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[reallytoosublime]

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[youtubemarketing1234]

Welcome to the GPT Store, where innovation meets imagination! Nestled within the bustling heart of the digital marketplace, the GPT Store stands as a beacon of cutting-edge technology and limitless creativity. As you step into our virtual emporium, prepare to embark on an extraordinary journey through the realms of artificial intelligence and linguistic prowess.

With its sleek interface and intuitive design, the GPT Store offers a seamless shopping experience like no other. Whether you're a seasoned developer, a curious enthusiast, or an avid explorer of the digital frontier, there's something here for everyone. From advanced AI models to bespoke language tools, our vast collection caters to a diverse array of needs and interests.

At the heart of the GPT Store lies our flagship product: the renowned GPT series. Powered by state-of-the-art deep learning algorithms and trained on vast swathes of data, these AI models represent the pinnacle of natural language processing. Whether you seek assistance with writing, coding, or creative endeavors, our GPT models are your ultimate companions in unlocking new possibilities.

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[th3mrskory]

Chapter 4: Threads of Connection

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: none. Just fluff, but the slow burn is starting to burn a little faster.

Word count: 6.4k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

______________________________________________________________

The following days settled into an uneasy rhythm. Evelyn threw herself into her crocheting, the repetitive motion of her hands calming the constant churn of her thoughts. She was determined to keep herself busy, to avoid thinking too much about the whispers in town or the way Logan’s absence made her cottage feel just a little emptier.

She hadn’t seen him since that evening when he’d helped her unload the truck. He’d left with the scarf folded neatly under his arm, his expression as reserved as ever. She wondered if he’d worn it, but the thought made her feel foolish. It was just a scarf—a small thank-you for everything he’d done. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything more.

And yet, she found herself glancing toward the driveway more often than she cared to admit, listening for the rumble of his truck.

One brisk morning, as she worked on a new shawl by the fire, the sharp ring of the landline broke the quiet. Startled, Evelyn set down her work and crossed the room, the cold wooden floorboards creaking underfoot.

“Hello?” she said, tucking the receiver against her ear.

“Evelyn, it’s Nancy,” came the familiar voice of the general store clerk. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m good,” she replied, though the slight hesitation in her voice betrayed her surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Nancy began, her tone warm but laced with curiosity. “I just wanted to let you know we’re hosting a little community potluck this weekend. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a good way to meet more folks around town.”

Evelyn hesitated, her fingers curling around the phone cord. “That sounds nice, but I’m not sure...”

“Oh, nonsense!” Nancy interrupted. “You’re practically one of us now. Besides, everyone’s dying to see more of those beautiful crochet pieces of yours. You could set up a little table if you’d like.”

The offer was tempting, but the thought of stepping further into the spotlight made her stomach twist. Still, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

“Good! Let me know if you need help with anything,” Nancy said brightly before hanging up.

The idea of the potluck lingered with her all day. Part of her wanted to decline, to keep her head down and focus on her quiet life at the cottage. But another part—the part that had started to feel restless—urged her to go.

The decision was made for her when Logan showed up later that afternoon, the scarf she’d given him looped loosely around his neck.

“Roof’s holding up,” he said, nodding toward the cottage as he stepped out of his truck.

“That’s good to hear,” she replied, surprised to see him. “What brings you by?”

“Figured you might need more firewood,” he said simply, gesturing to the pile in his truck bed.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as a small smile tugged at her lips. “You really like playing the role of the mysterious handyman, don’t you?”

Logan huffed softly, the sound almost like a laugh. “Guess I do.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she said, stepping down from the porch and brushing her hands against her jeans. “It’s not fair that you’re doing this for free. I should be buying firewood from the logging company anyway.”

His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned against the truck bed. “You think I’m charging you for this?”

She shrugged, her tone light but insistent. “Well, you should be. It’s your time, your effort—”

“Save your money,” Logan cut in, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve got enough to deal with fixing up that place. Firewood’s covered.”

As he unloaded the firewood, she found herself studying him—his steady movements, the quiet focus in his expression.

“Have you heard about the potluck this weekend?” she asked, leaning against the porch railing.

He glanced at her briefly. “Yeah. Town does it every year.”

“You going?”

“Not my thing,” he replied, stacking the last piece of wood neatly by the side of the porch.

“I figured,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smile. “I might go. Nancy invited me.”

Logan straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You should. Good way to meet people.”

She tilted her head, her gaze lingering on him. “You don’t seem like the type who enjoys meeting people.”

“Don’t need to,” he said simply. “I’ve got enough to keep me busy.”

Her smile softened. “Well, thanks for the firewood. And for the advice.”

He nodded, tugging the scarf a little tighter around his neck as he turned toward the truck.

“Logan,” she called after him.

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Have you been wearing that scarf?”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through his usual stoicism. “Keeps the cold out,” he said before climbing into the truck.

As he drove away, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel that Logan’s quiet presence had settled into her life in a way she hadn’t expected.

