his mouth starts to curl. "We, um … don't actually do that anymore. Unless you're into that, then I'm sure it could be arranged." 

Eddie sputters and Steve bites back a laugh. 

"If you really wanna make up for it," he then says. "I hear your concert next week is all sold out? Dustin would love backstage tickets." 

Eddie frowns. 

"Dustin as in the kid or …" 

"Steve?" Hop cracks the door open. "Time to go, c'mon." 

Steve smiles, bright and sunshiny. "On my way." 

He turns to Eddie, grabs a pen and a notepad from the chaos on the desk.

"Backstage tickets, two of them. I'll be expecting them by tomorrow." 

*

When Chrissy bustles in not five minutes later, she finds Eddie in the office chair, staring morosely at the still drawn curtains. 

"Eds? Everything okay?" Eddie just groans and hides his head in his hands, so she crouches down in front of him, hands on his knees. "He didn't give you shit, did he?" 

"Shit? I wish. No, it's far worse than that." Eddie cackles hysterically and unclenches his fist, presenting a crumpled piece of notebook paper. "He gave me his number." 

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

[ladykailitha]

Staking My Claim Part 3

Hey, guys! We're back!

Part 1 Part 2

We finally get the lowdown on what happened. Otherwise known as don't mess with Jeff.

Robin freaks out.

And Gareth is loaded. Or at least his parents are. ;)

I'm also going to try tagging the untaggables separate and see if you can't get you lovelies tagged.

@redfreckledwolf, @mira-jadeamethyst, @itsall-taken, @emly03, @rozzieroos

***

He hurried over to the phone and called Family Video.

“Hello, thank you for calling Family Video,” the soft female voice said. “How can I help you?”

“Robin!” he cried again. “I’m so sorry!”

“Steve!” Robin shrieked. “Where have you been? Are you okay? You’re not in the hospital or jail are you? What happened?”

“I’m not in jail or the hospital,” he assured her. Eddie huffed out a laugh. He whirled around to stick his tongue out at him. “I’m okay. I’m still in Indy. I just landed at some friendly metalheads’ apartment.”

“Wait...” Robin said. “Those friendly metalheads wouldn’t happen to include one Eddie Munson, would it?”

Steve looked over at said metalhead and turned away to hide his blush. “Maybe,” he mumbled into the phone.

“Hell yeah!” she crowed. “Now tell me what happened now!”

Steve pressed his lips together. “Um...to be honest...I’m not one hundred percent sure I know what happened last night. Like I remember bits and pieces, but it all kinda blurs together.”

Eddie walked over and pointed to the phone. “May I?”

Steve nodded and hand it to him.

“Robin?” Eddie asked. “This is Eddie Munson.”

“Hello, Eddie,” she said coolly. “Would you like to explain why my best friend isn’t, I don’t know, home?”

“I would love you to tell you that story if it’s okay with Steve finding out by me telling you?” Eddie questioned, looking over at Steve.

He shrugged and waved his hand for him to go ahead.

“He’s says it’s fine,” Eddie said.

“Noted,” Robin said. “Now spill.”

So Eddie did. He told her about the sleazeball at the bar who wouldn’t take no for an answer. About his daring rescue of pretending to be his boyfriend.

Steve blushed when he heard Robin go, “Awww,” at that.

Eddie grinned at him. Then he launched into the actual fucking rescue. It turned out that Mr. Persistent bumped into Steve to lace his drink with a drug to knock him out.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “He did what now?”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah...it was this whole thing. Jeff even got to punch the guy in the nose. I think the bartender has a crush on him now.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. The bartender was a thirty something Asian dude with tattoos and piercings. But he supposed it made sense, considering the bar’s general attitude toward that specific portion of the population.

“At least he’ll get free drinks for life, right?” Robin said with a chuckle.

“That’s certainly one way to look at it,” Eddie agreed. “So yeah, this dude bumps into Steve and suddenly our friend is getting tipsy, fast. And I’ve been at many a rager to ply my wares, there was no way Keg King Steve was drunk after two beers, a margarita, and a half of a Cosmo.” The half a Cosmo was from sharing with Gareth.

Steve blushed. He wasn’t proud of those wild days in high school, but it probably saved his life in this case.

“Yeah...” Robin agreed. “I’ve seen him drink men under the table who were bigger and had been drinking longer.”

Eddie nodded even though she couldn’t seen him, but Steve could.

“Then the asshole comes over and starts flirting with Steve again, trying to draw him away,” he continued. “That’s when we really got that Steve wasn’t acting normal. So Brian steps in and tells asshole to leave him alone. But this guy has gone past persistent and into full creep territory.”

“Eww...” Robin hissed. “How did Jeff get his punch in?”

Eddie chuckled. “That’s honestly the best part, so Brian and Gareth take Steve out to my van and I go and get the bouncer. We come back and asshole is trying to get past Jeff to make his escape. So he takes a swing at Jeffy.”

“Bad idea, I’m guessing?” she said with a hint of laughter in her voice.

Steve tilted his head in interest and Eddie fought down a smile.

“Jeff’s dad is a former boxer who taught him how to fight to make the bullies leave him alone.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and Robin said, “Oooh. Please tell me he laid this asshole out! Please!”

“Dude stiffened like a board and went straight down,” Eddie confirmed. “The only downside is that they couldn’t prove anything, so he just got tossed out, but make no mistake, they’ll make sure spread the word around the other gay bars about this guy.”

“That’s good,” Robin agreed.

Steve wandered back over to his food, safe in the knowledge that he was in safe hands.

Jeff and Brian were at the counter grabbing their breakfast so Steve joined them. Coffee was was doled out by Eddie a few moments later.

Creamer, milk, and sugar were placed next to the coffee pot.

“Robin says not worry about coming into work,” Eddie murmured to Steve. “She said she would tell Keith you have the stomach flu. Which according to her will get you at least three days off.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Brian said. “I don’t think there is anything I could tell my boss short of being in the hospital that would get me even a couple of hours off.”

Steve laughed. “Keith has a weak stomach. You just mention vomiting and the dude turns green.”

“Handy that,” Eddie said with a smile.

“It’s very handy when you’re out drinking and drink too much,” Steve said with a shrug.

“I’ll say,” Jeff said. “I’m just glad we were there, man.”

Steve blushed. “Yeah, me too.”

He dug into his food and was happy to note that while it didn’t necessarily ease the queasiness in his stomach, it didn’t make him want to throw it all back up, either.

He cleared his plate.

“So this is what’s going to happen, Stevie,” Eddie said as he cleaned up the pans from breakfast, “you are going to stay here until I am sure one hundred percent that you won’t throw up on the three hour journey back to Hawkins.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t. Right now nothing was coming up, but put him in a moving vehicle and he couldn’t say for sure that breakfast wouldn’t come right back up.

He nodded.

“I gave Robin the address so she’ll be stopping by after she gets off work,” Eddie continued. “I recommend that you get so actual rest, she seems like she’s a lot without her worrying about you, I can only imagine what she’s like when she is.”

Steve blushed.

“We’re going to all stay here,” Gareth said. “At least for one more day. I talked to my mom about it and she would rather pay more for utilities this month then worry about Steve getting worse.”

The other boys nodded their agreement, while Steve blinked at him in confusion.

“What now?”

