#auto staking

[the2dvgstages]

"Wave City" - Land Shiba Finance

[moviestarmartini]

cosas que no te dije. — franco colapinto x reader

solo júrame que tu no serás pasajera / y antes de que te fueras te dije "tú solo confía" / yo también tengo miedo / de estrellarme si acelero / pero contigo no freno.

summary: things are left unspoken the next morning, but race day turns both of your attentions away from each other.

wc: 2k

warnings: fwb!franco, latina!reader upon request hehe, teasing & banter in spanish, brief nsfw scene at the beginning (18+), shower sex, oral (fem receiving), franco being a little shit, begging, light orgasm denial, idiots in love, flashback scene in italics, cheesy at the end tbh tbh!

A/N: this is a second part-ish to la ciudad de la furia but you don't need to read it for context !! hope y'all enjoy hehehe (i'm typing this during half time extremely stressed)

now playing ... cosas que no te dije by saiko

Though he got to catch some short hours of sleep, Franco still woke up earlier than you did. His eyes traced your body, tangled between the sheets and partly covered by his hoodie due to the temperature of the air conditioning lowering on the auto feature. Even with your back turned to him, your beauty was undeniable in his eyes. 

The confesions both of you spilled just a few hours before were undeniable, and he wondered how to proceed going forward. His feelings were just as truthful, but he hesitated if a proper confession was in order– he wanted something not temporal, not a fling. He considered if your reciprocation was something spurred in the heat of the moment; his mind scrapped the idea quickly, realizing the firmness of your voice meant you were not allowing the horniness to take over. But yet again, from the minute you two became close, you had always been there. He knew he had to tell you sooner rather than later, knowing there was more at stake if he didn’t. 

The question was, how on earth he was going to sort this out. 

The alarm ringing for the third time snapped him back to reality– the reality that he had to race in less than two hours, and needed to head into the paddock ASAP. The adrenaline started making his heart burst at the seams, and the force of which he jumped out of the bed on his way to the bathroom smacked you out of your slumber. 

“Fran?” Your voice echoed with the following noise of a yawn, rubbing your eyes. The room once enveloped in blue hues changed to muted yellows, and from the noise of the shower you concluded you had to get ready to hit the paddock in no time. 

With the interruption from the previous night you were still sleepy, yet you still didn’t hesitate in getting up slowly, stretching in the midst of slow steps heading towards the bathroom. 

“Hey, buen día.” He greeted from inside the shower, the steam filling up the room. The hoarseness was deserting his tone bit by bit, proving growing awareness. Your verbal response, or lack thereof, alerted him. What if you regretted what was said before? 

Brows furrowed, he turned to observe you, only to find you stripping off the hoodie and your underwear. His eyes following your movements, he watched you get into the shower with him before feeling a familiar pair of arms wrapped around his waist. 

“Buen día, are we late?” You wondered, cheek pressed against the bare skin of his back. 

“No, not yet.” He marveled at the non-sexual intimacy you two were currently experiencing, and it only convinced him further he needed to man up and talk to you. This was what he wanted, and he wanted it with you. 

“Good, necesito café.” You yawned, your hands brushing the soap over his torso. He melted under your touch, avoiding to let his mind divert into something else and break a rather romantic moment. 

“Un mate mejor, ¿no?” Franco joked softly, knowing you only liked it with a sweetener and stirred it, and he vocally disapproved of both. He turned around to lather soap on your body, giving you the bottle for you to do the same down his shoulders. 

There was nothing that needed to be said, the soft kiss he placed on your cheek proved it, followed by the echo of giggles in the enclosed space once his hands started wondering down your back. 

“Stop it, we’ve got no time.” You scolded him, but did nothing to actually stop him. He had to be the one to make it to the paddock, you weren’t an important factor in that side of the equation. 

“Tenemos más de una hora y media, flaca. Si no hay tiempo, soy capaz de crearlo por vos.” 

Before you could scold him for the cheesy quip, his lips had taken yours hostage, pulling you closer. You could’ve gotten yet another reason to scold him with the fact your hair was getting wet, but the flow of the warm water running its course through your locked lips made the experience different. 

In a good way.

Your hands tangled in his hair, brushing the light curls back— now straightened by the water. He wasn’t scared to let the kisses turn sloppy, even if that involved water getting into either of your mouths. 

When it actually did, he coughed a little, allowing you to laugh. He only replicated the sentiment briefly before his kisses trailed down the wet skin from your jaw to your clavicle, and he didn’t seem to want to stop yet. 

“Franco…” You breathed out. The way his lips rummaged down your body at the same time his knees hit the cold wet tile floor, inching your back to rest against the wall, gave away the impression this was his last night on earth and he wanted to savor all of you.

You were surprised at the brashness with which he threw your legs over his shoulders, hungry kisses heading straight for that sticky spot— water was wet, your cunt was a whole other category in that minute. 

It’s not like he was ever too tame or polite, always keeping you on your toes with his playfulness. But he was rarely this needy, showing you once again he did know how to do things with his tongue, something along the lines of what he claimed on international television. 

Your hands clutched into the soft strands, moans bouncing in an echo on the glass walls of the enclosure. Your mind fogged up in the same way the glass doors did when his tongue flicked expertly at the growing nub, not resisting against the urge to push two fingers inside to get you off quicker. 

“Estás deliciosa, ni de desayunar tengo ganas ya.” He praised you when taking a breather, but your brain didn’t manage to register the words. The pleasure jolted your mind awake, having stepped into the shower still ridden with the drowsiness from the interrupted sleep schedule. 

“Fran…” You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut. It was a particular case, but you never lasted long in the mornings; an advantage really, particularly now that you had places to go. 

“¿Qué pasó?” He cooed at your response, or lack thereof. You knew he was verbal— on and off the bed— and he knew how you struggled with it. To coerce the words of you he slowed down, making a whine leave your lips instead. 

“Porfa,” You pleaded, and he only shook his head, the grip on your hip tightening.

“¿Porfa qué?” He replicated your tone, hooking your fingers in an attempt to rile you up even further. 

Oh he was a little shit. 

“Let me cum, please,” You expressed rather sternly with a groan, chest heaving from the overwhelming feeling of desperation. 

“¿Era tan difícil?” Another snicker left his mouth before going straight back to business, bringing back your concentration on fetching satisfaction. 

The water felt stung your skin in the way it collided with the goosebumps, the small of your back unsticking from the tiles to aid every inch of your body ride the waves of pleasure that coursed through it. 

“Fran, fran…” You chanted shamelessly, feeling a hum against the most sensitive spot, “Te amo, fuck!” 

Now that the sleepiness had washed away with the water, it felt real. It felt raw and honest, and for a second, you were the one wondering if it was a mistake. The clarity came the moment his fingers slowed down and he helped you tenderly onto your feet, holding you close to his naked body to avoid any incidents. 

The shower continued without any discussion of the situation in the midst of it. The rush that took over didn’t allow you to discuss it, and meeting with Franco’s mum to arrive at the paddock definitely removed any possibility of it happening until everything was over. 

You could only pray your damp hair could handle the humidity and heat the sun provided, but the banal thoughts vanished the second lights were off and away the twenty cars went. You stood in the garage, your bouncing knee from the anxiety being the only thing in movement, you were fixed to that stop in front of the TV with your headphones on. 

You didn’t want to get your hopes up with the strategy, knowing that certainty was frail and sometimes hopeless in the sport. To some extent, your anxiety made you feel like you were in the car with him, or maybe the fact he’d been carrying half your heart with him for more than a year contributed.

A giggle teased your lips in an attempt to escape at the collision between two of the other hispanics, allowing both Williams to climb up the points. Your hands clasped together in what felt to be a silent plea, begging the race to end smoothly. 

However, when it actually happened, you couldn’t even process it. 

You laughed, hugging his mum tight while taking little hops. You felt the familiar sting in the rim of your eyes, making you sniffle. You’d been by his side during his hardships to follow his passion, the progress that year in the feeder category and held him close the moment he found out he was filling that spot in the grid for the rest of the year. 

“Deja de llorar, vas a tomar la oportunidad por la cintura y…” At your thoughtfulness Franco leaned his head to the side, cocking a brow at your hesitation. “Agárrala, pégala, azótala,” 

He’d been frantic for the past two minutes, but now, he found himself frozen while staring at you. You stared back innocently before breaking down in laughter for what seemed hours. Somehow he ended up rolling on the floor, while you clutched your stomach, no sounds leaving your mouth. 

“Voy a pretender que no acabas de decir eso ¡Llevás el día entero con eso!” 

Would that change now? 

Would you be able to joke around with him when he needed it, offer your shoulder for support when also required? 

The euphoria mixed with the nostalgia and the anxiety, but you decided to step away from that tiny square marked by tape and off to the sides, taking off the headphones and placing them on the table. 

A sigh left your lips once you turned around, the festive atmosphere suddenly overwhelming you. You thought you heard your name being called from afar, but it felt it was a figment of your imagination, until the repeat was louder. 

You turned to see Franco, straight out of the car. The balaclava had left its markings on his skin, the half zipped suit and the hair he tried fixing on the way there— or at least you could guess— only made him even more attractive. 

Franco could clearly identify your expression, even with the blur of people congratulating him. Always the chatterbox, he didn’t stay to talk long, taking a decided stride towards you. 

His hands took your face in a brisk movement before joining your lips together, in front of the whole garage. But the anxiety wasn’t enough to make you aware of your surroundings, delving into the kiss he’d voluntarily pulled you in. 

“Esto fue para vos, hm?” You blinked, trying to understand his words fully. He was dedicating his points… to you? “Yo también te amo muchísimo. Ve al hotel y ponte preciosa que vamos a salir a cenar. Ahí hablamos bien de lo mucho que quiero pedirte que seas mi novia y lo voy a hacer.” 