By the time Saturday evening arrived, the small church hall was brimming with life. Warm light spilled through the frosted windows, illuminating rows of folding tables laden with dishes of every kind—casseroles, pies, salads, and baskets of fresh rolls. The air was filled with laughter, the clink of serving spoons, and the faint hum of holiday tunes playing from an old radio in the corner.

Evelyn stepped through the double doors, clutching a tin of cookies she’d baked earlier that day, along with a neatly folded bundle of her crochet pieces. She had debated leaving the scarves and shawls at home, but Nancy had been insistent about showcasing her work.

The room buzzed with energy, and though she’d prepared herself for the crowds, the sight of so many familiar faces still made her hesitate. She stood in the entryway for a moment, letting the warmth of the gathering wash over her before stepping inside.

“Evelyn!” Nancy’s cheerful voice rang out, cutting through her uncertainty. The older woman bustled over, her apron slightly askew but her smile as welcoming as ever. “You made it!”

“I did,” Evelyn replied with a small smile, holding up the tin. “And I brought these.”

Nancy peeked under the lid and let out an approving hum. “Chocolate chip. You’re going to fit in just fine here, dear.” She patted Evelyn on the arm and then noticed the bundle tucked under her other arm. “And what’s this?”

“Just a few scarves, shawls,” Evelyn said, almost apologetically. “I wasn’t sure—”

“They’re beautiful!” Nancy interrupted, already unfolding a scarf to admire the intricate stitching. “Come, let’s put these on display.”

Before Evelyn could protest, Nancy had whisked her toward a table near the corner, where a few other crafts were already on display—knitted mittens, jars of homemade jam, and intricately carved wooden figurines.

“You’ll have to tell me how you do this,” Nancy said as she spread the scarves and shawls out carefully. “You’ve got such a delicate touch.”

Pastor Edwards appeared by their side, his broad smile and kindly demeanor putting Evelyn at ease. “Miss Evelyn, it’s good to see you here tonight,” he said warmly. “I’ve heard nothing but praise about your work. You’re quite the talent.”

Evelyn flushed under the compliment. “That’s kind of you to say, Pastor. I’m just happy to contribute.”

“Contribute, indeed,” he said, picking up a soft blue scarf. “This is exquisite. If my wife sees it, I imagine I’ll be making a purchase before the evening’s through.”

Before Evelyn could respond, a familiar voice chimed in behind her. “Oh, Evelyn’s quite the artist, isn’t she?” Clara’s smile was all charm, but her tone carried an edge that Evelyn didn’t miss. “You’ve certainly been keeping busy. Crocheting and baking… and I’m sure there are other things taking up your time.”

Evelyn turned to face Clara, her expression neutral but her eyes steady. “I try to stay productive. And it’s nice to see the community appreciates the effort.” Her tone was light but unmistakably pointed, earning a small, approving glance from Nancy.

“Well,” Clara said, her smile tightening, “it’s good you’re settling in.”

Evelyn offered her a faint smile in return. “Thanks. I’ve been very lucky to have supportive people around me.”

Clara opened her mouth to reply, but Pastor Edwards intervened, his jovial voice cutting through any tension. “Now, Clara, if you’re here to chat, you’ll have to wait your turn. Evelyn’s become quite popular, and I imagine half the room will want one of these scarves before the night is out.”

Clara’s smile faltered, though she quickly recovered. “Well, they’re lovely. You’ve certainly made quite the impression around here. People have been talking about you nonstop.”

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her expression remaining polite. “ I’ve noticed people talk about a lot of things around here.” She paused, letting the words linger. “Some things just don’t stick.”

Before Clara could respond, Nancy broke in with a cheerful laugh. “Well, I think it’s clear Evelyn is going to stick—and I, for one, am thrilled about it. Now, Clara, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got some cookies to set out.”

As Nancy steered Evelyn toward the dessert table, Evelyn caught a glimpse of Clara’s tight-lipped smile and couldn’t help the quiet satisfaction blooming in her chest.

“You handled that well,” Nancy murmured with a conspiratorial wink.

“I’m learning,” Evelyn replied softly, her gaze sweeping the hall. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel completely at ease in the town, but moments like these felt like progress.

As the evening wore on, Evelyn began to relax. The warmth of the gathering, coupled with the genuine interest people showed in her work, made it easier to forget her nerves. Several women approached her table, admiring the scarves and shawls.

“These are beautiful,” one woman said, running her fingers over a soft, pale-blue scarf. “Do you take commissions?”

Evelyn blinked in surprise. “I haven’t, but... I guess I could.”

“You should,” the woman insisted with a warm smile. “It’s clear you’ve got a gift.”

The compliments buoyed her spirits, and for the first time since arriving in Clearwater, she felt like she was truly beginning to belong.

It was later in the evening, as the crowd began to thin, that she spotted him.

