#faulty app

[superstarfighter]

Sometimes I compose a tumblr post including images (as I normally do for my #dagbok entries) but they are lost into a void after I press POST.

[shironezuninja]

I had to end up eating 2 Spiderverse burgers for a couple of days, cuz the Burger King app and delivery services split up our first order between 2 deliveries.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

people that need the proper context and label for every single fucking thing in their lives and need it defined by Some Invisible Authority TM bore me to death. "this is the X space. X space rules state that X space is for doing Y and Z. Therefore in this space we do the assigned Y and Z functions and NOTHING ELSE, because that was not defined within the parameters of the space and IT'S INAPPROPRIATE." "this is a café; here you order coffee and food and do your job only make eye contact with people you've brought with you or keep to yourself" "this is a club, here you dance and drink alcohol and grind on strangers and suggest sex to people" "this is the supermarket; here you buy grocery and then go home" "this is the feminism circle; here you talk about women according to vague criteria and dont bring up anything else" what if i tell you that you can make a Barista's day brighter by pulling a baby duck out of your pucket and mimicking a duckie voice thanking them and wishing them a lovely day as they're registering your order? what if you debate Hegel's philosophy with someone in a club and you both find out that you've been trying for ages to look acceptable and well-within-the-shallow-lines and you dont have to? what if you go to the supermarket and a grandma asks you to tell them the name of earlier mentioned Duckie and you end up befriending a grandma that introduces you to the best 70s underground obscure psychedelic bands?

The point is, no space is truly defined to contain the full spectrum of spontaneous human expression. You cannot assign protocol behaviors to different "contexts" in a way that doesn't inherently diminish your humanity and kill you inside. the "Normalize blahblahblah—" you dont need normalization, you need your fucking personhood back. The context is you; you happen, other people happen, let yourself happen for fucks sake. "you can't chat a stranger up while you're both standing in line to get movie tickets" listen to me— their bag had a Batman and a Stitch keychain hanging from it, i wanted to tell them that i think Batman and Stitch would be best friends actually, in fact; i did! because here is the thing; i'm alive and i can show love when i feel it and i can do whatever the fuck i want. <3 I'm not gonna wait for some Almighty Invisible Authority TM voice to tell me which parts of my personality are green lighted for which artifically structured context, i'm a whole person, not a fucking puzzle, you dont get to tell me which parts of me do i pick out and leave outside the door as i enter a space. What dies within the inflexible bounds of "expected and appropriate behavior in expected and appropriate spaces" is the intelligent and exhilarating instinct of creativity and spontaneity, and you know what? not on me or my duckie's watch.

[hurt-you]

god DAMN when will this suffering end!!

[sandwizard9]

"omg this post isn't loading on the app" "this post crashed my Tumblr"

Your first mistake? using the app. stop using the app. follow me into the jungle and use the mobile web

[catgirlexplosion]

so excited for staff to make a post saying "awwww we're removing more ui features in a continuous effort to fuck up the website in ways nobody likes because we aren't making enough money and people are being so mean to us about it :(((" and immediately have some dipshit try and start a crab day 2 like it's a hallmark movie and they have to get everyone to "Save Our Hellsite! (affectionately)" so staff can continue making shitty changes and being bigoted

[fingertipsmp3]

I love starting to do something and just, immediately realising I have neither the patience nor the communication skills for it lol

[crevicedwelling]

I’ve had a pretty intense fear of insects my whole life, but a while back I noticed my phone has the ability to identify what kinds of animals are in a picture, including bugs, so I’ve just been taking pics of every little critter I see around the house or outside and looking up what they are. It’s actually a lot of fun and it’s definitely helped me to be way less scared of most bugs !!!

I recommend the apps iNaturalist and its offspring Seek! Seek is a app that’s more just for fun, since it won’t let you edit IDs and it gets things wrong or can’t ID to species quite often, but it collects the things you’ve seen in one location and you can get badges and stuff.

iNaturalist is much more of an serious platform for citizen science, so when you upload things other users, including professionals and experts, will see your photos & the location you saw them, and can give their ID. you can see others’ observations too. I find it a lot more satisfying than Seek since you don’t have to rely on a faulty AI to give names to things.

both are great for exactly the sort of thing you mentioned. they help you build a picture of the world around you and hopefully get you closer to it—if you’ll brave getting close to a spider to figure out who it is, you might end up appreciating them more than if you’d stay far away out of fear.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Ew, Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The taxi lets you out just outside the darkened estate. Your heart lurches as you stand on the curb, the car slowly rolling away as you stand in a cone of light beneath a street pole. You stare up at the ominous facade with its cavernous windows.

You want to believe it was just a faulty wire or some anomaly but you have to be sure of it. The gate is locked, just as you were certain you left it. You key in the code and shut yourself in. The hedges and looming trees lendthe property an unearthly feel as you creep along, aided only by slivers of moonlight.

You stop and look down at the phone clutched in your hand. You search for the flashlight app and shine it ahead of you. By habit, you go around the back, even as the chirp of crickets and hum of the night adds to your foreboding.

The beep of each digit pressed into the keypad pierces the night. The electronic chime is unceremonious is the nocturnal din. Inside, there is a haze of light from just down the hallway. Did you leave it on or did someone else?

You turn off the light on the phone and drag up the call app instead. Just in case you need to call for help. You proceed without flipping any switches, careful not to make a noise as you advance. You reach the entryway and turn to face the glow emitting from the broad archway.

You hold your breath as dread bubbles up to your throat. You stop short as the clink of a glass cracks the silence. Mr. Laufeyson’s back is to you as he sets down the short tumbler, a stray droplet clinging to the brim. He rescinds his arm and wipes his mouth with his cuff.

You could sigh. It’s okay. He’s only come home early. It’s not some sinister intruder or covetous criminal. It is only him.