And with that, he left for the post race press, leaving your mouth hung open and your stomach doing flips. 

You followed his orders to a T, having the time to fix whatever was going on with your hair before he got back, sending him a text in the midst of his absence. 

[ te voy a matar ] 

Surprisingly it was replied by the time you were out of the shower and picking a dress for the occasion, the text making you scoff and fluster. 

[ a sentones xfa ] 

It didn’t matter how vulgar he was, you loved him that way.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

Pairing Rockstar!Eddie x Reader | friends -> lovers

Summary Eddie comes back to Hawkins during a break on his national tour, and realizes he lost touch with someone he cares about deeply: you [angst and fluff]

Word Count: 2.7k

Above, a blue sky melts into orange, bearing a falling sun that makes Lover’s Lake shimmer. Tree branches rustle in the breeze. Until Eddie showed up at your door, whispers of his return to Hawkins had been just that. If you were still in the habit of calling each other regularly, you reckon you would’ve been the first to know. There’s no skepticism now, as the two of you sit on the tailgate of a cherry-red F-150. It’d been a gift from him to Wayne that he had on loan for the outing. This is a spot where campervans usually staked out for the view, but the universe must’ve known the evening belonged to you two. 

There were so many things you told yourself you were going to say when he got back from the road, but the words were hard to find. Elation and confliction had decided that your heart would be the grounds for their tug-of-war. Time had a habit of doing that, muddling feelings. Blurring old lines.  

“Does it feel weird?” you ask. They’re the first words you’ve spoken in a while. It takes Eddie a second to realize you’re talking to him. 

He straightens up in apology. “Does what feel weird?” The hole in his jeans gives sight to the bruise on his knee. You study it, imagining the many ways it could’ve formed. Knee-sliding on stage, most likely. 

“Being back in Hawkins,” you say, meeting his gaze. 

The immediate answer that poses itself on the tip of his tongue is no. Then it occurs to him that what you’re really asking is if it feels weird to be back with you. To that, there is no concrete answer. No such thing as black and white. There’s only technicolor when it comes to you, so vivid and complex that he wished it was as simple as a binary. 

“I don’t know if I’d use the word weird.” 

“Different?” you supply. 

He lifts a shoulder. “That’s a little more like it,” he says. “Coming home always is.” 

You hum, twisting the gold bracelet around your wrist. There’s a silver one around his own and his fingers are adorned with bulky steel rings. More tattoos have found a home beneath his skin as well. The longer you study everything new about him, the more a look that hauntingly resembles grief blooms on your face. As if something that once belonged to the two of you had been lost to the passing of time. When the same sense begins to swell within his own chest, he tries to snub it out the best way he knows how, beckoning whatever levity may be waiting in the wings.  

“But a lot of things stayed the same. Like Mike,” he starts. “I thought he would’ve called it quits by the time I got back, but he’s still kicking around at the auto shop. I was more surprised to see him than he was to see me.” 

After teaching Eddie the little his father failed to teach him about cars, Mike Summerdale gave him his first steady job the summer before his senior year. Working at Starcourt hadn’t held up, neither did Family Video or any other ‘boring’ employment. Mike’s Tire & Auto Shop was the only gig he sustained before the world had bigger plans. Eddie was the type who needed to move around, work with his hands, be challenged. Mike was one of the only people who’d been keen enough to discern that. 

Working at the shop not only gave him a sense of stability, but it also gave him you. The evening you came by for a last minute oil change on your parent’s Peugeot 504—ten minutes before closing—was the day he learned you were even funnier and more down to earth than what he’d gathered from within the stuffy halls of Hawkins High. 

A smile starts on your own lips. “He was probably ready to put his best man back to work,” you say. “Your hands are all pretty now.” 

Scoffing, Eddie turns his palms up as if he’s prepared to prove you wrong. There’s calluses on his fingertips from playing guitar, but not much else. His hands are nowhere near as rugged as they were when he was a mechanic. Back when you’d finally had enough of his indifference, you remember getting him a special cream and even rubbing it into his hands yourself when he puppy-dog-eyed his way into it. Some nights, long after you were supposed to have been back at your parents place, you’d be sitting in his living room with the TV glow illuminating your faces as the scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air between you. 

Eddie follows your hand as you reach over to run your fingers over his palm. “If I gave you a socket wrench right now, you probably wouldn’t even know how to use it.” You’re shamelessly teasing him now. It feels good. 

A genuine smile pulls on his lips, eyes brighter as he looks over at you. Even in his amusement, his next words are thoughtful. “Some things you don’t forget.” 

Sobering words, more like. Memories begin to roll in one by one until they avalanche and you can’t help but relieve yourself of the pressure by shoveling it over to him. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” you ask. “After that we were together all the time.” 

Back when time was all you had. Twenty-four hours wasn’t the same anymore. There were more responsibilities to fill it with, different relationships to entertain. For a while, the only thought ticking in your minds was when you’d get to see each other again. When the phone calls stopped, the care never went away. Neither did the curiosity, the stress of not knowing how the other was doing or where they were in the world. Those concerns continued to ring on and on, reverberating down the hallways of want that built themselves within your hearts. 

The rouge tear that streams down your cheek is the pioneer of more to come. Eddie swallows the lump in his throat when he sees it, hand twitching once in his lap. The next time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out to wipe your tears with his thumb. It’s a gesture meant to distract him from the fact that he’s the reason behind them. There’s no escaping the tidal wave of guilt that rushes in to drag him out to sea. You sniffle and shake your head to let him know that it’s okay, but his head is already under water. 

“I do remember,” it comes out quiet, thick. “The night we met—everything.” 

“Then what happened? What did I do wrong?” The wind is knocked out of him at that. “I know things changed so fast, but did everything before you left just get resigned to a spot on a timeline? Something for you to talk about to Rolling Stone?”  

Eddie tries to swallow around his guilt, but ends up choking on offense. 

“I never asked for any of this,” he asserts, hopping off the truck bed. “I may’ve begged God when I was a kid, but that’s ‘cause I didn’t know any better,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s been like. You don’t get to suggest that I stopped giving a shit.”

“Then what did you do, Eddie? Because that’s what it feels like.” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but there’s no way to reel it back in.

You can see the moment his stomach drops. It’s in the way his body grows tense, the faint color that rises to his cheeks, the light that wavers in his eyes. “You’ve been right here in Hawkins with all your friends and family three steps away. I’m the one who’s been in a new city every other night, cameras flashing wherever I go.” His voice remains level, but he talks with his hands like he always does. 

“I’ve been on autopilot for the past three months to make it back here with a semblance of sanity. So I’m sorry if I stopped picking up the phone to call. I was too busy trying to breathe with a goddamn elephant on my chest.” He paces away from you to run his hands through his hair. When he faces you again, he looks small. “This is all new to me. If you could just extend some grace.” 

Every word hangs heavy in the space between you. Which feels like miles. Eddie doesn’t huff or move or make any rash decision he’ll regret. He averts his gaze to refocus his attention on the lake. Its stillness feels like a mockery. There’s a dull thud as your feet meet the ground, followed by footsteps as you head into the woods. Despite every inch of you that wants to, you don’t look back. The feeling of his gaze is enough. 

He follows a few minutes after you’ve disappeared. The whole way, he wonders if his words were too harsh, if he’d gone about expressing himself the right way. The earthy crunch of his footsteps are soft as comes up behind you. You’re standing at The tree. The one everyone in Hawkins manages to come across in a lifetime, even if they decide not to leave their mark. The stories you heard about it growing up made it out to be a relic. 

Wound-Bearer was the name it had been given by a man from the class of ‘66, meant to immortalize the proof of love, romantic and platonic. Or at least bear a sign that it once existed. Looking at it now, more initials had been added since you and Eddie contributed to it your senior year. The carving stood out more than the rest, not because it was particularly noticeable or impressive, but because it was yours. Eddie stops a few paces away and spots it in seconds as he looks over your shoulder. 

Both of you hold your breath until you give in. 

“I didn’t mean to sound selfish. I’ve just been scared, Eddie.” You’re ashamed as you turn around to face him. “Scared that you didn’t want to talk anymore. That our friendship was fading away,” you say, scoffing a second later. “Now I sound like we’re in a movie.” 

A tenderness settles in his eyes that you don’t believe you deserve. “Our lives are a fucking movie,” he says, breathing out a chuckle. 

Things began to take off after he got scouted by the agent who’d flown out from California to visit family. You remember the dreams that had filled your head, each one of them somehow including you—you tagging along on the road, sitting front row at his shows, being right off camera during interviews. Reality proved itself to be nowhere near as sweet as your imagination. Later, when he signed to a label and was set for a national tour, the sacrifices of the limelight revealed themselves as pressing and real. 

Joining him in that new stage of his life meant leaving everything you’d ever known, bypassing university, being subject to thousands of eyes that just wanted to gawk. That’s why the day he left Hawkins was the day he left you behind. Even in his own mind, you not being his personal assistant was for the better. Him losing a sense of stability to chase his dreams didn’t mean you should be strapped to his side and subject to the same. 

At least you had a shot at creating a nice life for yourself. You were smart, talented, and someone worth building a life with. Music was all he had going. Leaving Hawkins was his only shot and it meant walking through the fire. 

A surprised sound escapes him when you crowd into his space to wrap your arms around him like he’s a soldier home from war. It’s the same type of hug Wayne had given him earlier that afternoon. It felt like love, like safety, like home. He melts into you, and the two of you stand like this until you remember that embraces aren’t meant to last forever. 