“You do realize I live in Loch Nora, right?” Gareth asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shook his head. “My parents were very much exclusionists, dude. I only got to hang out with people that they deemed acceptable. Nicole, Carol, Tommy H. If they thought they weren’t in the right trade or held more liberal views, they weren’t worthy to interact with their son.”

Gareth blinked. “Fuck, that must have been lonely.”

He ducked his head and half shrugged.

“Anyway,” Gareth continued into the now deafening silence. “They pay for this apartment in the city for when we play gigs or need a place to crash after a night of drinking.”

Steve frowned. “You’re not eighteen yet, though, right?”

“No,” Gareth said with a laugh. “But my parents trust these guys to keep me safe.”

Steve thought about Dustin and his mom. That despite all the things that Steve had gotten up to in his high school career that she still trusted him to take care of her baby.

“Yeah,” he said fondly. “I can see that.”

Eddie came over to the other side of the counter. “Come on, up you get. You’ll be sleeping in my room.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “How many rooms does this place have?”

“Three,” Jeff said. “Brian shares with Gareth, but Eddie and I get our own rooms.”

“That’s because you’re both sluts,” Brian said rolling his eyes, “and me and Gareth don’t want to be kicked out of our rooms when you bring someone home.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

“I’ll give you the tour when I steer you back to my room,” Eddie promised.

Steve nodded and allowed himself to be lead back through the apartment and back to the bedroom.

Eddie tucked him back in and put a garbage can next to the bed. “I’ll be out in the front room, holler if you need me.”

Steve nodded and let himself drift off to sleep.

***

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Yeah, I'm sorry, I doubt even a middle class family would buy their very young son (if we hold to the belief that Gareth is OG drummer and was in the talent show with Eddie and Chrissy, putting Eddie in 8th grade, Chrissy in 6th, that would make Gareth in 5th grade) a drum kit.

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[multifan2022]

*Prewarning.. this is my first attempt at writing again.. I haven't touched my laptop since January so bare with me lol*

You could feel the warm wetness running down the side of your neck as you sat pinned at a weird angle. There was a sharp and hot pain every time you took a breath as you tried to remember where you were. What was the last thing you did? You couldn't remember getting in the bronco. Didnt remember driving away from the house. All you could remember was fighting with Bradley. 

“Why would you say that to him Brad?! You know how devastated he was when Goose died! You're not the only person that hurt Rooster! FUCK!” You slammed your hands down onto the counter, having a hard time even looking at your husband. While you and your dad were not close, you never blamed him for what happened with Goose. Sure you blamed him for the short break up between you and Bradley as young adults but clearly that was in the past. All you wanted now was for them to figure it out, you wanted to be a family, have a family. But now as Bradley stood here looking at you the same way he looks at Mav.. You were questioning things..

You hadn't even noticed that you called him Rooster.. A thing that just started after the move back to Fightertown. Because you had always known Bradley, he wasn't Rooster too you.. But every night when he came home, a little more mad, and a little more distant, your Bradley was being replaced by Rooster. The aviator who was the best of the best, who was part of the 1%. But was also the aviator who had taken the anger and trauma Bradley had and used it to mold himself. 

“No one to mourn you when you burn in… Really Bradley, because last time I checked, I am the one and only emergency contact for BOTH OF YOU!”

That if your rattled brain could remember correctly was the spark that lit the match. You and Bradley did not fight often, but when you did it was explosive. The kind of fights that left people in tears, the kind that led to words that should've been left unspoken. One of you always ended up on the couch for a few hours, normally both in tears until one of you couldnt take it anymore. Tonight was the first night that one of you actually left. 

You didn't even know which part it was that pushed Bradley over the edge. Was it you telling him you couldn't have kids with him if he couldn't get his anger under better control? That you refused to keep Mavs grandkids from him one day over some pulled papers? Was it when you said that you had sacrificed enough to be with him, that you had to draw the line? Was it when you told him Goose and Carol would be disappointed in how he treated Mav today? 

No matter what it was, the words he spoke as he left stung enough to leave you standing in the same spot for at least 30 minutes after he left. When you blinked and everything caught up with you, you realized the quietness of the house was turning your stomach. Without thinking you slipped shoes on and grabbed your keys. Originally you wanted to just drive your jeep around, clear your head since Bradley had just taken the doors and top off. But when you noticed the bronco still in the drive you couldn't resist being just a little close to Bradley. 

That's how two hours later you ended up driving down some road next to some beach. Honestly at this point you weren't even sure where you were. All you could think about was how hard you were crying as Tim McGraw and Tswift came on. Highway don't care, it seemed poetic, if a song was ever written for the aftermath of this fight, it was this one. When it ended, you had decided it was past time to call Bradley, to find out where he was and at least get you both home. Unfortunately you accidentally knocked your phone out of the old cup holder and onto the passenger floor. One last attempt to save it before it flew out the open door was made. 

You should've let it fly out the door. Because as you stretched across the cab, a car full of intoxicated teenagers came down the middle of the road. You could've sworn you heard someone yell your name as you sat straight up, jerking the wheel way too harshly in your panic to try and miss them. You desperately tried to keep control of the bronco as you skid sideways, unable to get control before it flipped down the side of the bank. 

That's where you were now, wondering how much more Bradley would hate you for crashing his late fathers baby. In your concussed mind, this would be the feather that shattered your relationship. The nail in the proverbial coffin. Part of you registered how long you had been hanging sideways in your seat, the truck having stopped on the passenger side after flipping a few times. You registered that you were struggling to breathe, and definitely were bleeding. You didn't hear any sirens, knew that the teens had not stopped. But thankfully, as one Amelia Benjamin, was dropped off at home her conscience overran her fear of being in trouble. 

So she told her mother and her boyfriend how she had been out drinking. How there had been a vehicle, one she swore she knew, that ended up off the road and she couldn't get anyone to stop. The two adults reassured her that while she was in trouble, she made a good choice in telling them. That maybe she saved someone's life. Little did they know how closely this would hit their little family. 

~~

Jake was over Bradley, the new found friendship they had was great. But it was two in the morning, and Jake honestly just didn't get it. He couldn't imagine having a lifelong love. A childhood best friend turned into the love of his life. So he couldn't wrap his brain around why Rooster was sitting in his kitchen right now. He also couldn't figure out who Rooster was mad at, himself or you? He told him as much and was surprised and worried when big brown eyes lifted from the floor with tears in them. 

“Myself, I think.” Roosters voice croaked “Because she's right ya know.. How can I ask her to give me a family when I cant even be nice to her dad? You know I didn't even ask for his blessing? Not because I thought he would say no, but because I thought it would be a slap in the face to him.. I've always used her as a way to hurt him..” Rooster broke off in a sob. It hurt Hangman's heart to see how hard of a time his wingman was having. But if he knew you, and he felt like he did, you were going through it worse. 

Taking a deep breath he pushed off his counter, annoyed that he was pulling his boots on with his impromptu sweat pants and grabbing his truck keys. Roosters watery eyes followed him before he jumped from his stool, understanding what was happening. When the two were finally in the truck Jake spoke, “Look Bradshaw, I know we aren't great friends or whatever, but I'm gonna tell you something that's gonna suck to hear.” Without looking he clicked the radio off before he continued. “Y/n.. She's a once in a lifetime kinda woman. The kind that will put up with just about anything to make things work. But once she draws a line in the sand, its there forever. Not just for you, but for the next guy too.” 