You could go and he’d never know of your foolish panic. You lean back on your heel as you tuck away your phone. He strides to the tall glass cabinet and presses the door so it releases. He pushes it open and drags out one of the dark bottles. You sidle backwards, stretching an arm out to feel around you.

“What are you doing here?” He sneers and stops you in your tracks.

You gulp and blink. Speechless. Caught.

“Yes, you,” he turns and uncaps the round-shouldered bottle.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I…” you sputter and step out of the shadows, “the alarm.”

He fills the glass and clunks the bottle down heavily, resting the cap on top but not sealing it. He swipes up the tumbler and brings it before his mouth. His green eyes sparkle like emeralds in the low light of a single lamp.

“And you came oh so quickly,” he scoffs.

You rub your lips together, uncertain what to say. He seems unhappy. His early return is likely for unpleasant reasons.

He swigs and strides, his free hand patting his thigh in agitation as he paces. He spins and retraces his steps, mouthing to himself. You peer down the hall and back at him. You feel you’ve walked in on a very private moment.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I’ll go,” you say.

“Hm, you do not want to stay?” He challenges as he halts and faces you, his sole scuffing sharply, “I’m certain this place is preferable to whatever sty you reside in.”

“I only came to make sure all is well–”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” He pauses to toss back the last of his drink, liquor by the looks of it. “Were you neglectful in your duties, mm? Shall I take inventory?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I was only… nevermind,” you shrug.

“Bah,” he waves you off and twists on his feet, once more strutting away. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he goes to stand by the mantel, tilting his head as he gazes along the ornaments. Just where the camera hides. “While you’re here, pour me another drink.”

You chew your lip and wring your hands as you come forward. You break the threshold of the den and near the round table beside the armchair. You peek at him as he toys with the globe, flicking it around with one finger.

“Do take your time,” he hisses.

You grab the bottle and lift the cap. You tip it carefully but still hit it against the top of the glass. The liquid glugs out and the scent rises to tinge your nostrils. You set the bottle down and take the glass, wondering how anyone can stomach it.

You go to him as he leans a hand on the mantel, his other on his hip as he huffs. He shakes his head at some irksome thought. You stand nearby but don’t dare disturb him. He frightens you as he turns and snatches the glass.

“You know,” he begins, stopping himself to drain half the glass, “the last thing I need to worry about is this place. I hired you for just that and I find you looking at me as if this house should be aflame.”

You look down and take a step back. He clucks and pivots, stomping around the sofa. You stay as you are, rigid and uneasy. The anger roils off of him and you are the only one there to hear it.

“My father… of course, couldn’t be happy for my visit. No, never is. I swear he must’ve despised my very birth,” he snarls, “but my brother, oh, he can do no wrong.”

He empties the last of the glass as you peer over your shoulder. He grips the glass tight and bares his teeth at it. His eyes are drawn to yours as if he can sense them.

“You’re still here,” he growls.

“Mr. Laufeyson, sorry, I–” you hurry around the other side of the sofa towards the door, “I was only–”

“No, no,” he stops you as he waves his palm, “another.”

He presents the glass in his other hand. You stare at it. There’s a cloudy tint in his eyes. As you approach, you hear him exhale. You take the glass and his fingers brush yours clumsily as he drops his arm. 

You look at the empty tumbler and back to him. You don’t know how much he’s had or how much more he should. You don’t drink but you suppose he wouldn’t need more than a few glasses.

“Are you sure you should–”

“Are you questioning me?” He snips.

“No, Mr. Laufeyson, I only… it’s late and you’ve been traveling–”

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me,” he raises a finger to point in your face, “left alone for one day and you presume a bit much.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, not at all,” you swallow, “I will get you more–”

“No,” he grabs you before you can retreat, his hands on your shoulders, “why…”

His word dangles between you as his question remains unasked. Terror courses through you as he grips your shoulders tight, the size and strength of his hands locking you in place. You bat your lashes as you stare up at him. The liquor clings to his breath as it fans over you.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you squeak.

He holds on to you, almost trembling. He steps closer as he draws you in. He is almost hypnotised as he glares down at you. His hands slip away only to grasp the bulk of your hood instead, bunching it in his fists. He leans, teetering on his feet, looming over you.

You are trapped in your own shock. You cannot pull away, you can’t push him off, you can’t move. You’re horrified as you wonder what he’s thinking. As you fear what he might do next.

He is drunk, that isn’t a question, but is he dangerous?

“The light plays tricks on me,” he whispers before he lets you go, swaying as he turns and finds his way to the sofa. He flops down, leaning against the backrest. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “You are correct, I am drunk.” He takes a breath and blows out with a groan, his lashes flicking open suddenly as he sits up, “go.”

You nod and put the glass beside the bottle. You march back to the archway and stop, glancing back at Mr. Laufeyson as he drops his head and cradles it in his hands. He looks almost pathetic as he slouches forward. 

“I said leave me,” he snaps without looking up, “now!”

🧹

The night is short and fruitless. Your sleep is splintered with anxiety and the morning sees you twitchy and uneasy. As you get ready to leave, you wonder if you should even bother. That rotten feeling in your gut assures you you’ll meet no different than the previous night.

Yet, Mr. Laufeyson hadn’t fired you. He only told you to leave and you can’t afford to give up, though for the first time, you're considering it. As Leslie gets your father’s coffee ready, you’re reminded that you can’t. No, he needs you, he is only too stubborn to admit it.

You set off as the knot in your stomach draws tighter. You don’t sit on the bus, instead standing as your nerves get the better of you. You rock, leaning into the motion of the bus and your stop comes too soon. You drag yourself off and shudder as you look down towards your fate.

You’re on time. Five minutes ahead of expected. The gate code works, that’s a good sign. Your usual trawl through the gardens is hazy and dull. You don’t notice the blue jay winging or the lady bugs crawling on the brick. You can only focus on what comes next. You’re completely blinded by the unknown.