•••

Tonight, Eddie Munson takes it slow for the first time in his life. The speed limit signs on the side of the road dare him to go their limit. There’s hardly anybody on the roads to give him trouble for it either. It’s nice, the long way home always is. The radio plays low as the warm night air flows in through the widows. Eddie drives with his right hand, left arm hanging outside the truck. 

“Fuck, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grouses as he brakes for a stop sign. There’s enough earnestness in his voice to make you startle as you track his gaze. 

On the opposite side of the street, the old location for Scoot’s Scoops sits idle with boarded windows and a dimmed sign. 

You heave a sigh. “They just relocated,” you assure, rubbing your chest to calm down. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Eddie’s eyes are apologetic as he looks over at you. “I damn near had one myself. Sorry.” He reaches over to squeeze your thigh before his brain catches up to his body. It’s a fleeting touch that warms your entire being and stuns you into a brief stillness as if he was electric. 

He shifts in his seat and clears throat. “Maybe we can go to the new location tomorrow. Get some ice cream.” 

You blink a few times, mind still fuzzy. “Yeah, that’d be fun.” 

The remainder of the ride is quiet. When he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you’re swift to gather your things into your lap, still buzzing. “Thanks for the ride back,” you say, biting on your lower lip as a loud silence stretches. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He wants to walk you to your door, but he fears he’s already overstepped. “Yup. G’night.” 

Eddie curses under his breath as the door snaps shut behind you. After running a hand down his face, a tube lipstick catches his attention in the passenger seat. It takes him a few seconds to grab it and follow after you. By then, you’ve already made it inside and up the short flight of stairs. When the door of the complex closes behind him, it cuts off a cacophony chirping insects. 

Upon making it to the second floor, there’s something intimate about seeing you standing under the dim, humming lights fiddling with your keys. It isn’t until you get the door open that you regard him. 

His smile is sheepish, unlike him in every way. “You forgot this.” He reads the label as if he hadn’t committed it to memory during his short trip up the stairs, “Strawberry Crush, New Hydrating Formula.” A boyish smile buds on his face as he holds it out to you. 

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much.” Contrary to your words, there’s no inflection of surprise in your tone as you take it from him. Forgetting hadn’t been a mistake. His eyes flit inside to get a glimpse of your apartment. “Maybe I can give you a proper tour tomorrow after ice cream,” you offer. 

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sure, I’m down.”

He waits until you’re inside to walk back to his truck. You rush to peep out your living room window to watch him climb into the truck. He doesn’t pull away like you expect him to. Instead, he stays parked. Headlights shining, attracting moths and other flying things. The urge to see him one last time overpowers your better judgment in a fight that lasts all of five seconds. 

In record time, you’re back outside. He rolls down his window as you approach. 

“Forget something else?” 

“I did, actually.”

You rest your forearms on the window sill and he instinctively leans towards you, warm eyes searching your face trying to get a read. In another life, he sees your next move coming. In this one, it seems too good to be true: a kiss as soft as they come to the sounds of the night.

-

Any and all interaction appreciated. I see you <3

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI’s “human in the loop” isn’t

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

AI's ability to make – or assist with – important decisions is fraught: on the one hand, AI can often classify things very well, at a speed and scale that outstrips the ability of any reasonably resourced group of humans. On the other hand, AI is sometimes very wrong, in ways that can be terribly harmful.

Bureaucracies and the AI pitchmen who hope to sell them algorithms are very excited about the cost-savings they could realize if algorithms could be turned loose on thorny, labor-intensive processes. Some of these are relatively low-stakes and make for an easy call: Brewster Kahle recently told me about the Internet Archive's project to scan a ton of journals on microfiche they bought as a library discard. It's pretty easy to have a high-res scanner auto-detect the positions of each page on the fiche and to run the text through OCR, but a human would still need to go through all those pages, marking the first and last page of each journal and identifying the table of contents and indexing it to the scanned pages. This is something AI apparently does very well, and instead of scrolling through endless pages, the Archive's human operator now just checks whether the first/last/index pages the AI identified are the right ones. A project that could have taken years is being tackled with never-seen swiftness.

The operator checking those fiche indices is something AI people like to call a "human in the loop" – a human operator who assesses each judgment made by the AI and overrides it should the AI have made a mistake. "Humans in the loop" present a tantalizing solution to algorithmic misfires, bias, and unexpected errors, and so "we'll put a human in the loop" is the cure-all response to any objection to putting an imperfect AI in charge of a high-stakes application.

But it's not just AIs that are imperfect. Humans are wildly imperfect, and one thing they turn out to be very bad at is supervising AIs. In a 2022 paper for Computer Law & Security Review, the mathematician and public policy expert Ben Green investigates the empirical limits on human oversight of algorithms:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3921216

Green situates public sector algorithms as the latest salvo in an age-old battle in public enforcement. Bureaucracies have two conflicting, irreconcilable imperatives: on the one hand, they want to be fair, and treat everyone the same. On the other hand, they want to exercise discretion, and take account of individual circumstances when administering justice. There's no way to do both of these things at the same time, obviously.

But algorithmic decision tools, overseen by humans, seem to hold out the possibility of doing the impossible and having both objective fairness and subjective discretion. Because it is grounded in computable mathematics, an algorithm is said to be "objective": given two equivalent reports of a parent who may be neglectful, the algorithm will make the same recommendation as to whether to take their children away. But because those recommendations are then reviewed by a human in the loop, there's a chance to take account of special circumstances that the algorithm missed. Finally, a cake that can be both had, and eaten!

For the paper, Green reviewed a long list of policies – local, national, and supra-national – for putting humans in the loop and found several common ways of mandating human oversight of AI.

First, policies specify that algorithms must have human oversight. Many jurisdictions set out long lists of decisions that must be reviewed by human beings, banning "fire and forget" systems that chug along in the background, blithely making consequential decisions without anyone ever reviewing them.

Second, policies specify that humans can exercise discretion when they override the AI. They aren't just there to catch instances in which the AI misinterprets a rule, but rather to apply human judgment to the rules' applications.

Next, policies require human oversight to be "meaningful" – to be more than a rubber stamp. For high-stakes decisions, a human has to do a thorough review of the AI's inputs and output before greenlighting it.

Finally, policies specify that humans can override the AI. This is key: we've all encountered instances in which "computer says no" and the hapless person operating the computer just shrugs their shoulders apologetically. Nothing I can do, sorry!

All of this sounds good, but unfortunately, it doesn't work. The question of how humans in the loop actually behave has been thoroughly studied, published in peer-reviewed, reputable journals, and replicated by other researchers. The measures for using humans to prevent algorithmic harms represent theories, and those theories are testable, and they have been tested, and they are wrong.

For example, people (including experts) are highly susceptible to "automation bias." They defer to automated systems, even when those systems produce outputs that conflict with their own expert experience and knowledge. A study of London cops found that they "overwhelmingly overestimated the credibility" of facial recognition and assessed its accuracy at 300% better than its actual performance.

Experts who are put in charge of overseeing an automated system get out of practice, because they no longer engage in the routine steps that lead up to the conclusion. Presented with conclusions, rather than problems to solve, experts lose the facility and familiarity with how all the factors that need to be weighed to produce a conclusion fit together. Far from being the easiest step of coming to a decision, reviewing the final step of that decision without doing the underlying work can be much harder to do reliably.

Worse: when algorithms are made "transparent" by presenting their chain of reasoning to expert reviewers, those reviewers become more deferential to the algorithm's conclusion, not less – after all, now the expert has to review not just one final conclusion, but several sub-conclusions.

Even worse: when humans do exercise discretion to override an algorithm, it's often to inject the very bias that the algorithm is there to prevent. Sure, the algorithm might give the same recommendation about two similar parents who are facing having their children taken away, but the judge who reviews the recommendations is more likely to override it for a white parent than for a Black one.

Humans in the loop experience "a diminished sense of control, responsibility, and moral agency." That means that they feel less able to override an algorithm – and they feel less morally culpable when they sit by and let the algorithm do its thing.

All of these effects are persistent even when people know about them, are trained to avoid them, and are given explicit instructions to do so. Remember, the whole reason to introduce AI is because of human imperfection. Designing an AI to correct human imperfection that only works when its human overseer is perfect produces predictably bad outcomes.

As Green writes, putting an AI in charge of a high-stakes decision, and using humans in the loop to prevent its harms, produces a "perverse effect": "alleviating scrutiny of government algorithms without actually addressing the underlying concerns." The human in the loop creates "a false sense of security" that sees algorithms deployed for high-stakes domains, and it shifts the responsibility for algorithmic failures to the human, creating what Dan Davies calls an "accountability sink":

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

The human in the loop is a false promise, a "salve that enables governments to obtain the benefits of algorithms without incurring the associated harms."

So why are we still talking about how AI is going to replace government and corporate bureaucracies, making decisions at machine speed, overseen by humans in the loop?