The hair on Rooster's arms stood on end, not only because of Jakes words but he swore he heard another male voice whisper his name. “What do you mean.. The next guy..” Jake scoffed at how soft and confused Rooster's words were. “My man.. Do you think she will stick around if the one thing she asks of you, is something you refuse to do? She has already given up her father walking her down the aisle.. He wasn't even at the wedding right? She's moved all over to be with you. The only long term roots she has are from when she lived with you as a kid. When was the last time she asked something big of you?” 

Rooster couldn't recall, causing Jake to just sigh and shake his head “I'm telling you this as your friend.. Fix this.. Because I wont fuck up where Maverick is concerned” Jake smirked at Bradley as they pulled into the driveway of your shared home. Rooster was practically out of the truck before it was in park, neither of them registering that the Bronco was gone. Jake watched as Bradley yelled your name, panicking more and more as he cleared each room. When he made it back to the living room he was already pulling his phone out. His thumb didn't even hesitate to click the call button as he tried to get ahold of you. 

He called over and over again, not knowing that you were watching as your phone buzzed just a few feet from the car. You could swear you saw a man who looked just like Bradley walk up to the Bronco and give you a sad smile. Your eyes closed just as the bright blue and red lights started flashing close enough to illuminate your accident. Your last thought about how Bradley would get what he wanted. What his final sentence had been to you, come to life.. It just cost him the Bronco. 

~~~

The ER was nuts on a good night, but tonight a Nurse named Layla was panicking. She had only met you a few times, being one of Hangman's regulars. At first, when she heard the explanation of the vehicle she was sure it was a Bradshaw, but unfortunately there was no IDS in the car and the police in the rush of trying to save you, had missed your phone. It wasn't until she rushed into the room to help with the CPR rotation that she knew it was you. Your hair was matted back with blood, the number of cuts and bruises amazed her. She was even more amazed that the tattoo on your hip was untouched. The one of a rooster with aviators on, the one that had confirmed who you were. 

Quickly announcing that she knew who you were she ran from the room. Slipping sideways as she tried to open her employee locker. She had never dialed Jake's number so quickly. 

Jake felt sick after he hung up. He was thankful for Layla, honestly he had always really liked her and this made him feel like he needed to take the whole thing with her seriously. But as he looked at Bradley, who was practically hyperventilating he didn't know how he was going to get him to the hospital. Layla had told him it was bad, bad enough that she didn't know if you were going to make it. Hangman heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. They were harsh and he wanted to take the way he said it back almost immediately. “Bradshaw, looks like I found your wife.. She's in the hospital.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bradleys entire world came crashing down in a matter of nanoseconds. He kept trying to say what by only the wh would come out. He could see Jake's mouth moving as he ushered him back to the truck, and could comprehend that he was on the phone with Mav. But he couldn't grasp anything. 

Well that is until the last interaction he had with his wife, the wife who was currently dying, played in his head. The one where he stormed out, didn't tell her he loved her. Didn't give her a kiss. Just said words that want to make him vomit now. Jake didn't fully hear him the first time he spoke, but when he asked Rooster to repeat himself, it took a lot of self control to not hit the man. 

“My last words to her.. They were that I'd probably be better off without any of the Mitchells..”

Bradley's mouth tasted sour, his whole body weighed down as he cried silently. Thinking about how much he would hate himself if he couldn't make this right. What if you left him after this? Would you move in the Mav? Get with someone like Jake? God he doesn't think he could watch it. Doesn't think he could handle you even packing an overnight bag to be away from him for a night. Why did he always let this happen? 

Why does he always let his anger just blurt out, why does he always take it out on you? When Mav had pulled his papers? It had been you he left. When his mom passed and you were trying to clean the house up for the wake.. It had been you he screamed at, even you whose head was right next to the wall he threw her favorite coffee cup into. But he only ever remembered the parts he liked. The memories where you held him while he cried and tried to pick up the pieces of that cup. Where he found a replacement in the cupboard a few days later. The parts of your story that made him feel loved. Like when he showed up at UVA, standing on your townhouse step with a duffle bag, sad eyes and apologies. It had been pouring rain, you had made him beg on his knees on the front porch before letting him in. 

He didn't hear any of Jake's words on the drive, and was out of the car even sooner this time. His feet eat up the distance between him and the front desk attendant. When they tell him you're still unstable and he will have to wait, he almost passes out. Once again Jake leads him to a seat. He doesn't register anything that doesn't have to do with you. He barely notices as the other members of the squad show up. Maverick kneels in front of him trying to catch his eye. But when he does, Bradley loses it. The tears that have been silently streaming down his face are now coming out in full sobs. Bradley keeps apologizing over and over, for not treating his daughter the way he should have. For what he said, for how long he has let this go on. It's like sad but relieving word vomit. 

Once Bradleys done, he moves on to reassuring an equally distressed Amelia. Who crying and sobs every word out as she explains to someone she looks at like a big brother, what happened. Bradleys not mad at her, hes not even mad at her friends. He's mad at himself, because had he grown up sooner, had he not been the reason for this fight, you wouldn't have been out on the road anyways. You would've been at home, wrapped up in his arms watching trash tv before having sex and falling asleep. He put you here, he knows that. 

When Layla comes out and says a soft hi, it breaks her heart and fills it to see the entire group here. She's surprised when Jake comes and hugs her, kissing the top of her head and thanking her profusely. She spoke as frankly and kindly as she could. “It was touch and go for a while. We lost her a few times.. She was unconscious when the cops found her.. She's got a long road ahead of her. Collapsed lung, small brain bleed, lots of bruises and a handful of broken bones. She's stable for now, but I don't really have good news yet. The first 24 hours are crucial.” 

All Bradley could hear as Layla led him and Maverick down the hall was that you had died.. Multiple times. He heard Mav gasp slightly as he entered the room, and it was like glue that forced Bradleys feet to stay in place. Layla paused as your dad walked towards you and turned to your husband. “I know this is hard Rooster.. But Y/ns a fighter.. She fought hard while in the Bronco, fought harder in the ambulance and here to stay with you.. But now she needs you..” Layla squeezed his arm as he took the small step to the doorway. 

The scene in front of him was nothing like in the movies. Ones where they show someone who was ‘in an accident’ but is barely bruised up. No, because the woman laying before him couldn't be his wife. Your skin was grayish, instead of the healthy tan glow you had developed under the Cali sun. The multiple leads and wires you had on you helping to sustain your life made him sick. A collar around your neck to keep your head stable. There were gashes across your beautiful face, and bruises on every inch of skin he could see. He knew the next moment he had with you would be make it or break it. You would either wake up, and be happy to see him.. Or you would wake up and ask him to leave.. 

Now all he could do.. Was wait. 

[lawlietscaramels]

Yandere ╾ L Lawliet

Because apparently I fell into a yandere stage and this is my tunnel out.

CW typical yandere stuff (stalking, obsession, overprotection, manipulative, worship, dependence, monopoly, killer)

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

Yandere L is interesting because I think yes, he could absolutely be a yandere

canonically too