Inside, the house is as empty as the day before. Not truly. You know Mr. Laufeyson will show himself eventually. You hang your bag and put on shoe covers and gloves. It’s Monday, a cleaning day.

You begin if only for the distraction. Down the hall, into the kitchen, room to room, until you reach the den. There is no sign of the previous night’s run-in. The bottle is neatly back in the cabinet with the rest, the short glass is gone, and all appears as it should be. So why does it feel so off?

You work through the room almost ritualistically. You have a pattern and you stick to it. The familiar has always been safest. 

As you near the table, something sparkles on the dark hardwood. You bend to pick up the small shard of glass, careful not to let it cut into your fingertips. You glance around to see if it broke off anything close by. No cracks, no chips. It’s clear and tiny. Almost indiscernible.

You cup it in your hand and take it to the kitchen to put in the bin. Something so small can cause a lot of pain. You shake off your palm and let the lid close.

“Ah, I see you are working hard,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice rolls through you.

You tense and turn slowly from the bin. You keep your head down as you cross the kitchen, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

As you try to pass the counter, where he stands, he steps out to block your path. You stop and back up, your gaze stuck to the tiles before his leather shoes. He stands close enough for his warmth to cloud around you.

“Coffee,” he states the single word and in an undeniable demand. 

He’s never asked for that before but you can figure it out. It must be a test. Or a lesson. He’s reminding you of your place. You can’t just barge in after hours, even if you are trying to help. Well, that’s the thing, he only wants the help he asks for so you better stop thinking so much.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

You turn and go to the cupboard. You don’t know where anything is. You clean but you don’t cook or go through anything. You open one door; wrong. The second; wrong. On the fifth, you find a bag of coffee. 

As you unfold the top, you reveal aromatic beans. You stare at them. You make coffee for your father all the time but you buy grounds, not whole beans. You look around for a hint. You’ve seen people grind beans on television but they don’t exactly show the grinder; it’s always just a loud noise in the background before the balding blonde brings the metropolitan cast their wide brimmed cappuccinos.

You flinch as Mr. Laufeyson struts around the bend of the counter and slides a square device across the granite. He pushes it in front of you, crowding you again. You thank him and stare at the grinder. What do you do now?

You take the little scoop from inside the bag and spoon up a heap of beans. You hover them above the rest as you touch the grinder, turning it as you examine it. He sighs and taps a silver button. The lid pops up and reveals a compartment. You pour in the beans and close the top.

“Are you truly so ignorant?” He accuses.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter, not bothering with an excuse.

“It is a simple task. They train teenagers to do it,” he scoffs.

You nod and press the button that reads ‘grind’. You hold it, happy for the noisy reprieve from his criticism. When it’s done, you look around again. There’s a machine but it looks a lot different than the drip machine in your own kitchen. You go over to it and feel along the upper part, searching for a catch. Surely there’s somewhere to put a filter.

He nears again. He slides a drawer out and takes out a little metal canister. He pushes a button to open the top of the machine and wiggles it over it to say, it goes here. You open your hand and he lets you have it. You return to the grinder and scoop out the ground beans into the little canister. 

You return to the machine as he taps his fingers on the counter. You slip the canister into place and close the lid. The screen lights up and shows several options. You don’t know which one to choose. He huffs and selects ‘bold’. You stare at his tie in shame.

“How can you not know how to brew a coffee?” He sneers.

You shrug, “sorry, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mm, there is much you don’t know, isn’t there? Much I know which you wouldn’t,” he snickers, “oh but I know something about you. Something… interesting.”

You furrow your brow and look up, not far, just at his throat. His hand slips across the counter and he looms over you. His gaze bores into you as he hangs over you like a shadow. He pulls back and turns to lean on the counter, lifting his wrist to adjust his watch. He’s certain to turn his hand to show it off. 

“What I know is that you’re a liar,” he states, “and sneaky. And nosy.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I only came last night because the alarm–”

“Last night? What do you mean?”

“Uh…” you blink and look him in the face. “You don’t remember?” 

“Ha,” he snorts, “of course I do. You were concerned after I triggered the alarm. So be it. I am not talking about that,” he faces you as he smirks, “you like to hide, don’t you?”

You frown and shrug. You don’t know what he means. He laughs and once more touches his watch.

“I know exactly how you came upon my watch that day,” he announces, “and I suspect you discovered a few other curious sights.”

You blanch and shake your head vehemently. Your cheeks are on fire and your whole body is buzzing. You could disintegrate right then and there. You almost wish you could.

“I didn’t– I didn’t see anything at all. I just– I just– Mr. Laufeyson, I wouldn’t ever– you’re my boss. I was afraid but I couldn’t see out from under the bed.”

“But if you could…” he hums.

“No,” you insist, “no, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He echoes dully.

“I understand, I was wrong to not say anything but I was only trying to clean–”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He repeats even louder.

You snap your mouth shut and frown. You don’t know what to say. You’re embarrassed. You should’ve just told him yourself. Before you can apologise, he throws his hand up and sidesteps you.

“You may bring me my coffee,” he orders harshly, “be certain to knock.”

[tinytennisskirt]

Good Luck Charm

Art x Gf!reader

Summary: Art has had one of the worst days in a while and reader is so far away, not being able to make it back for his tournament. After a day of inconveniences and bad luck, Art is sure of one thing and it’s that time without you isn’t something he wants to experience ever again.

Warnings: kissing, proposal moment, shorter fic, unedited from my notes app

All Art did that day was lose. And he had so many chances. And the losing started even before the games did, with a failed alarm and a faulty hotel room key. Your flight had been moved back a day and you were going to miss every game of his until the very last match of the day the way the plane schedule was set.

He was late, but he was groggy and slept badly and worst thing is he missed you. He got up and he stretched and he had his smoothie and it was all fast-paced and rushed and he felt awful.