Well, what if the accountability sink is a feature and not a bug. What if governments, under enormous pressure to cut costs, figure out how to also cut corners, at the expense of people with very little social capital, and blame it all on human operators? The operators become, in the phrase of Madeleine Clare Elish, "moral crumple zones":

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

As Green writes:

The emphasis on human oversight as a protective mechanism allows governments and vendors to have it both ways: they can promote an algorithm by proclaiming how its capabilities exceed those of humans, while simultaneously defending the algorithm and those responsible for it from scrutiny by pointing to the security (supposedly) provided by human oversight.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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/2024/10/30/a-neck-in-a-noose/#is-also-a-human-in-the-loop

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

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

[merwgue]

Why Feyre as High Lady Could Lead to the Night Court's Downfall (Or, How to Ruin a Court in 10 Easy Steps) comming from someone who is planning to study international relations and whos whole family is quite familiar with it:

Look, we all love Feyre. She's fierce, she's brave, and she can paint a mean flower. But let's be real: as High Lady of the Night Court, she's a Fucking diplomatic nightmare. If there were an award for "How to Piss Off Every High Lord and Their Neighboring Courts," she'd win it. Twice. Here's why Feyre's reign might just bring the Night Court crashing down faster than rhys can growl or cum to the image of his child

1. Explosive Temper and Poor Diplomacy Let’s talk about the High Lords meeting in A Court of Wings and Ruin. Remember that? Feyre’s blow-up at Beron wasn’t just a passionate defense—it was a major diplomatic fuck-up. Yes, Beron was being a total asshole, but diplomacy often means biting your tongue and playing the long game. Feyre's outburst could have easily cost them an alliance with the Autumn Court, potentially turning Beron into an outright enemy. With Hybern on the horizon, losing any potential allies could have been catastrophic. Instead of keeping things cool and trying to find common ground, she let her temper flare, risking everything Rhysand had worked for to keep the courts united. Feyre basically threw a damn match onto a pile of political dynamite.

2. Alienating Potential Allies Ah, the Summer Court fiasco. Remember when Feyre decided it was a good idea to steal from Tarquin? Not just any theft, but a "Hey, let's be friends—JK, I’m taking your most powerful magical artifact" kind of theft. Brilliant move. And then she had the nerve to act all shocked when Tarquin was pissed about it. "What do you mean you're mad I stole from you? We're supposed to be allies!" Gee, I wonder why Tarquin wasn’t thrilled about that little betrayal. It's like borrowing your friend's car and returning it on empty, with a dent in the side. And by "borrow," I mean grand theft auto. Feyre, maybe try not to screw over potential allies next time? Just a thought.

3. Emotional Decision-Making Feyre often lets her emotions drive her decisions. While being passionate isn't inherently bad, it becomes a problem when it overrides logic and strategy, especially in the high-stakes world of Prythian politics. The High Lords meeting is one instance, but it happens repeatedly. Her open hostility toward Tamlin, even if understandable on a personal level, didn't help the broader cause. By pushing him further away instead of seeking some form of truce, she risked driving him into Hybern's arms. A High Lady needs to think beyond personal grudges to what’s best for her people and her court, and Feyre struggles with that balance. You can't just say "screw it" and go off on people when the fate of your entire court is on the line.

4. Ignoring the Complexity of the Night Court And let's not forget the Night Court's lovely little secret: Hewn City. You know, that underground hellhole they basically keep under lock and key. Rhysand and Feyre are all "Oh, look at Velaris, it's so pretty and free!" Meanwhile, half their court is rotting in a glorified dungeon. And what's Feyre's big idea for dealing with Hewn City? Oh, right, pretend it doesn't exist. Smart. Because ignoring a potential uprising within your own court is definitely the way to keep things stable. It's like the French Revolution all over again—if the Night Court were France, then Feyre's approach is like Louis XVI ignoring the starving peasants while hosting extravagant parties. Eventually, ignoring the discontent and keeping people oppressed leads to revolution. Treating Hewn City like an inconvenient problem rather than addressing it is a recipe for disaster.

5. Undermining Rhysand’s Diplomacy Rhysand spent centuries mastering diplomacy—playing the long game, keeping everyone in check. And then comes Feyre, storming in like, "Oh, you spent centuries building these delicate alliances? Well, watch me fuck it up in five minutes." She's like that one friend who always says, "Hold my beer," right before doing something incredibly stupid. Rhys is trying to keep the court from crumbling, and Feyre's out there acting like diplomacy means "scream at the enemy until they go away." Newsflash: That’s not how this works. This isn't some street brawl where whoever yells the loudest wins. It's politics. You know, the art of not making enemies out of every living soul around you?

Conclusion Feyre's got the passion, the guts, and the fighting spirit of a warrior. But when it comes to actually leading a court? She’s like a bull in a china shop, if that bull also happened to have a grudge against every piece of porcelain in the room. Being High Lady isn’t about who's right in the heat of the moment; it's about playing the long game, keeping your people safe, and not, you know, burning bridges with every other court. If she keeps going down this path—alienating allies, ignoring the needs of half her own court, and letting emotions drive her decisions—the Night Court is in serious trouble. Feyre needs to understand that diplomacy isn’t about who can throw the best tantrum. It’s about avoiding a revolution and ensuring the stability of your people. Otherwise, the Night Court might fall not because of an external threat, but because its own leader is too busy screwing things up from the inside.

[currentfandomkick]

Skulker, unwilling witness to a halfa custody battle

Masterlist Here

Hi. It took forever to get back to this as work upped my hours and i was exhausted. Enjoy the crazy building for my personal blend of how the Ghost Zone works with the DC afterlives (minor spoiler: if afterlife divinities don’t want anything to do with you, they just. Make you the Ghost Zone’s problem)

—

Skulker couldn’t help but wonder when the issues regarding the Unshed Whelp would end.

Sampson grew more nervous as the doctors and nurses prodded him.

“And are you sure this isn’t further down his reincarnation line, just a second life not a fifth or one in the hundreds?” Amira repeated.

childHurt?Sampson inquired, still holding her ghostling.

“Now, its just to know how bad the hurt is—further back a soul goes, worse the cause of regression and higher on the priorities list we get for IRFP.”

At Sampson’s ? Skulker clarified.

“Infinite Realms Fright Protections, they specialize in younger ghosts, disabled ghosts, and liminals like you and specialty cases like the whelp.”

Sampson frowned.

“Think a lot of healers, protectors and parents working together to help uh,” he switched gears as Sampson moved to her full height. “think your zookeepers but they listen to you.”

That settled her down at least. For the moment.

“Well, it looks like maybe a second life, which may be why he’s been difficult to skin on top of his halfa status. Liminals tend to flee too—honestly they need a good scrub now and then to take out the dirty layers—Speaking of which, Sampson, are you still using the scrubs to help with the excess aggression?”

Sampson nodded, offering her arm for inspection if needed.

“Great, we may need something like that or a bit stronger to help your son lessen his reversions.”

“But not stop,” Skulker noted.

“Until we got the stressor down and managed? Not a way to do that even if he’s skinned properly. And liminals tend to take to attempts poorly—Carbon side has Opinions on it and the Ecto is all for it. Best not to confuse the poor dear more than he is.”

Sampson shuffled in place.

The whelp kept hiding in her fur, tail flailing or flaring out with his other fins on occasion.

“Now, is he still in contact with any relatives from any other lifetimes of his?” The doctor asked while checking the whelps’s scales, grabbing a sample from what flaked off.

“Not that myself or Sampson have identified,” he translated.

“Well, give us a bit and we can have this,” the doctor gestured to the plastic container with the scale samples. “Run for a any familial matches in our systems and see if any of the other lives can give some insight into his actions.”

“He did die young both times,” Skulker admitted, examining the merform more now. There are countless subspecies and variations for adult merfolk, but the whelp had an infant’s face, build and lack of a sternum and proper elbows.

He… he had a feeling that if the whelp’s death was not accidental, and the perpetrator was alive… it would not be impossible to let the more wrathful, rage riddled protector spirits have a go at them. Especially if he just. Pointed them in the right direction.

The nurse shrugged. “Could have been an auto-reincarnation.”

Sampson grumbled something at that.

The whelp stayed quiet and rested as they waited for the results.

With any luck, he’d have relatives in the Realms rather than the End Points… The rulers there were vexing on a good day without stakes.

With stakes they made it a point to be as insufferable as possible.

“Okay, there’s only one direct match in the Realms, a former king of something or other named Deildi of Atlantis… I think? He’s using his grave name, rather than his death name.”

Skulker looked to the ceiling, as Sampson continued to soothe the fussy whelp.

He would demand pelting rights for this—Sampson would hardly oppose the treatment once the whelp’s stress lowered. Just in sections on his primary ghost form, nothing deeper than the surface layer… probably a good idea to see if he has ecto-preferences outside of the Far Frozen’s for his recovery…

A royal. Likely assassinated young enough to qualify for automatic reincarnation, sans cultural attachments.

…he’d offer the whelp a shark-like blob ghost as a support. If his… semi-stray dog got along with them…

Or make the pain that is Cujo choose the small shark-blob for the whelp.

Sampson would accept it easily enough as additional protection from the overeager ectopus.

babyOldfamilyHelp?

“Not his old parents, relatives to them, a ‘leader’ it seems.”

Sampson’s scrunched face told them all her opinion loud and clear.

“Its not uncommon for them to watch over the living, hopefully he can be helpful,” one of the newer nurses suggested while trying (and failing) to convince Sampson to The whelp in a tank.

—

Deildi threw open the door to examine his descendant. One not brought to him upon death like the others.

Silvers and blacks made up the bulk of the tail and fins, while the babe’s human flesh handled the rest of his coloring. Craftsmanship and strength made sense for one of his kin. Artistic leaning probably, and if the boy had time to grow into it, he didnt doubt a knack for magic with shifting states of matter would have been on the table. Death draping its colors on him made equal sense. Perhaps it was because his descendants’ strength lay in his spirit rather than body that even death didnt truly beat this one the second time around?

“And he chose Danny Phantom?” Deildi repeated, eyeing the merchild warily. Why the guppy would choose to emphasize his death as a spirit, he couldn’t fathom.

Even moreso, how the child destined to be such a successful sorcerer king died as an infant was beyond him. Were his abilities sealed before? Had that blasted portal unlocked them?

“Yes,” the sentient automaton answered. “The whelp enjoys word play.”

Why the merchild chose a liminal gorilla as his ghost parent further perplexed him—however he was growing to understand the babe as a living paradox.