BUT only if you defined a yandere by "do they have the traits?" as opposed to "what do they do?"

so first: what KIND of yandere is the detective? top five traits incoming.

STALKER

Let's just get this one out of the way

He obviously to some degree "stalks" people just for his work, through cameras and policemen if not in person

he's a stalker guys. that's it.

so he wouldn't have a problem just turning up wherever someone who interested him was

again

and again

and again...

He's pretty hard not to notice because of his peculiar mannerisms, but he's also literally black and white enough to blend into the background.

So if he was careful (he is) it would take a while before you noticed you were seeing him everywhere you went. And by then you wouldn't be able to think of a time where he wasn't sitting quietly somewhere in the background.

L knows this.

he knows you're going to assume he just happens to live in the same area as you, or something like that.

I don't think he'd actually follow you into your home but he would go when you were out someday to set up cameras

and I think L would genuinely believe himself to be a good person

what if he goes away and you get in trouble? you don't always have a roommate, who would notice? well, now L will, and he is quite able to get you back to safety. but back to the stalkery.

oh man he's gone through your stuff. your closets your phone whatever. he wants to know about you

one day he might just arrange for a little... near accident somewhere you both frequent

and oh my oh gosh oh diddly darn

guess who just happens to be there to save the day

(L. it's L. notice him please?)

OBSESSIVE

There are two things that L is canonically obsessed with: work and desserts

but if he found a romantic interest that list suddenly has a third item: YOU.

especially if you bake him cakes or help him in cases. because then he ties those things he loves to you.

and I'll just quickly mention these traits are always a little bit in his personality but the order I'm writing in is the order they come out more strongly around you.

Obsession is also tied with stalking.

Some days he watches you and dreams about you smiling at him the way you smile at the rain and the sun and the world.

he imagines how everything will work out. you're a distraction to his work: he would have to find a way to integrate you into his life in a way that allows him to be close to you and not distracted. he imagines he imagines

you'd find a way to fit into him while he was sitting, your body pressed up against his torso, legs pulled up, head on his shoulder.

he could play with your hair with one hand. you could feed him sweets.

L is for the first time not in control of his own thoughts. it's new and unpredictable so it's completely terrifying to him, and for a while he'll slink away into the darkest recesses of society and draw away from you.

but it doesn't stop. it gets worse.

he can't look outside without wondering if you're looking at the same skies. can't eat strawberries without wondering if you like them.

so then he does a full 180 and will devote all of his available attention (some must be spared for work) to you. if you don't already work together or if he hasn't made contact during the stalking at all, this is when he does it.

he reaches out to see if you'll take him.

and when you do (it's not a question of if, see manipulative) he will calm down a fair bit.

but he is still, quietly, obsessed

OVERPROTECTIVE

what can I say?

gosh he just wants to keep you safe.

He's seen every bad thing about the world through his work, he knows bad things constantly happen to good people.

but. not. to. you.

L just won't let it happen. he can and will secret you away in a hotel room. never enough for you to become suspicious, to rattle at doors and windows. And you move with him, every couple of weeks, so it's just an adventure, dear.

also I think he'd use darling in a sweeter sense. dear or maybe doll is his yandere pet name for you.

He probably has several trackers somewhere on you. probably not IN you... probably...

also you know that nail polish they developed that changes colour when it comes into contact with common poisons in drinks? he makes you use stuff like that. for your safety.

hate hate hates that he can't be with you all the time. you tend to find yourself with reasons to stay at home when L's not around. once again see manipulative.

he does trust you, he really does. but he doesn't trust the world. men in particular are often disgusting. it's just true. he's seen it time and time again as a detective. who knows what scary things could be out in the world? and if they knew you were dating, that you had ANY relationship with the world's greatest detective? L's afraid he's putting you in danger. please just humour him and stay home for a week, dear. you can work on your baking.

if you started getting really rebellious, thought you were being chained up, whatever, L would let you go and do whatever you wish. He doesn't want you to feel like that! He loves you! he may or may not have organised for a brush with death for you so that you realise how right he is about the horrors of the world and want to stay home like he asks you so nicely to.

you're just so pure. so innocent.

there, there. he won't let them hurt you.

he'll even close all the blinds so the darkness of the world can't reach in to taint your beauty. isn't he the best?

MANIPULATIVE

IT'S CANON.

I can't think of any particularly specific examples but he lies about everything. Whenever he throws out a number (5%) it means he suspects someone over 90%

so he has no issues bending the truth

sigh if L's manipulative side is triggered it's triggered ALL the way. one one hand he hates doing this to you

but on the other it's for your own good and you're being stupid.

He will do ANYTHING to make you believe him. he will manipulate you into thinking he's being manipulative so he can get upset at your lack of trust in him so he's able to manipulate you

did that make sense...

can cry on demand.

but it's not all about making himself the victim, he will also just.. isolate you if you're starting to drift away from him. Suddenly your friends find other interests, your family are renovating the house or your parents won a radio prize for a vacation.

and L is the only one left. and he himself is distant until you cry and plead and apologise

the isolation thing is actually a yan trait itself and the scenarios above are also kind of training. but they're only a part of the bigger trait.

he will also manipulate situations and other people, not just you.

L just wants what's best for everyone

(coincidentally this always aligns with what is best for L.)

he's so smart though. it's really really difficult to realise he's manipulating you unless he wants you to.

WORSHIP

you're so pretty, the most perfect thing he's ever seen

you're an angel, really.

and people who don't respect you as such are going to get a subtle but clear message from L to STEP AWAY.

cold glares.

he will literally turn his head 180° like an owl to stare at them while he walks you away

they might end up fired. I mean someone who can't see what's right in front of their eyes doesn't deserve whatever job they have...

he just wants to spoil you sometimes and he has the resources to do it and more.

sometimes this gets a little suffocating but it's sweet. mostly.

it's nice to have time with your boyfriend instead of big, grand, empty rooms. L just doesn't have a lot of time. He does his job to protect you, protect you from everything in this world because it is all inferior to you.

I do not like to think about how he would react if you happened to meet Light...

I wasn't sure about whether or not to put this in the top five because I don't think he'd see himself as inferior. his IQ is big. but you could still jump from his ego down to his IQ and fall for hours. he thinks you're more good than he is but he's under no delusions about your relative intelligence or anything.

but yeah, I think he's a worshipper.

Just... a quiet worshipper. all his yan traits are kinda quiet tho haha

L wants to give you the world. he would sacrifice anything for you.

he would take a bullet for you

his work makes this a good possibility. he'd prefer not to get shot but he'd still do it for you.

probably the most harmless of his yandere traits. this one comes out when he decides this is it, you are it, forever.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS

really quickly a couple of the other traits L might have and express are:

dependence (mostly for manipulative purposes. he will cry if you ever fight. L is honestly quite dependent on you, he might die without you-- or more likely just force you back into his arms-- but he puts on a lot of an act, a puppet master pulling strings behind the stage. he wants to be seen as vulnerable, not just a stoic and brilliant detective. because which one is it easier to lose your heart to? and you must lose your heart. you stole his first.)