First match was okay, he didn’t win but he chalked it up to some sort of nerves and a bad morning. The day went on, he had time to practice, but he ended up on the phone with you for half of it.

“They delayed my plane, I’m so sorry, Art,” you sighed over the phone. You weren’t even on the plane yet. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew it wasn’t your fault, he rubbed his eyes and shook his head, “It’s okay. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you replied. And he told you about his first game loss and you told him to keep trying, encouraging him softly. But he didn’t have any motivation left.

He moved onto his next match. It was close but he just lost by a few points and lost more at the very end for an audible obscenity. It was hard, things were harsh, you were so far.

The day went on, Art losing a scrimmage game, then another real one. He had one more game and you were supposed to be there for that one but you were stuck on some plane coming home. He almost wanted to half-ass the game, he was so discouraged. But he tried, he played, and he nearly won, but he lost. Keeping sportsmanship he shook his opponents hand. Nobody was happy. It was loss all around.

Art went to get food after and they were out of everything he could possibly want to eat, so he left. He called a taxi back to the hotel but it didn’t come for forty minutes after it said it would and the driver got lost, yet wouldn’t reimburse him for the time.

Art moped up the stairs to his hotel room on the 7th floor, the elevator had broken while he was out. His feet hurt, his shoulders and arms ached from all the tennis. He made it to his room and tossed his things aside. He showered and ordered room service, but the order than came was wrong. Art succumbed to the problems of the day and just ate it anyway. Too many problems.

He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face, hair just finished drying from his shower. He sat in his big t-shirt and his loose shorts, rubbing over his mouth, under his chin, reflecting on the day. Every game lost, every match a trial and complete error. At least it wasn’t important, Art thought. Just a bunch of games for no greater purpose. But it still ruined his day.

It got later into the evening and Art just sat and stared emptily, just thinking, more thinking than he’d been able to do.

A knock on the hotel door. Art half expected another disturbance, a problem with his card, the maids coming by, any inconvenience. He sighed, getting up from the couch, running a hand through his hair as he tiredly opened the door. And it was you.

“Hey,“ and the force of which Art stepped into the hall and hugged you almost knocked the wind out of you. You dropped your bags as his arms reached around you and held you tight, your arms wrapping around his neck. One of your hands held the back of his head as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You were expecting a hug but not like this.

You held him just as tight as he held you and he stayed that way for a minute, you in his arms and him in yours in the middle of the hotel hallway. Neither of you said a word. Art just took the moment to stay close to you, inhaling the scent he’d been away from too long, holding the girl he’d been missing for much longer. Eventually, after a minute or so, he loosened his grip, kissing you on the shoulder and neck, not sexually, but casually. Sweet.

“Are you okay?” You asked, cupping his face with one hand. His eyes were tired, sad.

“Better now,” he said, small smile pulling at one side of his mouth. God, you missed him. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Give me five minutes and you can tell me all about it?” You suggested, rubbing your thumb over his cheek and he nodded, kissing your palm gently and letting you into the room. You took the five minutes to set your bags down and have the quickest refresher shower known to man. You got out of the shower and Art, sitting on the hotel sink counter passed you one of his big shirts to sleep in. The ones he liked to sleep in. You smiled and put it on, putting your hair in a towel. You turned the lights off as you passed them, turning on the bedside lamp to dim the room to something gentler.

You crawled onto the bed, propping yourself against the pile of pillows the beds always had. You opened your arms and Art gladly followed you onto the bed, crawling over you. He kissed you, it was soft and sweet and to him, meant the world to have. He then laid down on your lower chest, arms digging under you to wrap around your waist, his body fitting perfectly between your legs. Your hand instinctually went to his soft hair, your fingernails digging softly into his scalp as he told you about his day, about the inconveniences and the game losses, what they felt like. You told him about yours and they were honestly quite similar, minus the tennis.

You sighed, letting your nails trace down over his neck, his ear, the top of his back, the other squeezing his upper arm gently. “I’m so sorry,” you said quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” Art said, his words a little muffled from his cheek pressed against you. “But I missed you. I’m glad you’re back.”

“I missed you too,” you smiled. He couldn’t see it, but he knew. “I tried to get here as soon as I could.”

His hand pulled one of yours down to your side, making it accessible to him to kiss gently up your wrist, to kiss your hand, your fingers, his thumb pressing on the pads of your palms softly. “I can’t help but think-“ he kissed your wrist again, “- That if you were there today, I would have-“ he kissed your wrist once more, “Won. Or at least done better.” He confessed.

You giggled a little, “Oh, like a good luck charm?”

“A good luck charm,” Art echoed. He hummed as your nails slid over his scalp to behind his ear. “Something like that. You might be mine.”

“I would love that,” you grinned. You continued, squeezing him just a little tighter, “I don’t have another business trip for ages so I promise to fulfill my good luck charm duties from here, forward.”

Art, eyes shut, smiled as well. “Mmm, I’d like that.” He kissed you where his mouth rested and went back to caressing your hand. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it after this day we’ve both had,” you said. “Honestly I think travelling without my good luck charm is what delayed the flights.”

Art chuckled at that. “So it’s settled then.”

You grinned, “Mhm. We just never leave each others’ side again. You’re stuck with me.”

“Sounds perfect,” Art mumbled. You could feel the soft beat of his heart against you. “I wouldn’t dream of a better solution.” He raised his head, propping himself up just a little. His eyes were soft as your hand slipped to cup his cheek again, he rested against it. Your thumb, as per usual, caressed over his skin. “I love you.” He said. Words you had heard a thousand million times. But he looked at you with every single time he’d said it compiled in his eyes. You could see it, you could feel it.

You almost pouted with the way he looked. He was gorgeous and kind and he loved you and you loved him. “I love you too,” you told him, feeling about the same as he did. “So much.” You hoped he felt it, your hands pushing hair out of his face as you spoke.