ChildmineSafewithME and helpExplainillnessInquiryslewed off the gorilla to an alarming degree.

“I tend to watch them after their first sparks of magic emerge,” he began absently. “He’s still got a strong soul for sorcery when he’s ready.”

“That doesn’t explain the soul regression, sir,” the medic interrupted.

Deildi slowly exhaled at the interruption. “And this is merely his second life. All reversions will end with him in this form. He is likely seeking safety and comfort given the uphill battle this life has proven.”

He waved a finger before the guppy, and smiled as the child chased the shimmers in his wake.

“Uphill battle?” The medic prompted uncertainly.

Deildi pressed his lips together as his jaw tightened recalling how often his young descendant nearly became another automatic reincarnation.

“He has almost died around saturnalia every year. Often during harvest festivals as well. This red coated figure? Causes far too many and too involved arguments. He almost died last year when the noodles he tried to make from scratch hit ecto-infused water and spouted their own sentience and desire to end him. I presume his parents haven’t dismantled their fortress’ traps and they’ve begun to spring on him, correct?”

The automaton nodded mutely, eyeing his descendant more than he’d prefer.

The gorilla grumped UpsetAngry and ChildRefusesToStayHere/Home wafting off her cloyingly.

Deildi wrinkled his nose at sensation.

“If permitted, I can see to it he is given a proper childhood as a Neverborn or act as a foster parent for his times in the Realms. Naturally his door will be moved to my palace and accommodations made for his chosen parent.”

The medics shared a look with the automaton and the gorilla.

“He’s a halfa,” one medic began.

Deildi hated how only the slur survived in texts outside his kingdom. So many of his subjects began as Veilborn and only the Purger’s propaganda and slander remained of their origin.

“the situation is…” the other medic trailed off, staring at the automaton.

“Delicate,” the metal man stated. “He refuses a proper pelting.”

Deildi hummed, gently offering his fingers for the boy to nip at while running a more clawed hand gently against a spotty patch long since ready for peeling.

The babe giggled while he did.

“Scale sheddings are more effective for ecto-carbons,” Deildi murmured, grntly scrapping the excess, old and illness-inducing ecto off the babe where the child allowed.

The automaton scowled at him.

“I predate Pariah’s Purge. Veilborn and their care was as common as greens and blues back then.”

The medics looked at him with newfound interest.

“The records were kept at the Far Frozen. I believe they still have untouched copies if you need more information… has he been given a proper memorial yet? I haven’t seen anything in the times I checked in.”

The silence was damning.

“… do inform the mortals aware of his condition that a memorial will help anchor him to his current death form, not leave him listless to his prior form.”

The automaton nodded along.

The gorilla was lost for a proper response.

—

Okay was in drafts for forever (Deildi was not having it until I worked out the ilness or let him take over treatments so #*%@) but done. Also not nearly as many former atlantian kings as i figured there would be, so congrats you get an OC.

Let me know if you want me to pick this series back up, and if you want videos of mer danny to be leaked (possibly with Deildi hovering on the night cameras and playing with him as a more semi-transparent DC ghost (man is not here for an obsession he’s here to Step Up on parenting this apparent descendant that continues to get the short end of the stick. possibly co-mentor with Frostbite as Magic kicks in)

Tags: @skulld3mort-1fan @theizzyof3malec3 @brattysleepyreader @sebas-nights @elidaweirdotaku0520 @bianca-hooks123 @the-autistic-spider @laurcad123 @just-lurking-here-dont-mind-meh @atinygracie @stars-obsession-pit t @wanderwithwings @aibhilin-atibeka @lovelesslittleloser @shadowkatt99 @pastelpigeonparadise @gloriousporpois

[zigrethsnotebook]

I'm pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone, but I'd like to keep mine on for now.

Stan x Reader

words: 1,188

tags: sfw, fluff, breaking out of a cell together

This was supposed to be a fresh new start and look at yourself now: Your first week living in Gravity Falls and you're already spending the night in a jail cell. Just perfect.

You had been so sure that those two policemen that always stuck together were unobservant and fully incompetent at their job. And to be fair, you might still be right on that. But not even those two were stupid enough to let you go with the way they caught you red-handed.

You had spent the whole day staking out that auto yard. The one that was owned by the father of that telepathy kid. And you knew that his kid had a show that night, so you were sure he wouldn't be at that junkyard of his.

He wasn't, but he had called in to the police and arranged with them that they would patrol the place every couple hours. He must have had some more recent attempts on his property.

And it was so silly, too. You just needed a new handbrake because yours had quite literally snapped in half somehow. But the guy wouldn't sell it to you for less than 200 bucks. Who has that kind of money? So naturally, you decided to just take it when he wasn't looking.

As luck would have it, you crawled out and over the fence just as those policemen were making the rounds. They took you back to the precinct and locked you in a holding cell before you even had a chance to touch one of the cars.

So now, the only thing they could really charge you for was breaking and entering, or... just entering, you didn’t break anything. But you were determined to get out of this somehow. There really was no need for this to be the first thing the people in this town knew about you.

As the night had dragged on they found another guy that they threw in the same cell. They actually only had one so there would have been nowhere else to put him. You barely acknowledged each other. He just went to sleep, deciding to sort it all out the next day. Eventually, you did the same.

You woke up to the sound of keys jingling and immediately sat upright. When the shorter of the policemen, the sheriff, walked past you to his desk you spoke up. "You know, I didn’t stand a chance against you last night. With a guy as fit and athletic as you... I wouldn't have been able to escape you if I tried."

The sheriff blushed. "Ohoho... you really think so?" A deep and gruff chuckle emanated from the man behind you. You hadn't realized he was awake. "Of course, just look at you! You're really taking care of yourself and it shows!"

The policeman walked up to your cell with a big smile on his face. "Tell me mor-" He was interrupted when his loud deputy barged into the room with a bell, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Ooo!! Susan's holdin' a Pie eatin' contest!!"

Not two seconds later the two were out the door. You sighed in disappointment and sat back down. Guess you won't be getting out of here anytime soon. Or so you thought.

About a minute after the policemen were gone two children, a boy and a girl, sneaked into the police station and to your cell. The old man you had been stuck with got up and walked to the cell door. "There you are, kids! Good job getting Lazy Susan involved."

The girl quickly took a hairpin out of her hair and went to work on the lock. The boy looked proudly at the old guy as he spoke. "The pie eating contest may have been slightly exaggerated." The old man laughed heartily. "That's my boy!"

The girl had by now managed to pick the lock and gave the guy a million watt grin as she opened the door for him. He ruffled her hair affectionately as he left the cell. Then the old guy looked at you with a smirk. "You comin' or what?"

You wanted to protest but more than that you wanted to get out of here. So, instead of saying anything, you just followed them out of the police station.

Before you could thank them and leave the old man spoke up again. "You can crash with us for a bit. At least until those two idiots forget about us. Which should be about... two hours." He laughed again and you were beginning to enjoy the sound of it.

You agreed and took your place in the golf cart that apparently belonged to them. The old man drove and the boy sat next to him. You and the girl sat in the back. The whole drive she looked at you with wide eyes and a mischievous aura about her.

After a few minutes the four of you arrived at a wooden house somewhere in the forest. It was a tourist trap that you'd read about somewhere. Was the old guy the owner? No wonder he got in trouble with the police.

As the four of you walked up to the door the old man halted and slapped himself in the face. "Where are my manners?" He turned to you, one hand outstretched. "The name's Stan Pines, owner of the Mystery Shack!" He gave you a big grin and you shook his hand, introducing yourself as well.

On your way to the living room the children had introduced themselves as well. Mabel and Dipper. They also called Stan their 'Grunkle', which could mean... great uncle?

"By the way, I really liked what you were going for with the sheriff back there. I bet it would have worked if we didn’t have our own thing going on." Stan smirked at you as he sat down on the only couchchair in the living room.

You looked around and grabbed one of the chairs from a table in the corner and brought it over to the tv. "Thanks. What can I say, I am incredibly charming." You playfully batted your eyes at him with a smirk on your lips. It earned you another deep chuckle from the old man.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw the kids standing in the doorway to the living room. The girl was jumping up and down and shaking her brother by the shoulders as she tried and failed to suppress a squeal.

"Oh yeah. I bet. I'm pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone," he glanced over at the kids and then leaned closer to you, putting one hand to his mouth as if that would keep them from hearing his words, "but I'd like to keep mine on for now." He smirked at you as he leaned back in his chair.

You tried to fight off the blush that was making its way to your cheeks and turned to look at the tv. Stan watched you do that and chuckled again. Oh man, what have you gotten yourself into?

[miffyisms]

⋆࿐໋˖𓍢ִִ໋ taylor swift - the tortured poets department (anthology) , ♡

various prompts from the selected media can be found below. it is important to read the rules of the receiving blog before sending any. feel free to change any pronouns to better suit your needs. the selected media can possibly be triggering to some, please be advised !

am i allowed to cry?

i don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing.

nostalgia is a mind's trick.

i can hold my breath.

then we could all just laugh until i cry.

i'm seeing visions, am i bad?

it wasn't a fair fight or a clean kill.

just say when, i'd play again.

oh, was it punishment?

oh my god, you should see your faces.

blood's thick, but nothin' like a payroll.

now you know what it feels like.

you're in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down on the road.

this town is fake, but you're the real thing.

were you writing a book?

the devil that you know.

well, you took me to hell too.

six weeks of breathing clean air, i still miss the smoke.

go on, fuck me up.

you deserve prison, but you won't get time.

i touched you for only a fortnight.

honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

nothing makes me feel more alive.

who the fuck was that guy?

but when i count the scars, there's a moment of truth that there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you.

even if i die screaming, i hope you hear it.

no one's ever had me, not like you.

yes, i'm haunted, but i'm feeling just fine.

i built a legacy that you can't undo.

fuck it if i can't have us.

i'm miserable!

i'm gonna get you back.

i'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace.

so tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is?