monopoly (when he has time, he needs you to have time for him and only him. he doesn't have a lot of time. will manipulate you into spending time with him but it's more of an occasional pest thing than anything. quite harmless. especially because he works a lot. you have plenty of time without him, which makes him sad, but he can't help it. and you wouldn't love him if he stopped you from seeing your family and friends...)

killer (yeah... not in the top five by any means but if someone tries to hurt you? god forbid, if they SUCCEED? you'll be stuck at home for a couple of weeks while L frets over you. and sometime in that couple of weeks.. well.. maybe that someone who hurt you finds themself in trouble with a gang. L's not doing the dirty work himself but he's behind it and you will never find out. if they only TRIED to hurt you L won't be able to justify killing them to himself, but they'll quickly find themselves in jail.)

YANDERE?

so back to what I mentioned in the first part: L is a yandere, IF you're only basing the classification on the fact that he has these traits and the ability to act on them

but as anyone who's watched police or court drama knows, you need more than means and opportunity:

you need MOTIVE.

this is where I can't base my thoughts on canon so much anymore. the only people who we really see L caring about the death of (spoilers‼️) are: the FBI agents (though not on a personal level); Ukita (pretty sure that's his name); and Watari (though L himself dies too soon after for this last one to be useful)

so. Ukita.

L probably wouldn't care enough for the guy to go yandere for him LMFAO but we do see him refusing to rush in and take action without thinking, something which a yandere might be more inclined to do if they cared about someone.

HOWEVER we also see he's trembling. like he's a little in shock about the death and what it means, but also he wants to do something about it.

a yandere urge, brought out by something bad happening to someone he cares about.

My point being?

L has the traits of a yandere, and has the ability to act on any of them any time. he's smart, he's rich, and he has the trust of the entire world (or respect at least)

but he doesn't act unless triggered.

and ofc because he doesn't have a canonical love interest, we can't prove either way what he would do for/to them.

but I think he is more deredere (love) than yanderu (sick).

anyway, L is smart enough to realise that the yandere doesn't usually win the game of love, and that the things are not things you should be doing for/to someone who trusts you. not things you should be doing to someone you love.

but sometimes, when his emotions are high and so is the danger to you or your relationship,

his control just slips

and you might just find yourself locked in a hotel room while he works on the Kira case.

SO IS HE A YANDERE?

no. I'd say that he's a kuudere.

cold, cynical, sarcastic sense of humour, views feelings as a weakness but DOES have them and will open up over time.

but oh...

wait...

according to the dere wiki...,

"Due to the way a kuudere acts, a yandere can easily pretend to be a kuudere when not acting insane."

...

so, what do we think?

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

but hey that's just a theory... a DERE theory! aaand cut.

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

[the-littlest-lily]

30 Days of G/t Self Care

I'm not fully sure where this idea came from, but here we go! I do enjoy a fun little daily challenge, and like most things my mind went to “but how can I make it G/t?” And here we are! Just in time for the new year, a 30 day self care challenge but… sizey. I wanted to make an actual calendar thing, just in time for the new year (though it can be started at any time, it's not specific to January). Check the days off, spread them out over a longer time, pick out just the ones that speak to you, whatever you want to do 😊 Here's the guide to go with it.

Day 1. Set aside a few minutes to take some deep breaths and focus on the present moment. To help ground yourself, perhaps wrap yourself in a blanket and imagine you are in a large, lovingly grasping hand, or hold a small item and imagine it's a tiny friend.

Day 2. Revisit some nostalgic G/t media. What first got you into this? Let yourself reminisce and remember why you love this in the first place.

Day 3. Make G/t art. It can be anything! Drawing, writing, crochet, pottery, you name it. No need to hold yourself to a certain standard or show anyone else, just take some time to be creative. Even if you don't deem yourself an artist, give it a shot and see if you enjoy it!

Day 4. Relax with a word search puzzle. I made a G/t themed one for you right here!

Day 5. Try out this journal prompt. If you could be tiny/big at will, what types of things would you do to relax? How might you extrapolate from this and apply it to your real life?

Day 6. Stretch your body today. What imaginary setting could you give yourself to make it G/t? Are you surrounded by gigantic furniture in your mind’s eye? Perhaps the yoga video on your phone helps you pretend you have a tiny instructor?

Day 7. Listen to some G/t music. This could be anything, from sizey music videos to songs with sizey lyrics to the Arietty soundtrack.

Day 8. Practice gratitude by listing out all the little things you're thankful for. (See what I did there?) Add some big things to the list for good measure.

Day 9. Practice stepping out of your comfort zone a little bit by talking about G/t, out loud if you’re able. Whether it's discussing with a friend (you brave soul), recording yourself on your phone (you can immediately delete it), or just mumbling to yourself in the shower. Maybe you’ll realize you want to make a G/t podcast and we all win!

Day 10. Here's a little creative prompt. Arrange everyday items to make a G/t scene (use toys, miniatures, or even fashion a tiny person out of paperclips or paper). Take a picture, share it if you like!

Day 11. Create a cozier space today to enjoy your G/t content. Grab some blankets, make yourself a snack or some tea, light some candles, whatever sounds nice to you. Sometimes it's making a mundane moment special!

Day 12. Make yourself something healthy to eat. While you prepare it, imagine how different the task might be to carry out if you were very big or very small. Maybe even have some fun making your snack in miniature too.

Day 13. Try out some affirmations today and see if you can make them both sizey and relevant to your life. Ideas of mantras could be “I am allowed to take up space,” “I choose to appreciate the little things today,” “I will achieve great things through small steps.”

Day 14. Go out into nature for some fresh air. Lean in close and pay attention to the small details, perhaps imagining a shrunken version of yourself or a small friend exploring.

Day 15. Challenge yourself to learn a new skill today to bring your Gt ideas to life. Maybe it's learning how to code, or making your own VR avatar, or learning a new art tool or technique. It's finally time to watch that tutorial you've been saving! 

Day 16. Pull out your dream journal, or start up a new one! Maybe we’ll figure out the whole lucid dreaming thing and come close to experiencing Gt, wouldn't that be the dream~ If this doesn't resonate with you, maybe start a journal to jot down your Gt daydreams instead!

Day 17. Relax with a crossword puzzle. I made a G/t themed one for you right here!

Day 18. Try to cross a few to dos off your to do list someday. Make it more fun by adding in some joke tasks in there, like “leave out a snack for the fairies” or “prep for borrowing trip tonight” or “meet with giant friend for coffee.” Maybe even schedule some real life Gt tasks - such as “work on chapter 2 of (Gt story you're writing)” or “plan a VRC hangout”.

Day 19. It's time to dress the part! Is there any way you can dress up or accessorize yourself in a sizey way? Maybe you have an oversized hoodie, or a necklace of a tiny Eiffel tower, or an old shirt with Tinkerbell on it. Did you know you can actually buy Arietty’s giant hair clip thing? Or if this better scratches your creative itch, maybe your objective is to make tiny accessories for a toy or figurine.

Day 20. Take some time to rest. Just allow yourself to lay down in a quiet, cozy setting for at least a few minutes and have some dedicated G/t daydreaming. 