He looked at you through his perfect eyelashes, “Marry me.” He said. Your hand stopped where it was and your heart immediately picked up pace.

“Hm?” you wondered if you’d heard him wrong.

But you didn’t. “Marry me,” he repeated, a small smirk growing on his face. “I’ll do things properly, but I want to ask you. Because I love you and the days that pass without you are my worst.” He said, your hand tracing his cheek. You had always felt that any talk of this with Art would bring unbridled excitement, but as much as you felt excited, you also felt at peace. That was because you knew you were meant to be with Art as if it was just willed into existence that way. Pre-written.

“I’ll marry you,” you grinned. And he grinned, fully, for what felt like the first time that day. He moved upward and kissed you with all of the ‘I love you’s on his lips this time. All of yours on your lips, exchanged like the way they were spoken, from the very first to this one in this moment. Your hands that held his face moved down as he kissed you, taking his turn to hold your face. He kissed you and you kissed him and it was set in stone that neither of you wanted to leave the other’s side. Not ever. “I love you too.” You replied.

Art proposed a second time so your family could be there, but you didn’t tell anyone about the impromptu first take, even though it was the one you truly loved more. When it wasn’t posed like a question because Art knew. And so did you. That it was meant to be that way. There was never a chance you’d say no anyway.

In enough time there were tangible good luck charms in the form of wedding bands, but you both never truly stopped being each other’s.

[rakurairagnarok]

Hey I love your products! Got any cool new testers I could try out?

We truely appreciate the welcoming few who are willing to take the risks. The following is a new prototype of an established product.

You walked through the flea market with feigned interest. You really had no need for any of this stuff but as district manager of the supermarket chain it was held infront of, you had to save face.

One of the people selling stuff was this quite well put together man in a suit. He was tall, slight beard, and an obvious dye job, seeing the color difference in his hair and beard. He was however very sweet looking and walked up to you as you approached his booth.

"Here you go sir, as a sign of good will"

You took the item from his hands. It was a silver set of headphones with the brand name lazered into the head rest. Rakurai Inc.

It looked quite high tech for a flee market but you figured it must be faulty for this man to just give it away.

"Ah thank you, but I have no need for junk like this."

"Ah please sir, It would mean so much to me if you just wore it."

Rolling your eyes you decide to humor the man and put it on. Immediately you notice something is wrong, as a monotonous voice starts speaking japanese through it.

At first you're bewildered, looking around, searching for the man. But when you turned around you found that not only did the man totally dissapear, his booth was gone as well.

Suddenly the voice began speaking english, but you didn't register what it was saying, looking for someone to ask where the man went.

'Sorry, do you know where the man who was just here went?"

The woman who you asked looked at you with a confused look in her eyes and then said something back. You didn't quite caught what she said, but for some reason you did realise it was English. But that doesn't make sense, you spoke English. Right? No that also didn't quite make sense. You had come to America to improve your English. You... you were... Japanese.

You looked down at your expensive suit, seeing that it had been replaced with a pullover, with a shirt and tie.

You quickly run to the bathroom and look at yourself. Your old visage has tightened around your new youthfull face. Your previously receding hairline has recovered itself and styled itself in a stylish young cut.

You run a hand down your new skinny torso, throwing your head back as just your fingers on your skin send waves of pleasure down your spine.

A fruity taste fills your mouth as you suddenly notice chewing gum in your mouth.

After blowing a bubble and having it pop your brain slows down, and your dick jumps. Each successive bubble you blow and pop, decreases your IQ and increases your libido by the same amount.

Once you spit it out because it has no flavour left, youre left a giggling mess, waiting for your boss's orders for the next shoot.

These americans love their asian playboys

I want to SINCERELY APOLOGISE. This ask has been send in by a good friend of mine to replace the ask I lost due to Tumblr app being a shit show.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Hypothetical AI election disinformation risks vs real AI harms

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (Feb 27) in Portland at Powell's. Then, onto Phoenix (Changing Hands, Feb 29), Tucson (Mar 9-12), and more!

You can barely turn around these days without encountering a think-piece warning of the impending risk of AI disinformation in the coming elections. But a recent episode of This Machine Kills podcast reminds us that these are hypothetical risks, and there is no shortage of real AI harms:

https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/311-selling-pickaxes-for-the-ai-gold-rush

The algorithmic decision-making systems that increasingly run the back-ends to our lives are really, truly very bad at doing their jobs, and worse, these systems constitute a form of "empiricism-washing": if the computer says it's true, it must be true. There's no such thing as racist math, you SJW snowflake!

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2019/02/aoc-algorithms-racist-bias.html

Nearly 1,000 British postmasters were wrongly convicted of fraud by Horizon, the faulty AI fraud-hunting system that Fujitsu provided to the Royal Mail. They had their lives ruined by this faulty AI, many went to prison, and at least four of the AI's victims killed themselves:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Post_Office_scandal

Tenants across America have seen their rents skyrocket thanks to Realpage's landlord price-fixing algorithm, which deployed the time-honored defense: "It's not a crime if we commit it with an app":

https://www.propublica.org/article/doj-backs-tenants-price-fixing-case-big-landlords-real-estate-tech

Housing, you'll recall, is pretty foundational in the human hierarchy of needs. Losing your home – or being forced to choose between paying rent or buying groceries or gas for your car or clothes for your kid – is a non-hypothetical, widespread, urgent problem that can be traced straight to AI.

Then there's predictive policing: cities across America and the world have bought systems that purport to tell the cops where to look for crime. Of course, these systems are trained on policing data from forces that are seeking to correct racial bias in their practices by using an algorithm to create "fairness." You feed this algorithm a data-set of where the police had detected crime in previous years, and it predicts where you'll find crime in the years to come.