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

tell me all your secrets.

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.

what if your eyes looked up and met mine.

i swept in at the rescue.

now i'm down bad, crying at the gym.

i'm so afraid i sealed my fate.

i chose this cyclone with you.

all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february.

you were sleeping soundly when they dragged you from your bed.

it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden.

i can't pretend like i understand.

i'm just getting color back into my face.

i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

i stopped cpr, after all, it's no use

it was unnecessary, should've let it stay buried.

we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon.

you shit-talked me under the table.

touch me while your bros play grand theft auto.

you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me.

i'm combing through the braids of lies.

no way i'm gonna screw up, now that i know what's at stake.

you told me i'm the love of your life.

you kicked out the stage lights, but you're still performing.

tell me something awful.

i am what i am 'cause you trained me.

how did it end?

in fifty years will all this be declassified?

was any of it true?

there's a lot of people in town that i bestow upon my fakest smiles.

how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded.

they knew the whole time that i was onto something.

i just learned these people only raise you to cage you.

i dreamed about it in the dark the night i felt like i might die.

all of this to say, i hope you're okay.

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.

move to florida, buy the car you want.

in plain sight you hid.

i'm bitter, but i swear i'm fine.

please, i've been on my knees.

just how low did you think i'd go before i'd self-implode?

who's gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway?

pull me to the backseat.

way up there, i actually love it.

at dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on.

i hate it here.

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

i should've known it was a matter of time.

they're gonna crucify me anyway.

he was my best friend.

this happens once every few lifetimes.

i can't forgive the way you made me feel.

does it feel alright to not know me?

you said some things that i can't unabsorb.

i just don't understand how you don't miss me.

i felt more when we played pretend.

the future's bright, dazzling.

i've seen this episode and still loved the show.

please know that i tried to hold onto the days when you were mine.

are you still a mind reader?

i'll save all my romanticism for my inner life and i'll get lost on purpose.

tell me i'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.

do you believe me now?

still alive, killing time at the cemetery

is it somethin' i did?

i read about it in a book when i was a precocious child.

you caged me, and then you called me crazy.

bet they never spared a prayer for my soul.

i stopped trying to make him laugh.

he just hadn't met me yet.

you ain't gotta pray for me.

i won't confess that i waited, but i let the lamp burn.

all your life, did you know you'd be picked like a rose?

i'm tryin' to stifle my sighs.

if you wanted me dead, you should've just said.

it's happening again.

i don't think you've changed much.

are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

i don't believe in good luck now that i know what's what.

all that time you were throwing punches, i was building something.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

fuck 'em, it's over.

little did you know, your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.

i wanna kill him.

i forget if this was ever fun.

love's never lost when perspective is earned.

you didn't measure up in any measure of a man.

my friends used to play a game where we would pick a decade we wished we could live in instead of this.

if you want to tear my world apart just say you've always wondered.

what we thought was for all time, was momentary.

do that impression you did of your dad again.

you see i was a debutant in another life but now i seem to be scared to go outside.

you just watched it happen.

so if you want to break my cold, cold heart, say you loved me.

what a charming saturday.

they tried to warn him about her.

then say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did?

i just don't understand.

i was a functioning alcoholic 'till nobody noticed my new aesthetic.

no one asks any questions here.

my friends said it isn't right to be scared.

now i want to sell my house and set fire to all my clothes.

were you making fun of me with some esoteric joke?

you'll find someone.

old habits die screaming.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want.

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

fuck you if i can't have us.

we were blind to unforeseen circumstances.

i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all.

trust me, i can handle me a dangerous man.

you're the loss of my life.

i cry a lot, but i am so productive.

who's afraid of little old me?

it was legendary.

i keep recalling things we never did.

i still ponder what it meant.

and who's gonna know you, if not me?

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

i'm just mad as hell 'cause i loved this place.

your words are still just ringing in my head.

the story isn't mine anymore.

i'm lonely, but i'm good.

i tried to warn you about them.

fresh out the slammer, i know who my first call will be to.

i look in people's windows.

i will never lose my baby again.

looking backwards might be the only way to move forward.

i choose you and me religiously.

i got cursed like eve got bitten.

i would've died for your sins, instead i just died inside.

well, me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.

life was always easier on you than it was on me.

you don't get to tell me about "sad".

i'm not a donor but i'd give you my heart if you needed it.

do you hate me?

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

i was supposed to be sent away, but they forgot to come and get me.

if i'd been there, i'd hate it.

stay away from her.

i can do it with a broken heart.

you cinephile in black and white.

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

but what about your quiet treason?

i hoped you'd return.

i took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary.

i can take the upper hand and touch your body.

i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning.

oh, what a way to die.

i'll tell you one thing honey, i can tell when somebody still wants me.

this place made me feel worthless.

my husband is cheating.

my beloved ghost and me.

i keep finding his things in drawers.

did you take all my old clothes?

even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you.

i'm so obsessed with him, but he avoids me like the plague.

no, i'm not coming to my senses.

we've already done it in my head.

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

no matter what i've done, it wouldn't matter anyway.

everyone knows that my mother is a saintly woman but she used to say she wished that you were dead.

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

good boy, that's right.

let it once be me.

lights, camera, bitch, smile.

it's hell on earth to be heavenly.

i'm runnin' back home to you.

one bad seed kills the garden.

i've been doing it since he left.

they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?

i was tame, i was gentle till the circus life made me mean.

the hospital was a drag, worst sleep that i ever had.

oh, here we go again.

we learned the right steps to different dances.

i haven't come around in so long.

god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.

'cause i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit.

i'll tell you how i've been there too, and that none of it matters.

i'm having his baby.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

no, you can't come to the wedding.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

but you should've seen him when he first got me.

i'm sure i can pass this test.

they tried to warn you about me.

come close, i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night.

what if i told you i'm back?

i'm there most of the year 'cause i hate it here.

i may never open up the way i did for you.

you left your typewriter at my apartment.

oh, we must stop meeting like this.

scandal does funny things to pride.

tell me 'bout the first time you saw me.

it's gonna be alright, i did my time.

and for a fortnight there we were forever.

i thought it was just goodbye for now.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

i'm not trying to exaggerate, but i think i might die if it happened.

i might just die, it would make no difference.

i'll forget you, but i'll never forgive.

a greater woman stays cool, but i howl like a wolf at the moon.

a greater woman wouldn't beg.

pick your poison, babe.

i died on the altar waiting for the proof.

can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses?

i don't even want you back, i just want to know.

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you.

way to go, tiger.

were you a sleeper cell spy?

you are bloodthirsty.

you said i needed a brave man, then proceeded to play him until i believed it too.

someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts.

i can fix him, no really i can.

you needed me, but you needed drugs more.

thought of calling ya, but you won't pick up.

who do i have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?

you're in terrible danger.

i want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.

you are what you did.

fuck it, i was in love.

for a moment, i knew cosmic love

you're the new god we're worshipping.

you gotta fake it 'till you make it, and i did.

i wanna kill her.

did you think i had in me?

you said normal girls were "boring".

and who's gonna hold you like me?

no one here's to blame.

even statues crumble if they're made to wait.

you can mark my words that i said it first.

one last souvenir from my trip to your shores

i'm so depressed, i act like it's my birthday every day.

how can i be guilty as sin?

you were gone by the morning.

i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said?

he said he'd love me all his life.

who else decodes you?

fuck it if i can't have him.

i just learned these people try and save you 'cause they hate you.

tell me all that you'd learned.

you're an animal.

you already know, babe.

growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.

i loved your hostile takeovers.

you and i go from one kiss to getting married.

[minkyungseokie]

Autosports

Stories of athletes in auto sports; Formula One, Indycar, Nascar, etc.. If you would like me to add anyone, just ask!

Includes team principals and certain wags

➤Max Verstappen; MV1

Belgian-Dutch Red Bull racing driver and three time world champion

➤Logan Sargeant; LS2

American Formula One driver for William

➤Daniel Ricciardo; DR3

Australian VCARB racing driver

➤Lando Norris; LN4

British-Belgian McLaren racing driver and Quadrant founder

➤Sebastian Vettel; SV5

German former F1 driver

➤Kimi Räikkönen; KR7

Finnish former F1 driver

➤Pierre Gasly; PG10

French Alpine driver

➤Sergio "Checo" Perez; SP11

Mexican Red Bull Racing driver

➤Fernando Alonso; FA14

Spanish Aston Martin driver

➤Charles Leclerc; CH16

Monégasque Ferrari driver

➤Lance Stroll; LS18

Canadian-Belgian Aston Martin driver

➤Mark Webber

Australian sports commentator

➤Jenson Button; JB22

British former F1 driver

➤Yuki Tsunoda; YT22

Japanese VCARB driver

➤Alex Albon; AA23

British-Thai Williams driver

➤Zhou Guanyu; ZG24

Chinese Stake F1 Team Kick Sauber driver

➤Estebon Ocon; EO31

French Alpine driver

➤Lewis Hamilton; LH44

British Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS and seven time world champion

➤Mick Schumacher; MS47

German Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS reserve driver

➤Carlos Sainz Jr; CS55

Spanish Ferrari driver

➤George Russell; GR63

British Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS driver

➤Oscar Piastri; OP81

Australian McLaren driver

➤James Vowels

British Williams Team Principal

➤Toto Wolff

Austrian Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Team Principal

Some of these arn not F2 drivers, but I'm using this category for the reserve drivers as well

➤Oliver Bearman; OB3/38

British Formula two racing driver, Ferrari reserve driver

➤Liam Lawson; LL36

Kiwi VCARB reserve driver

➤Felipe Drugovich; FD34

Brazilian-Italian Aston Martin reserve driver

➤Frederik Vesti; FV7

Danish Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS reserve driver

➤Pato O’Ward; PO5

Mexican McLaren Chevrolet IndyCar driver, reserve driver for McLaren

➤Arthur Leclerc; AL12

Monégasque French Ferrari development driver

➤Jack Doohan; JD14

Australian Alpine reserve driver

➤Robert Shwartzman; RS83

Russo-Israeli FIA World Endurance Championship and Ferrari reserve driver

➤Théo Pourchaire

French member of the Sauber Academy and test and reserve driver for Stake F1 Team Kick Sauber.