Day 21. Try out a new exercise routine and use your G/t imaginings to make it more fun. Watching a new workout video? You’re a giant visiting the gym and that's your human instructor on the screen. Spontaneous dance session in your room? You're a fairy frolicking in a field of enormous wildflowers. Going for a swim? You're actually crossing a vast ocean, or maybe a small glass of water.

Day 22. Check out a new G/t story. Not a big reader normally? Just give it a shot!

Day 23. Give yourself a pamper night, whatever that means for you - face masks, cucumber water, a warm drink, candles, the works. Pamper night (face masks and stuff)

Day 24. Make or buy something for your G/t interests (miniatures or toys, “max”iature like a giant flower pillow, fairy-themed stationary, make a giant paper mache strawberry, etc)

Day 25. Relax with a coloring page. You can use any of your favorite artist’s lineart (just make sure to get permission and/or proper attribution if you want to post it). Here's an example option from me.

Day 26. Make a list of all the things you love about G/t. It's always nice to remember the various ways this interest might benefit our lives.

Day 27. Motivate yourself to try out a new hobby by making it G/t. Take that pottery class you've been meaning to take and make a giant acorn-shaped mug. Get into cosplay so you can dress up as a borrower. Dabble with watercolors and you may end up becoming a G/t artist. Study a new language and enjoy new sizey media you couldn't understand before. Whatever speaks to you! 

Day 28. Do a favor for your future self and make a self care kit for when you're having a hard time. This could include a journal or affirmation cards, or perhaps some grounding items like fidget toys, stress balls and mints. Add a little something G/t in there too. Perhaps some kind of miniature with an interesting texture, or a fidget toy in the shape of a person, or a stuffed animal of a giant ladybug to hug. 

Day 29. An act of kindness can do wonders for our mental health. Send someone in the G/t community a kind comment today, whether it's a long-time friend, someone you just met in a Discord group, or a comment to your favorite G/t artist. 

Day 30. Reflect on all the activities you’ve tried during this self care challenge and journal about it. What have you learned about yourself? What might you incorporate more into your self care routines going forward? Pat yourself on the back for investing some time and attention into yourself - you deserve it!

[luveline]

Hi! I seriously love the way you write parental relationships with kids. Not really sure if you’d be interested in this idea but would the reader ever need to pick up Roan from daycare when Eddie has to stay late at work?

hi! im so happy you do baby, thanks so much for your request! this was a great idea, you're a wonder ;) this one got really long by accident it's not my fault ♡ girl dad eddie x fem!reader

It's a desperate phone call. You just got home from work and you can hear the landline ringing as you open the door.

"Hello?" you ask, hooking the red plastic receiver between your cheek and your shoulder.

"Hey, it's Eddie!"

You could tell from the grinding sounds in the background. "Hey. Working hard or hardly working?"

Usually Eddie would laugh at your bad jokes. He might look all frosty and cool on the outside but he's not so tough on the inside, a veritable goodball through and through. It's easy to think of him blowing raspberries on Roan's tummy, their matching happy smiles.

"Did you hear me?" he asks.

"What?"

"I asked if you'd do me a favour."

"Sure thing," you say immediately. You ease your shoes back on. "What do you need?"

"Could you pick Roan up from daycare?"

You drop the phone and scramble to pick it up where it's swaying left to right. "Is everything okay?" you ask worriedly.

"Everything is fine! Well, everything sucks, but it's fine. They need my hands for something, 'n usually I'd ask Wayne to grab her for me but he's tied up." You blink. "It's okay if you can't," he adds. You think he might be saying, It's okay if you don't want to.

You grin. "I can get her no problem. Will they let me? Do I need to be on, like, a list?"

"I can call them first. You're sure you don't mind? You can bring her here-"

"Where? To the garage? Can't she just come watch movies with me?"

He clears his throat. "You want to?"

There's lots of things you could say here. Eddie, I adore her. Of course I want to. Or even, Eddie, I'm pretty sure I adore you, so I'd do it even if I didn't love her to pieces.

"I'd love to! We can have a princess party, and-"

"That sounds great, baby. Thank you." His tone is a tad strained.

"Oh, right. Finish your thing! I'll get in the car as soon as you go," you assure him.

"Thank you," he says again, and hangs up.

You let yourself in through the first door and approach the desk.

You drive down to the daycare and can't help thinking about how excited you are to see Roan. You hope she'll be excited in turn, and then you tell yourself off for entertaining the idea. You're not her mom, you're not her anything. You're barely Eddie's anything.

You're really hoping you will be.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up Roan Munson," you say, nervous to talk to this lady you've never met before.

She squints up at you assessingly from behind a pair of bifocals.

"Eddie said he was gonna call."

"Nobody's called me," she says, monotone. "What's your name?"

You tell her your name. She says, "Uh-huh," like she couldn't believe you less and then clicks through a struggling computer, green light illuminating her face.

You twiddle your thumbs. You can hear the sound of kids playing behind the door but don't want to try peeking in case the lady thinks you're a freak.

Maybe Eddie's gonna call any second now and save you the awkwardness.

You open your mouth to reiterate when she hums. "Alright. I'll buzz you in."

She buzzes you in.

You're on the list. Eddie put you on the list.

You walk through the second door and spot Roan instantly, already dressed in her shoes, a chunky pair of black mary janes, and a sparkly red nylon jacket. Her curls are in frizzy braids, one hanging dangerously close to what looks like a pot of dirtied paint water.

The toes of your shoes hit the baby gate. The sound draws lots of attention, a bundle of kids all excited to see their parents and go home. Among them is Roan. Her eyes get wide and she smiles her lovely baby smile, hands paused where she'd been drawing a picture.

"Hey, princess," you say, not too loud as to disturb the workers but more than enough for her to hear you clearly. "You coming home with me?"

Rhetorical, obviously, but amazing to get to hear her say, "Yes! Yes, I'm come with you."

She strides to the babygate and lifts her arms. It's familiar now; while you haven't gotten any better at picking her up, you do it without thinking. You've barely wrapped your arms around Roan when a young man is passing you her backpack.

"Thank you," you say emphatically, not sure what to do with it. In the end you shrug it over your own shoulder.

Roan gives you a hug right there and then. She's all short limbs and extreme enthusiasm as she does, the paper in her hand smashed to your neck and the flyaways from her braids tickling your nose.

She so heavy. You can never get used to how heavy she is. You give her a great back-rubbing squeeze and then set her down. She isn't happy, but she doesn't get too mad, only pouts.

"You look like daddy when you do that."

"Where is daddy?" she asks.

You smooth down the lapels of her jacket. "He's at work with Uncle Wayne. But he sent me to come and get you. Does that sound okay?"

She shrugs. You shrug back at her because she's funny, and it makes you laugh.

"Yeah? I figured we'd go buy some candy and have a princess party." You whisper the last bit and watch awe slacken her face.

It quickly tightens. She screams and jumps at you, almost knocking you over in her rush to hug you.

It's a great feeling. You can tell why Eddie loves this part as much as he does.

You don't have a car seat for her so you decide you can walk the half an hour to your place. It feels long. You take pity on her little legs dragging halfway in and politely ask if you can carry her. She rests on the moving bump of your hip and answers questions about her day as best as she can, her drawing now safely tucked away in her mini backpack.

You stop at the small corner store on the way and let her fill a basket with drinks and chips and candy. All pink or purple, of course. Your princess party needs appropriate catering. There's a cheap tiara and wand set hanging on a rotating rack in the back and you add it as inconspicuously as you can to a growing heap of things so as not to spoil the surprise.

Carrying her and a grocery bag full of things is hard work but you don't mind, not when she's having such a great time. All she's done is chatter about princesses and her dad and you in varying arrangements and with varying passion.