But you only find crime where you look for it. If the cops only ever stop-and-frisk Black and brown kids, or pull over Black and brown drivers, then every knife, baggie or gun they find in someone's trunk or pockets will be found in a Black or brown person's trunk or pocket. A predictive policing algorithm will naively ingest this data and confidently assert that future crimes can be foiled by looking for more Black and brown people and searching them and pulling them over.

Obviously, this is bad for Black and brown people in low-income neighborhoods, whose baseline risk of an encounter with a cop turning violent or even lethal. But it's also bad for affluent people in affluent neighborhoods – because they are underpoliced as a result of these algorithmic biases. For example, domestic abuse that occurs in full detached single-family homes is systematically underrepresented in crime data, because the majority of domestic abuse calls originate with neighbors who can hear the abuse take place through a shared wall.

But the majority of algorithmic harms are inflicted on poor, racialized and/or working class people. Even if you escape a predictive policing algorithm, a facial recognition algorithm may wrongly accuse you of a crime, and even if you were far away from the site of the crime, the cops will still arrest you, because computers don't lie:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sacramento/news/texas-macys-sunglass-hut-facial-recognition-software-wrongful-arrest-sacramento-alibi/

Trying to get a low-waged service job? Be prepared for endless, nonsensical AI "personality tests" that make Scientology look like NASA:

https://futurism.com/mandatory-ai-hiring-tests

Service workers' schedules are at the mercy of shift-allocation algorithms that assign them hours that ensure that they fall just short of qualifying for health and other benefits. These algorithms push workers into "clopening" – where you close the store after midnight and then open it again the next morning before 5AM. And if you try to unionize, another algorithm – that spies on you and your fellow workers' social media activity – targets you for reprisals and your store for closure.

If you're driving an Amazon delivery van, algorithm watches your eyeballs and tells your boss that you're a bad driver if it doesn't like what it sees. If you're working in an Amazon warehouse, an algorithm decides if you've taken too many pee-breaks and automatically dings you:

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

If this disgusts you and you're hoping to use your ballot to elect lawmakers who will take up your cause, an algorithm stands in your way again. "AI" tools for purging voter rolls are especially harmful to racialized people – for example, they assume that two "Juan Gomez"es with a shared birthday in two different states must be the same person and remove one or both from the voter rolls:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/eligible-voters-swept-up-conservative-activists-purge-voter-rolls/

Hoping to get a solid education, the sort that will keep you out of AI-supervised, precarious, low-waged work? Sorry, kiddo: the ed-tech system is riddled with algorithms. There's the grifty "remote invigilation" industry that watches you take tests via webcam and accuses you of cheating if your facial expressions fail its high-tech phrenology standards:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

All of these are non-hypothetical, real risks from AI. The AI industry has proven itself incredibly adept at deflecting interest from real harms to hypothetical ones, like the "risk" that the spicy autocomplete will become conscious and take over the world in order to convert us all to paperclips:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Whenever you hear AI bosses talking about how seriously they're taking a hypothetical risk, that's the moment when you should check in on whether they're doing anything about all these longstanding, real risks. And even as AI bosses promise to fight hypothetical election disinformation, they continue to downplay or ignore the non-hypothetical, here-and-now harms of AI.

There's something unseemly – and even perverse – about worrying so much about AI and election disinformation. It plays into the narrative that kicked off in earnest in 2016, that the reason the electorate votes for manifestly unqualified candidates who run on a platform of bald-faced lies is that they are gullible and easily led astray.

But there's another explanation: the reason people accept conspiratorial accounts of how our institutions are run is because the institutions that are supposed to be defending us are corrupt and captured by actual conspiracies:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

The party line on conspiratorial accounts is that these institutions are good, actually. Think of the rebuttal offered to anti-vaxxers who claimed that pharma giants were run by murderous sociopath billionaires who were in league with their regulators to kill us for a buck: "no, I think you'll find pharma companies are great and superbly regulated":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Institutions are profoundly important to a high-tech society. No one is capable of assessing all the life-or-death choices we make every day, from whether to trust the firmware in your car's anti-lock brakes, the alloys used in the structural members of your home, or the food-safety standards for the meal you're about to eat. We must rely on well-regulated experts to make these calls for us, and when the institutions fail us, we are thrown into a state of epistemological chaos. We must make decisions about whether to trust these technological systems, but we can't make informed choices because the one thing we're sure of is that our institutions aren't trustworthy.

Ironically, the long list of AI harms that we live with every day are the most important contributor to disinformation campaigns. It's these harms that provide the evidence for belief in conspiratorial accounts of the world, because each one is proof that the system can't be trusted. The election disinformation discourse focuses on the lies told – and not why those lies are credible.

That's because the subtext of election disinformation concerns is usually that the electorate is credulous, fools waiting to be suckered in. By refusing to contemplate the institutional failures that sit upstream of conspiracism, we can smugly locate the blame with the peddlers of lies and assume the mantle of paternalistic protectors of the easily gulled electorate.

But the group of people who are demonstrably being tricked by AI is the people who buy the horrifically flawed AI-based algorithmic systems and put them into use despite their manifest failures.

As I've written many times, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, but we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job"

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

The most visible victims of AI disinformation are the people who are putting AI in charge of the life-chances of millions of the rest of us. Tackle that AI disinformation and its harms, and we'll make conspiratorial claims about our institutions being corrupt far less credible.

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/2024/02/27/ai-conspiracies/#epistemological-collapse

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

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

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 11: Jeff

Word Count: 620/Rating: T/Pairing: none/CW: older Corroded Coffin, takes place in 2024, all of the guys are idiots/Tags: Jeff, Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, TikTok, modern!Corroded Coffin

Divider credit to @silkholland

Jeff has always been the brains of Corroded Coffin. He was the one who ensured the lighting was set before their performances at The Hideout back in high school. If an amp is faulty, he can fix it without batting an eye. Even in his middle school years, he was a proud member of the AV Club. 