Series

Driven by Destiny -Toto Wolff x Chinese-Australian Reader x Susie Wolff; ongoing

[daughterofhecata]

Ich will ja nichts gegen die neuen DDF-Folgen sagen, aber ich hab heute Giftiger Gockel zuende gelesen und musste eben an Rufmord denken, und ich hätte gerne mal wieder solche Stakes, honestly. Millionen Menschen in Gefahr! Bremsversagen an Peters Auto! Nervengift! Psychopharmaka mit schweren Nebenwirkungen! Todesdrohungen in Glückskeksen! Ein totes Huhn, das zur Abschreckung an Justus geschickt wird! Eine Figur ist Täter und Opfer gleichermaßen!

[the2dvgstages]

"Fist City" - Land Shiba Finance

[fourphoenixfeathers]

Tags from @hotmothsummer

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE. I'm still very much cooking but I'll write down what I'm thinking so far.

I love these two so much. It's absolutely insane how the two bots least likely to trust anyone became partners, and while the show wouldn't upset the status quo so majorly, I really wanted to see Auto Berserk go a different way.

So Starscream is sick of Megatron's scrap, and getting abandoned on the battlefield was the last straw. Red Alert is on a hair trigger and thinks the autobots are going to take him apart for scraps. Starscream spots an opportunity!

He pulls Red Alert aside to hide him from the autobots and start his plotting and scheming. It's them two against the world now, and if they can get the negavator, no one will be able to stop them anymore. Starscream wants to finally be on top (but secretly he just wants to finally be safe) and Red Alert wants the security (even though his personality will always find something to be paranoid about). They need therapy your honor.

Starscream is in a pretty good place here! Red Alert isn't hard to manipulate, all Starscream has to do is play into his fears. It's free partner (but watch out)!

I have this vivid image in my head of Red Alert jumping at the slightest of sounds, interpreting anything and everything as a threat to him and his new partner. On one hand, it's kind of annoying to keep talking him down from a false alarm, but on the other... Starscream never had anyone by his side before who was so genuinely concerned for his safety. He's always had to look out for number one because no one else would. Skyfire was the only one who would, but even after he was found in the ice, that didn't last long. Uh oh, he's getting attached.

On Red Alert 's end, he's getting to see a completely different side of Starscream. The flaky SIC gets so much scrap for his cowardice and general gremlin behavior (not to mention how the autobots literally joke about the Megatron domestic abuse), but without the autobots or the decepticons around, Starscream is surprisingly competent. It'll definitely give him something to think about when his logic circuits aren't buzzing like bees on crack.

Then they capture the negavator. All the factions and the two defectors are in one high stakes fight. Red Alert's not doing too hot, Starscream wants to make sure he doesn't leave him for rejoin the autobots without stressing him out so much he explodes, and then Megatron chooses this moment to come in like the kool aid man.

It comes down to this: claim he was getting the weapon for Megatron... Or stick with Red Alert. The answer is obvious isn't it? Megatron will kill him if he doesn't get into his good graces immediately. But Starscream hesitates. The reason he got into this mess was that Megatron left him for dead even when he wasn't being actively traitorous. He's alive as long as he is useful, and even that isn't a guarantee. But for all his paranoia, Red never threatened Starscream's life.

Red Alert sees Starscream's hesitation, and for a moment he fears Starscream will betray him. He should have known not to trust the Decepticon notorious for his treachery. But Starscream instead calls for a tactical retreat for the defectors.

I'm a bit fuzzy on what happens next, but the gist of it is Starscream chose Red Alert over Megatron, and Red returns the favor. They are besties, do not separate. On one hand, I want Screamy to have more defector vacation bc there's no way he'd drop everything and join the autobots so easily. But at the same time, using his null ray to calm down Red Alert's overactive circuits is a temporary measure, and Red will have to get medical attention sooner or later, and when he does he will return to his own faction.

They are so star crossed. They worked so well together when they both acted as neutrals (ignoring the gaslighting. Shhhh it's my sandbox now I do what I want) but that can't last and it's 😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺. Unless Starscream gets his head out of his tailpipe. Hence, I'm grabbing him by the throat and shoving him in the redemption bin. Somehow.

[lukedanger]

Replaying WotR with all the DLC, I forgot how full of shit Regill is about the rest of the Crusades.

What prompted this is his nonsense about Irabeth. He acts as if she had no achievements to her name so he can pretend that she's unqualified when she has a PTSD breakdown before Drezen - as if she had not gone through Kenabres, or hadn't rebuilt the Eagle Watch from scratch to the point where it's one of the most competent forces (more competent than the Hellknights, TBH: at least the Eagle Watch doesn't have to threaten every soldier with execution for the slightest infraction)

I mean look at it - 'her first serious challenge'? Is Hellknight intelligence so incompetent that you don't even know her career before returning to Mendev? Did you forget that she and Anevia rebuilt the Eagle Watch from scratch after uncovering Baphomet's infiltration? Or do you not know that Kenabres survived because Irabeth managed to weld together a cohesive fighting force at the Defender's Heart and that the plan to take back the Grey Garrison was entirely hers?

Irabeth is no wet-behind-the-ears recruit thrown into high command without being tested: she's a veteran commander who's been fighting the Worldwound longer than anyone in the tent besides Anevia and Queen Galfrey (whom the narrative also maligns, I'll get to that in a minute). Irabeth has been fighting for high stakes: Mendev dies if they fail. If the Hellknights' token expeditions die? They lose some lances, but none of their core territories are threatened and they can easily shrug it off because the Crusades are basically Avistan's dumping ground for undesirables anyways.

This is a perfect example of the sheer arrogance of the Hellknights. Especially since Regill admits that just a glimpse of what happens in the Lost Chapel is almost enough to make him puke. Irabeth lived it and watched good people die in a horrible manner and be transformed into monsters against their will.

Irabeth isn't a coward. She's dealing with unrecognzied PTSD given how fast the march on Drezen usually occurs after Lost Chapel, and it picked the absolute worst moment to manifest... especially if the KC is an incompetent leader who constantly berates her and makes her a scapegoat for other people's failures.

It's not like Irabeth is asking to be dismissed - if you warn her that you'll bench her, she's terrified of being left behind to be the one who gets to mourn everyone that dies. She's still in the fight, she's just conscious that the odds are against them after how badly the gargoyle ambush went.

Galfrey, as an aside, acts as a leader should: she works to reassure Irabeth and console her. Galfrey has suffered immensely under the pressure of defending Golarion from the Worldwound with basically no support (Avistan's nations more or less uses the Crusades as a way to dispose of undesirables) - she knows what Irabeth is feeling. And the narrative did Galfrey so dirty by not giving her more moments like this - Galfrey's presence should have been an auto-success for reassuring Irabeth even if the KC still got to do a reassurance option even if only to give Irabeth an extra and much-needed verbal hug.

It's telling how much the narrative had to bend over backwards to make the Hellknights seem competent rather than a bunch of arrogant pricks who are trying to take credit for holding back the Worldwound while offering little actually useful. I think the most useful thing they do in Act II is give you another option to get at the giants at Drezen, everything else is them either being counterproductive, needing the crusaders they sneer at to save their asses, or volunteering to be vescavor fodder because their egos wouldn't let them stay behind while those best equipped to tackle the threat deal with it... and get the credit.

[danwhobrowses]

5 Underrated Things or Tactics That May Aid Bell's Hells to Victory

Spoilers up to Campaign 3 Episode 116 below

Well Critters, it all comes down to this.

Vox Machina dismantled the Malleus Keep, killed Ozo (the Bozo) Kruft, and freed the Champion of Ravens which removed the tidal lock on Ruidus, and now the Mighty Nein have disintegrated the Weave Mind, completing essentially a full dismantling of the Kreviris Imperium, all of which quicker than I anticipated. All that's left is the Hallowed Cage, where Ludinus Da'leth and his inner circle are using his harness to try and fully destroy Liliana Temult. Bell's Hells begin a race against time to save her, but also a race to defeat Ludinus before he unleashes his intentions unto Exandria and its Pantheon with Predathos, and then decide for themselves what they do with the God Eater.

Suffice to say, and I dunno about everyone else but, I am terrified. I believe they can win but Ludinus is not to be underestimated, this second harness means he may be stronger - and he was already the strongest wizard alive - and have access to more powers compared to his simulacra, plus Predathos may come during or after this battle, which can put the Hells in a weakened state. Matt has likely prepared his best and worst for this final battle too, but the Hells aren't Lv. 20 combatants like the other groups; there's no 9th level spells, no Divine Intervention, and the group lost their cleric ~20 episodes back, so even though VM and the Nein were ultimately successful within 1-2 episodes having to use both of their auto-succeed Divine Interventions from their two clerics in the process, this is the battle. And with that is a ridiculous amount of tension for Ludinus and for what comes after. For all we know, the cast may've already recorded ahead enough to have finished the final fight, maybe even finished the campaign (though I hope not, partly because I don't want it to end yet but also I feel like the dawn of the new era should be explored regardless of what choice the Hells make, plus some characters could use a bit more resolution after the big fight and the pressure of stakes and time sensitivity have been alleviated) but for us it's a nervous wait, and a wonder of what can be done to win and what choice will be made to determine the future of Exandria, Ruidus, their faith and their people. So, this is my indulging into that first part, 5 lower-key things or tactics that might not have been initially thought of that could make things easier to defeat Ludinus.