"This is my house," you announce outside.

You let yourselves in, help her out of her shoes, and hold her hand as you climb the stairs together. Roan takes them one at a time. You don't suppose the trailer has as many.

"Good job, baby," you praise.

She gives you one of her more shy smiles and gets noticeably closer to your leg, almost clinging to you as you show her where the bathroom is and then your bedroom.

You don't quite have a princess bed, but you do have a lot of soft looking pillows. She squeals.

"You want to lie down?" you ask her knowingly.

Roan nods. You smirk and pick her up, rocking her back and forth as you count, "1, 2, 3," and toss her into your sheets. She lands with a roaring bubble of giggles and a poof of silken sheets.

You throw yourself down beside her.

She lolls her head to look at you. You share a private smile.

When Eddie finds you, it's in the living room. He'd knocked a couple of time and got no answer, had almost turned around to leave when he heard the TV playing a familiar princess song.

"Girls?" he asks, shocked at your sleeping figures.

Roan wears a cheaply made plastic tiara. Her shoes and socks are gone, her small legs and feet pushed out straight in front of her on the couch cushion. You have your legs kicked up on the coffee table and are surrounded by snacks, a plastic wind in one hand and Roan's hand in the other.

He weaves around discarded shoes and things and perches carefully on the coffee table next to your legs, freshly scrubbed hand reaching out to clasp your calf, rubbing up and down the length of it until you rouse from your dozing. Your hand tightens around his daughters. She's the first thing you check when you wake up.

His heart aches in the best way.

"Hey," he says, still rubbing your leg slowly.

"Hi, Eddie." You rub your face and sit up with a sigh, flopping over until your back is hunched.

Eddie chuckles under his breath and applies a little more pressure to his massage.

"That feels nice," you say through a yawn.

"I bet it does. Did you walk all the way here?"

You wipe your eyes with one hand and look at him through parted fingers for a moment. "Yeah," you confess sheepishly, dropping your hand. "I don't have a car seat."

His turn to be sheepish. "I'm sorry."

"No! Don't be, we," — you hold her hand like a trophy; his heart aches worse — "had a really good walk. Great arm workout. That's my exercise for the year."

He holds his hand out for your empty one. You pass it to him. "Mm," he hums skeptically.

You blink owlishly. "It's okay."

"Seriously, I had a great time. Um, Roan might be out of commission for a bit though. She did some intense jumping on the bed earlier. Oh, and I'm totally forgetting the best part, she..." You fade off as Eddie brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

"I'm sorry you had to walk. I didn't think."

Eddie kisses the same spot and then let's it fall, rubbing the invisible mark with purpose. "Poor girls. I'll make it upto you," he promises.

"That's okay." You mean it. "I had a great time. She's- she's really awesome."

"Gets that from me."

"Sure does. Same as her bottomless pit of a stomach, and her moods, and her-"

"Okay, that's enough."

"-lovely good looks," you finish, eyebrows raising at the starts innocently. "What did you think I was gonna say?"

His laughter finally wakes Roan. She stretches out and mumbles dispassionately, grumpy to be pulled from sleep.

"Hey, princess," he says gently.

Though he feels bad for stealing your nickname, he can't not call her that when she's soft with sleep and wearing her cute crown. The fake pink gems shaped like hearts set in silver painted plastic adorning her inky curls may as well be real jewellery for how pretty she looks.

"Daddy," she cheers weakly, fatigue scratching her throat.

"Poor baby needs a drink," you say.

You're on your feet before Eddie can stop you. He watches you go. Roan climbs into his lap with a self-satsified noise, digging her face into his chest. He looks down at her and drops a handful of dainty kisses against her head.

"Did you have a good day?" he murmurs into her hair.

"Good day, daddy," she says agreeably, already falling back into sleep.

"Best day ever!" you say from the kitchen.

He tries not to feel too jealous and fails.

-

more of eddie and roan

[rebeccathenaturalist]

*deep breath* This, folks, is EXACTLY why I am writing The Everyday Naturalist. Because it's not enough to have an app. You HAVE to know how to use multiple identification tools and have keen observational skills if you are going to safely forage or otherwise identify things in nature.

Here's the deal. Apps are a tool. They are not infallible, and they should never, ever, EVER be your only tool for identifying mushrooms and other organisms. This goes even moreso for when you're trying to determine whether something is edible or not. I go into more detail about why apps should never be used by themselves in this article that I wrote a few months back, but let's explore a bit more about how an app works.

Any identification app has access to a particular database of pictures and other information for various species. In the case of my favorite app, iNaturalist, it draws from the over 156 million (and growing) observations of animals, plants, fungi, and other living beings that have been uploaded to it over the years.

When you upload a photo to an app, your phone usually inputs the date, time, and GPS location automatically, though these can be updated manually if need be. Then the app's algorithms sift through the database looking for species that are found in the same location at the same time of year, and which have similar photos.

Notice that I said SIMILAR, not identical. Many organisms, to include many fungi, have varying appearances based on subspecies, life stage, and other factors. And there are a lot of species that have close lookalikes, whether we're talking birds, wildflowers, mushrooms, etc.

So the algorithms then use their search results to give you their suggestion(s) of what most closely resembles the organism you are trying to identify. Some give you one answer; others, like iNaturalist, offer you a list to choose from, and may also qualify their response with "We're not sure, but these were found nearby" or something similar. The first one on the list is NOT always going to be the correct answer. However, the app doesn't have reasoning skills, and all it can do is play match-up and then produce suggestions based on that. (Yes, other iNaturalist users can come along and comment on your observations once you've uploaded and saved them, but you always want to carefully assess their claims, too.)

There are several toxic mushrooms that are implicated in poisonings on a regular basis; among them are what I call the "deadly Amanitas": the death cap (Amanita phalloides) and the destroying angels (A. bisporigera, A. ocreata, and A. verna.) In addition to these species' respective native ranges in Europe and North America, some have managed to make their way to other parts of the world. This includes in Australia, where there is a current investigation underway over a woman who fed several family members deadly Amanitas, three of whom have died.

These poisonous mushrooms have several edible lookalikes. As one example, while matsutakes (Tricholoma matsutake) are often brown, they may sometimes appear white, especially if the brown layer has peeled off. And field mushrooms (Agaricus spp, especially A. bisporus and A. campestris) are also large white mushrooms, though their gills and spores tend to be brown rather than the white of Amanita species.

Still, someone taking a picture of a large white mushroom--especially if they neglect to take another picture of the gills (the more pictures you take, the better)--could easily end up with an app telling them an Amanita is an Agaricus. Or they might read that some people think it's safe to eat Amanita muscaria if you parboil it long enough, and assume that other Amanita species are the same way (one of MANY reasons I do not advocate for treating A. muscaria as an edible.)

So--again--DO NOT USE APPS AS YOUR ONLY ID TOOL. Use them in conjunction with multiple field guides, websites, other foragers, etc. Practice using these tools and developing a critical eye before you go out foraging. Be super cautious, and when in doubt, throw it out.

And my inbox is ALWAYS open, as is my email (rebeccathenaturalist(at)gmail(dot)com.) You can ALWAYS email me with questions about field guides, apps, and other resources, and I am also happy to look at pictures of mushrooms (and other living beings) you're trying to identify, whether edible or not. You might need to give me a few days to reply, but I will get back to you. Don't use ME as your only source, either; I'm just one person. But I can point you to online groups that are also good resources.