But this?

Jeff squints at the phone screen, trying to navigate the For You page. He’s not exactly sure who ‘you’ is, because none of these videos seem remotely interesting to him. 

“What exactly am I doing here?”

“I dunno,” Eddie shrugs, scratching at the gray stubble on his cheek as he peers over Jeff’s shoulder. “Robin just said we need to make an account and to ‘connect with our younger fans.’”

Gareth has his own phone out to read off an article. “Says here that to create videos on TikTok, you press the little plus sign. Then you can add filters—”

“Filters?” Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“Smooths out wrinkles, hides zits, brightens your eyes.” Jeff fills him in, still focused on the app. “Okay, now what?”

Gareth scrolls a little more. “Music. You click ‘add sound’ and then choose the song you want.”

“Ooh, how about the one that goes ‘I’m working late, ‘cuz I’m a singer’?” Grant offers, singing in an awful falsetto. 

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Or we could…I dunno…use a Corroded Coffin song?” He taps the search box and types in the band’s name. “Hell and Back is our most popular on here, apparently.”

“How?” Eddie plucks the phone from Jeff’s grasp. “We haven’t even used this app before.”

“But our songs are on here,” Jeff explains, conjuring up all of his remaining patience. “And people use those with their videos.”

The other three band members nod, but Jeff’s willing to bet that none of them have any clue what’s going on. He takes the phone back from Eddie, selects the song, and turns to Gareth. “What’s next?”

“Hold down the red circle to record.” Gareth looks around at his bandmates. “Any ideas about what we wanna do first?”

The room plunges into silence until Eddie speaks up. “This isn’t the nudie website, right?”

Grant snorts. “No, that’s OnlyFans.”

“That was a quick answer, Granty-Boy. A little too quick.”

“Beavis! Butthead!” Jeff snaps, effectively shutting them up. “Robin’s email said we should just introduce ourselves and say that we’re excited to be on TikTok.”

He aims the camera at Eddie first. “Go ahead and say your name.”

“Eddie.”

“Christ on a cracker.” He massages the bridge of his nose. “Try actually greeting people. Like, ‘hey, I’m Eddie.’”

“Coulda just said that,” Eddie grumbles, but he looks into the camera and repeats what Jeff said. The rest of the band follows suit as Jeff directs them.  

When it’s Jeff’s turn, he smiles and turns the camera on himself. “I’m Jeff. Welcome to Corroded Coffin’s TikTok!” He moves his finger off of the record button. “All right, let’s see what we got.”

“Go ahead and say your name.”

“Eddie.”

“Christ on a cracker. Try actually greeting people. Like, ‘hey, I’m Eddie.’”

“Coulda just said that. Okay, hey, I’m Eddie.”

“Great. Okay, now Grant.”

“I’m Grant. Super excited to finally be on OnlyFans.”

“Grant!”

“Sorry, I mean TikTok.”

“Gare?”

“Hi, I’m Gareth. I like long walks on the beach, outdoor concerts—”

“This isn’t your personal dating profile.”

“Just making conversation.”

“You’re all hopeless. Anyway. I’m Jeff. Welcome to Corroded Coffin’s TikTok!”

Jeff glances up from the video, cringing as it starts playing on a loop. Whatever Robin had in mind for this social media endeavor, it probably wasn’t this. 

“Hey, Gareth?”

“Ya?”

“Can you Google how to edit videos on TikTok?”

--

[devildomwriter]

You Are Obsessed With Stuffed Animals Headcanons

Lucifer

• He thinks it’s a little childish but doesn’t mind and indulges you often

• He buys you a stuffed animal whenever he’s out and tries hard not to blush or explain his leg when others look at him in surprise

• Helps you organize them and find the space

• Probably tries to address this “addiction” but doesn’t expect or ask you to stop

Mammon

• Thinks it’s cute and gives you some of his old ones

• Tries making some for you but they look like tiny monsters

• Tries really hard to win them for you in the claw machine games. Probably resorts to shoving his hand through the slot and taking it instead

• Buys a bunch at the dollar store and five below to save money to buy you better ones in the long run

• Buys a lot of beanie babies because they could be worth a lot of money one day (doesn’t tell you that why, but it’s obvious the way he takes care of them)

Leviathan

• Surprised but helps you collect and gives ideas on organizing them

• You now have a lot of anime-themed stuffies

• Expect him to borrow some to have a piece of you with him

• Plays the apps where you use a claw machine in real time and get the prize shipped to you

• He has a few in his bathtub to make it extra comfortable

Satan

• Thinks it’s kind of funny but indulges you

• He buys them all the time and has connections to get any “faulty” ones sent to you to fix up or care for

• Most of your stuffies are now cats

• He borrows the little ones to play with the cats as long as you’re okay with it

Asmodeus

• Thinks it’s adorable and takes pictures in a pile of stuffed animals

• Will buy you some, they’re always cute or beautiful

• His fans give him stuffed animals thinking he’s the one who loves them so he gives them all to you

• He always takes pictures of you smiling with a new stuffie

• Might make them tiny accessories

Beelzebub

• Promises not to eat any but you see him eyeing them time to time

• Food shaped plushies must be hidden and kept away from him because he looks like a kicked puppy when he sees one

• He smiles brightly when he gives you one, he’s so excited to see your cute face

• Always wins the biggest stuffed animals at the fairs and theme parks and has fun carrying them around, proud that he got it for you

Belphegor

• It comes as a wonderful surprise

• You will find him napping surrounded by them from time to time

• Buys you ones that seem the comfiest to sleep with and arranged them on your bed

• Steals them time to time to sleep with, he likes that they have your scent

Solomon

• Laughs about it as he didn’t peg you as the type

• Helps you when it comes to storage and organization when it gets more out of hand than it already is

• Will make you stuffies as he doesn’t see much a point buying them unless you ask for it

• If you see one you like he may make a duplicate with magic to avoid spending money

Thirteen

• Very surprised that a powerful humans has a closet of adorable stuffed animals

• Will buy some for you and pretend she just found them lying around

• Helps win the claw machines, she’s a pro at it

• Boasts proudly when someone asks about the new stuffed animal “That one was from me! Isn’t it amazing!?”