Liliana, the Inner Circle, and the Arcane Battery Provided that the Hells make it in time to stop Liliana from being totally destroyed by the harness (which is very possible since Laudna does have that tracking spell on him since Aeor, it's all about speed and not running into enemies) she will still be without her magic to fight. Ludinus' inner circle holding her down is comprised of Reilorans but also other Ruidusborns, and that's something the Hells can expose. Liliana cannot fight, but Ruidusborns can take spell slots from each other, so Liliana and any KO'd Ruidusborns from the inner circle can be used as spell slot fuel for Imogen and Fearne. Ludinus also gave a 9-slot fully-charged Arcane Battery to the Hells in order to trigger Delilah within Laudna for his escape, the battery can help recharge Laudna's slots too which makes this tactic handy for the witches of the group.

Dunamancy One of Ludinus' most important tools for his plan has been Luxon Beacons, a device able to unravel even divine magic, but much like the Harness it can prove his undoing. Dunamancy hasn't been touched upon as much as early C3 hinted it could have, but for lack of a better phrase, the possibilities are still endless. The Hells have multiple Potions of Possibility at their disposal to aid with rolls, but they also were given a Sphere of Dunamantic Restoration by the Kryn, which will trigger the effects of a Short Rest and a health and spell slot recharge - which can be handy in a pinch and to reuse some once per short rest abilities. Ashton is the key factor though, I've mentioned it a few times already but we don't know if these items will behave differently with them, via their own internal dunamancy abilities. Given the unknown factor, that's why it's not deemed as much of a tactic as it is a Hail Mary, but it is one that could lead to Ludinus' own magic unraveling, and maybe even Predathos' too

The Whirling Dervish & Conditional Advantages In Vassalheim, Dorian received his family sword: Gambolcleft, the Vortex Blade. One of its yet to be used abilities involves a once a day repetitive use of striking an enemy, similar to how Ozo killed Vex, provided that they attack with Disadvantage. Dorian is already looking at a high attack roll given Gambolcleft's +3 to attack and hit rolls, and Master's Flourish means he doesn't have to use a Bardic Inspiration to stack a Blade Flourish (Defensive Flourish is probably best, the damage is also doubled by Gambolcleft), the only quibble is the disadvantage. Fortunately, most of the Hells have skills that can force Ludinus into conditions where attacks would do advantage on him: stunning and rendering him prone being most likely, but paralysis is possible if a Hold Person is successful. It would of course require his Legendary Resistances to be used up first, but if Ludinus gets stunned or knocked prone within Dorian's range, Gambolcleft could easily carve its way through him with continual hits, stacked potentially by Bless and Mark of the Messy End, for perpetual damage and make Dorian himself impossible to hit on his next turn. Stunning or Proning Ludinus also leaves Ludinus at the vicious mercy of the martial players, especially for conditions that auto-crit when hit.

The Hole (or the Bag of Holding) Occam's Razor. An old but gold tactic of the Hells could very easily be used against Ludinus too. The portable hole or the bag of holding are devoid of air, left in one long enough with it sealed would mean suffocation as have been the fate of many of the Hells' past opponents that they didn't have time to deal with. The Hole's downside is that a Strength check can lead to a creature forcing their way out, but the Hells do have plenty of skills that can impose disadvantage on Strength rolls and the aforementioned conditions could help that, Ashton's Hammer may also make it more difficult to unfold the Hole if its Immovable Rod is propped atop of it - but that'd be down to Matt's discretion. The Bag of Holding doesn't have the strength save, but it is smaller so it may not be able to fit him in it. I'm not sure if Ludinus can use Gate to escape either, dunno if that leads to the whole extradimensional rip thing that happens if you open one while in the other, but if he does it's a concentration spell so the Hells could just keep knocking him back from the other side, a bigger group of enemies in either also reduces the time needed before they suffocate.

The Harness and the One-Chance Polymorph Right now Ludinus is using a harness to destroy Liliana, comparing it to the one in Moleasmyr it'll potentially take about an hour to finish the process providing that this factor wasn't improved upon. However, removing magic within a being for a whole day only required a minute of contact in the Hells' one and maybe Ludinus', thus his creation and reason for long life and power can also be the key to his downfall. Holding Ludinus down for a minute is of course not as easy as it sounds but that's where Polymorph can come in. Polymorph lasts at most an hour, so as long as Ludinus is changed into a creature that can easily be restrained they can use the harness on it and remove Ludinus of his entire arsenal in order to finish him off without the risk of his high level spells. The tricky part is getting Polymorph to succeed; Wisdom is after all a Wizard's bread and butter, but there is a single gambit that could make it work. It requires all Legendary Resistances to be gone of course, and for Laudna and Braius to be conscious; Braius has a once per long rest ability to change a Wisdom saving throw to a Charisma one, which he used to allow Dorian to succeed in making the Dominox dance in the live show, Laudna's Void Puppet can force disadvantage on saves to those within 5ft of it, which will negate his magical resistance to just a clean roll. Orym can also use Hex to impose a disadvantage, which may be able to stack, but this would also hinge on Ludinus' charisma not being super high and if the Polymorph fails once it will likely not be able to be tried again.

The fight won't be easy, but there are avenues that can make it less dangerous, a strategy is very much required for such a foe. All the while my strategy remains keeping up the prayer circle. Deep breaths everyone.

[comradeboyhalo]

i really cant stress enough how much i love when qsmp allows for player innovation. my favorite has still been when everything was designed for etoiles to be the only one to beat the code and its OP sword, but then bad designed a backpack with auto-refill and magnets to allow a weapon to always be in his hand. and it worked, while not compromising the story in any way.

i really hope that players continue to come up with ways to beat the eye workers after this. i hope that the egg carton works well, and any nerf the admins find for it is either justifiable in story, or due to bad's own failing. it makes watching qsmp so much more entertaining, because the stakes feel a lot more real! and when the players fail, it's ten times more devastating.

[rinmession]

Feeling a little sad for Rozenmarine in Lebkuchen/Freya's endings ngl. Spoilers and rambling below:

Of course to start, Not Being Gruesomely Sacrificed is always for the best in the scheme of things, but also: imagine living so much of your life with fate as a compass, being so thrilled to be with your soulmate after years of dreaming about her to the point you know her intimately without having met her, guiding her through a dream you're willing to die for-- and then out of nowhere, in only a week's time, that fate, that dream, is totally averted at the last minute.

Either Elise chooses someone else to die in Rozenmarine's stead and leaves to become a depressed aristocrat, is burned at the stake, or she abandons the ritual altogether and leaves Kieferberg with someone else, and in any case Rozenmarine's whole raison d'etre is gone... I wonder if it's almost worse on a personal level for her if Elise rejects the ritual and chooses someone else, because then what was Rozenmarine even there for? To give Elise the push she needed to leave I suppose, but then what's Rozenmarine to do with her life afterwards? Elise has a different soulmate who she wants to fulfill her dreams with, not her, and the person Rozenmarine says makes her whole is gone.

She says she's not necessarily Elise's soulmate even if Elise is hers, and that fate is something than can be changed, so she's certainly aware of other possibilities, but I wonder if she knows what to do with herself if the fate she's been chasing is so directly rejected.

Even with her happy ending in Star-Crossed where Elise says Rozenmarine 'broke free of her fate' after abandoning the ritual, she feels the need to go out on her own for two and some years and 'grow', learning new skills and taking on a whole career as a chimney sweep before she's ready to meet Elise. It's a bit vague, but she's certainly lost without the same fate that chained her, and needs to find new grounding for herself. As Elise needs to go out and find the world outside Kieferberg, Rozenmarine must go out and find things for herself that aren't Elise before she's ready for their new beginning. Even though she's with Elise as she's always wanted, this wasn't the plan! How much more disruptive it must be to lose that sense of fate without Elise, without any purpose or person to rebuild herself for.

And just to twist the knife a bit, Rozenmarine in her own route--as happy as she is to be with Elise at last--expresses her remorse that she couldn't have come to Kieferberg earlier, or even been born there to make memories with Elise and feel like she's part of a community. She pointedly compares herself to Leb and Freya here, which makes me wonder how that envy must extend to endings where they're the apple of Elise's eye. How much more bittersweet an experience it must be to only have that happiness for a week before it's snatched from your hands...

So what then becomes of her then when she doesn't show up at all in Leb or Freya's endings (besides, strangely silent, in the background of Auto-da-Fe), when she doesn't have Elise as a tether? Lebkuchen and Freya both appear in one another's happy endings at least, so I think it's intentional. Lost without fate and without her soulmate to aim towards, perhaps it's too much for her to stay on in Kieferberg without Elise after having reached the end of the line on her star-lit path, and so she returns to her nomadic life as a now aimless wanderer, knowing nothing else. Maybe as Elise could never feel like a part of Kieferberg without Holle, Rozenmarine cannot feel a part of them without Elise. More hopefully, perhaps her experience in Kieferberg allows her to reinvent herself as in Star-Crossed, however hard the heartbreak. Rozenmarine characterizes the scales of her treasured pinecone in one of her dates as all part of her path to Elise, but maybe in that same metaphor there's a dot of hope for her she says herself, and there are more scales for her yet to find...