[dduane]

I am curious since I've seen stuff of yours mentioning the worldbuilding work being important (and because your Young Wizard series was hugely influential in the way I build worlds): Where do you put all the worldbuilding work? A notebook? A Google Doc? A file somewhere on a computer? Scattered sticky notes? Messages to friends? Do you try to keep it all organized?

I have no choice but to keep it organized, because if I don't, I'm screwed. :) ...And this isn't just a side effect of being 70+, but of having numerous projects going at once, all in wildly varying stages of development... and ideas for any of them are likely to pop up at any time.

Over time I've learned to keep separate projects' notes well separated from one another, to prevent confusion. Additionally, some kinds of notes are better for some projects than others. If the worldbuilding is mostly to do with character business and stuff going on inside people's brains, something that supports long-format typed notes will be best. For something that needs artwork, drawings, diagrams or calculations, something more graphics-oriented may work better. I usually find out what works best as as I go along, and stage newer notes accordingly.

In the past I've often used (physical) notebooks, but I don't any more, as it takes more effort than I care to expend to move things off the paper and onto the screen / into the file. (For those wondering: I normally compose directly into the computer, either by typing or [Dragon Anywhere-mediated] dictation. If a piece of work is giving me more trouble than usual, I'll sometimes break down and compose on paper, with a fountain pen: thanks for the hint, @neil-gaiman. Sometimes slowing things down does make a difference) :) ...Then I read the pen-generated material into the machine.

Probably the modality I use most often now for worldbuild material is Scrivener, for reasons I discussed a little over here the other day. It lets you store notes alongside your prose material, or in a research "folder" down at the bottom of your project: and it keeps it all together.

But I'm not always sitting down in front of the machine. Sometimes ideas pop out when you're on the road: or you're working on one project and something pertinent to another one comes up. So at such times I use:

Evernote. It syncs seamlessly among all the devices I use, and you can get at it from wherever you are in a browser or from a smartphone or tablet.

A voice recording app. I've got one in the iPad and one on my phone. If I'm somewhere without broadband and can't use Dragon, the saved audio can be fed into it later. Dragon'll then transcribe what I said and email it to me for inclusion in whatever note-keeping software I'm using. Right now on the iPad I'm using an app called Voice Recorder, and on the (Android) phone one that (mysteriously) also called Voice Recorder.

These are desperately handy for when an idea comes to you in the middle of the night and your handwriting's not to be trusted or you don't want to turn on the light for fear of waking up whoever else is in the bed. Fumble around for the recorder, turn it on, mumble your note in and go back to sleep. Just make sure you've actually turned it on. And off. :)

Sticky notes. I do use them, but I don't let them sit around: it's too easy for a passing breeze to blow them off the table / desk / whatever and under the fridge, where you'll never see them again. These normally get transcribed into electronic storage immediately, or stuck onto my desk in a spot where they have to be dealt with immediately; or (in the case of really important notes) stapled to several others that in same cases have been there for years. ...Notes not immediately transcribed get stuck into a notebook which I clean out carefully once a month, along with the other note-taking apps.

Another kind of sticky notes, of which I'm really fond, is this app for the iPad, called Tatter. It allows you to open multiple "notebooks" that can house what seem to be an unlimited number of stickies. Supports images, as well.

A wiki on a stick. If there's a lot of data coming down the pipeline at once, it's handy to have something to stick it into in which short articles can be linked easily to one another. You can export / cut-and-paste these into your main work file as necessary. Then at the project's end, you just zip the wiki's contents up and put it away somewhere, on disk or in the cloud, as you prefer. (Because who knows what its contents might come in handy for, some years from now...?) TiddlyWiki is good tor this kind of thing.

Anyway: the secret of successfully managing an array of note-taking methods like this is to set aside a day once a month to go through them all, making sure that notes that are worth something will be tucked safely into the project file associated with them. If you're not using a program like Scrivener that provides its own storage, this space can as easily be a folder on your desktop, or even a series of printouts. But the most important thing: back them up somewhere safe. Worldbuilding notes are some of the most painful to lose. ...I keep a set of mine in Dropbox, and an additional set in my laptop, and once a month I email a zipfile of the most crucial ones to myself.

If this sounds like a lot of work: that's as may be... but it's worth it. I mean, we're talking worlds here. Until they're safely out where people can see them on paper or on the screen, you are their only guardian.

At any rate: HTH!

[emotionally-damaged-carrot]

Daniel Ricciardo x Male reader

"Permissions"

First fic in like a year, damn, sorry for the wait. All my interest has probably changed by now but I will still write for the previous fandoms that I liked (ex. Moon knight). I just gained an interest in F1 recently so I might write more F1 fics for the tome being considering I don't really see many f1 x male reader fics out there. Hope you enjoy!

Dan's Pov

"Uhm yea, me and my husband have this thing, where we ask each other permissions over stupid things that we know the other won't mind us doing"

I told lando as he asked why I wanted to ask my husband permission on whether I can go hang out with them or not.

"YOU HAVE A HUSBAND??" Lando asked surprised with a smile on his face.

"You didn't know? We've been together for like 9 years already and you just found out now? Wow, you never fail to surprise me each day we're together, Lando." I say with a big smile on my face.

"Thanks? Anyway, I wanna hear his reaction now. Come on, call him do your things."

"Fine, fine just relax." I say as I pull out my phone from my pocket, unlocking it and scrolling thru my contacts looking for his name.

"You saved him as 'love of my life' with three hearts? Talk about cheesy." Lando says rolling his eyes.

"Mind ya business, now shush it's ringing." I say as I hear him pick up the phone.

"What do you want?" We hear y/n say as I put him on speaker so Lando can also hear.

"Talk about moody, I just wanted to ask you if I could hangout with the boys this afternoon, we're planning on just chilling in Max's room and just maybe watch so-"

"Mate, I don't a shit, you just disturbed my sleep for that? You know you're an adult and are allowed to do whatever you want, right?"

"But I wanted to ask for your permission fiiiirst." I say drawing out the last word to annoy him further.

"Yes, you can, sometimes I wonder why I even married you in the first place."

"It's cause you loooove me."

"Piss off, I'm going back to sleep, if you call me again when you could just leave a message, you'll sleep on the couch."

"You know you need my cuddles to sleep." I say smiling wider when I see Lando giggling beside me.

"I hate that you're right, anyway, see you tonight love you. Bye Lando." We hear Y/n say the last part after a brief pause before hanging up.

"How'd he know I was with you?" Lando asked perplexed.

"He's my husband, he knows everything." I say with a laugh, while walking out of the motor home and putting my phone back in my pocket and grabbing my cap off the table.

"Wait, how long have you two been out??" I hear Lando shout after me with confusion in his voice.

"Give or take, 6 years." I say as I stopped to look at him and give him a cheeky wink.

"AND I'VE ONLY FOUND OUT TODAY THAT YOU HAD A HUSBAND???" Lando shouts as I laugh while walking away.

"You didn't know about his husband? Everyone knows about them, the whole paddock knows about them." I hear Max say with a laugh before I'm out of ear shot.

That's all for now, I'm still trying to get back into that writer mindset ya kna. Hope you enjoyed, if you didn't idk have a good life ig. Peace ✌️