Simeon

• Thinks its an adorable pastime to collect stuffed animals

• Keeps buying them for you because he loves how happy you look

• Asks to borrow one or two to always have a piece of you with him when he goes back to the celestial Realm

• Might write a children’s story based on your favorite stuffies

Raphael

• A little surprised but doesn’t show it

• He goes through all of them to make sure they aren’t falling apart and he stitches them up and makes sure they’re all in pristine conditions

• Loves to sew or knit you some, is very happy and proud to see you displaying them or snuggling with them

• Probably makes them little wings or other outfits

• Will buy the ones that look beaten up or have holes or missing eyes so he can repair them and you can give them a loving home

Luke

• Is very surprised but kind of excited

• Asks to go stuffed animal shopping with you. He’s great at finding the cutest ones

• Entrusts you’ll take care of his stuffed animals and vis versa

• Will want to have a tea party with them and pretend they’re alive

Mephistopheles

• Is very confused because he doesn’t understand the point but he indulges you nonetheless when he sees how happy they make you

• Buys a mountain of them for you the day after he found out

• Buys the biggest and most expensive ones he can find and helps you organize them to look “professional”

• You’ll need to find more room because he’ll smother you with them given how many he’ll get you every single day

Barbatos

• Finds it amusing and makes a note of it to buy you any that catch his eye

• Diavolo is confused when every so often Barbatos comes home with a stuffed animal (he gives them to you right away)

• He makes them little outfits so they look “proper”

• Might tease you a little and has given them all names to help him remember which ones you love most

Diavolo

• Is super excited because he loves stuffies too but doesn’t get the chance to indulge his collection often

• Buys them whenever he sees them from no on. Always buys two and uses you as an excuse to Barbatos as to why he’s buying them again

• When you run out of room he asks you to store them in his room or his secret stuffies room in the castle

• He literally could not be happier to have someone to collect with and gush over them with

• He has given them all names, backstories, and voices.

• Might bring them to life time to time — he’s done it before

[moononmyfloor]

So I made a Mamianqun!

I've been wanting to make a one for so long. Then I saw this fabric in an outlet that sells faulty fabrics discarded from factories, where you can find some unusual stuff that you can't find in regular shops.

This fabric is supposed to have this print all over, but got only printed at the bottom. If you squint you can see faded print marks on the middle section too. The moment I saw this I immediately thought of a mamianqun because a lot of mamianqun come with bottom print 😍.

However do not copy me in this, because I only thought of the pattern and not the fact that the fabric is too bulky and heavy especially for dress with humongous volume. It does not make for for the nicest, crispiest pleats as you can see in the pictures below. Also this is gonna be such a pain to wash and dry.

But I will give myself a pat on the back because this is my first attempt, and for someone who has never taken a formal sewing class nor is able to properly follow any instructional guide because I'm scatterbrained like that, I think I did a pretty swell job! ☺

Even though it took me a whole damn day and numerous frustrating unpicking and redoing over and over again, lol.

Though I am not able to provide you a guide (because like I said, I myself am incapable of following any), I used the following four sources to get an idea about what I am trying to do to begin with. I studied these four, then attempted it myself and figured it out gradually as I went, through trial and error.

.

1. This helped me understand the overall geometry of the garment.

2. This gave me clear visual aid about what the end product should look like.

3. This doll-size mamianqun video was simple and gave a very good and non-complex demo of the process.

4. This helped me with understanding how to attach the waistband.

.

The modifications I added myself are:

Making the waistband a button-up. As the skirt was already so heavy, I thought a long strip of a tie would make it even more difficult to handle. But at the same time it is not easy to secure something like this so it wouldn't accidentally fall apart. So I used two sturdy buttons from the front, and another button in the back, from inside (you can't see it)

Adding pockets! In the 3rd source I posted above, at the 0:41 mark you see that there's this one huge pleat that gets folded inwards, right?

And I thought, two simple vertical and horizontal stitches from inside can turn them to pockets, so why not!

The final product! Yayyy!

(Don't look at the imperfections, they are shy ok!)

.

More posts by me

[juiceedapplee]

Misdemeanors: A little goes a long way

Izuku Midoriya x Gn! Reader

A new item has been added to the menu!

Your quirk was luck, it gave you extraordinary luck whenever you were in trouble. Your luck was so high in that when it came to you, the statistically improbable was probable.

Of course that applies in either direction, which is why you’re currently in a hostage situation. After successfully stealing and selling some items you had planned to come to the bank to deposit that money. But unfortunately your luck had run out, not noticing the drastic change you walked into the bank and as soon as you were about to make your deposit everything went to shit. Now the conditions you found out were that you have to be in any kind of trouble. Trying to threaten yourself wouldn’t work because it’s you and you aren’t in genuine danger so instead you (stupidly) provoke other more dangerous criminals so that your luck spikes and then you run, the lingering effects of your quirk (slightly elevated luck and then eventually really bad luck) are usually enough to get what you need and go, of course you just so happened to forget about the bad luck aspect of your quirk which leads you to now.

“Everybody get down! Drop your bags and get on the floor!” Screams are being let out all across the bank. Some tellers behind the counter are tensing up and others start crying…

•{To be continued}•

This drink contains:

Overwhelming amounts of despair: $10,000,000

An unfinished project: ¢1

The faulty save button on this app: $27.47

Total: $10,000,027.48

I wrote a good amount and now it’s gone. I’m gonna cry. It was inspired by a prompt. I’ll write the rest of it after I finish feeling like all hope is lost and my life is ruined.