Logan stood near the entrance, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark wahs jeans, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He looked out of place, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see, but he didn’t move to leave.

Their eyes met briefly, and she gave him a small wave. To her surprise, he nodded and began making his way over.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she said as he reached her table.

“Didn’t plan on it,” he replied, his voice low. “But I figured someone had to make sure you didn’t scare the locals.”

She snorted softly, shaking her head. “Very funny. What brought you out, really?”

Logan shrugged, glancing around the room. “Nancy wouldn’t stop bugging me.”

“Sounds about right,” she replied with a grin. “Well, you’re just in time to try my cookies. I expect glowing reviews.”

He raised an eyebrow but reached for one, taking a bite without much ceremony.

“They’re good,” he said after a moment, his tone almost begrudging.

“High praise coming from you,” she teased, her smile widening.

Logan huffed softly, his version of a laugh, and leaned against the table.

Their conversation was interrupted by a group of men from the logging company, who called Logan over with hearty waves and loud voices. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Evelyn briefly, before muttering, “I’ll be back.”

As he joined the group, Evelyn watched him with growing curiosity. There was something about the way he carried himself—reserved, almost guarded—that made her wonder what had shaped him into the man he was.

The men greeted him with playful jabs and laughter. “Didn’t think we’d see you here, Howlett,” one of them said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Guess miracles do happen,” another quipped, earning a round of chuckles.

Logan shrugged off their comments, his expression remaining stoic. “You girls done gossiping, or you need more time?”

The men roared with laughter, one of them shaking his head. “Alright, alright. We’ll leave you to it.”

Nancy appeared , her smile knowing. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“What is?” Evelyn asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, nothing,” Nancy said airily. “Just that he has never come to one of  these things. And yet, here he is.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, leaving Evelyn to mull over her words.

When the evening wound down and the tables were being cleared, Logan reappeared at her side.

“Ready to head out?” he asked, his tone casual.

“You offering me a ride?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Truck’s warm, and it’s a cold night,” he replied simply.

She smiled, grabbing her tin of cookies and scarf. “Alright. Let me grab my coat.”

The drive back to the cottage was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between them.

“Thanks for coming,” she said after a while, her voice soft. “Even if Nancy twisted your arm.”

Logan glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t need much twisting.”

Her heart gave a small, unexpected flutter at his words, but she pushed the feeling aside.

When they reached the cottage, she hesitated before opening the door. “You want to come in for a cup of tea? There are still cookies left.”

Logan studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Sure.”

Inside, the fire crackled softly as they sat at the small kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea in hand. Logan didn’t say much, but his presence filled the room in a way that felt strangely comforting.

“This place suits you,” he said finally, his voice low.

Evelyn glanced around the cozy, imperfect kitchen and smiled. “It’s starting to feel like home.”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady. “That’s good.”

The tea had long gone cold in their cups, but neither of them seemed to notice. Logan leaned back slightly in his chair, his arms resting on the sides, his gaze fixed somewhere between her and the crackling fire.

“It’s quiet out here,” he said after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, almost contemplative.

“That’s why I picked it,” she replied, brushing her fingers along the rim of her mug. “I needed quiet. Too much noise back… before.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to her, the unspoken weight of her words hanging in the air. He didn’t press, but there was a softness in his expression, a quiet patience that made her want to say more.

“I guess I was running,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not sure what from.”

Logan nodded slowly, as if he understood, though he didn’t offer any platitudes. He rarely did. That was one of the things she appreciated about him—he listened without feeling the need to fill the spaces between words.

The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his face and the warmth in his otherwise stoic eyes. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled at her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

And maybe it was the intimacy of the moment, or the fact that the world outside the cottage felt so far away, but when he leaned forward slightly, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments, she didn’t pull away.

Until she did.

“Logan,” she said softly, her voice trembling as she pressed her hands to the edge of the table. “I can’t.”

He froze, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly. Then, he leaned back, his movements deliberate and measured. “Sorry,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to his mug.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said quickly, her chest tightening. “It’s not… it’s not you. I just—” She shook her head, struggling to find the right words. “I can’t.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he nodded once, his face unreadable once more. “I get it,” he said simply, though his tone carried an edge of something she couldn’t quite place—hurt? Frustration?

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. Evelyn felt a pang of regret, not for stopping him, but for the way she’d stumbled over her own emotions.

“It’s late,” he said finally, standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “I should go.”

“Logan—” she started, but he cut her off with a small shake of his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice steady, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, the sound of his truck rumbling down the driveway leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She sat there for a long time after he left, staring into the dying embers of the fire. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she couldn’t ignore the fear that had flared in her chest at the thought of letting someone get too close again.

Not yet.

The warmth of the fire had long faded, leaving the room in a quiet chill that mirrored the hollow ache in her chest. She sat unmoving, staring at the door as though expecting Logan to walk back through it. He wouldn’t, of course. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

Her hands clutched the cold mug of tea as if it could somehow tether her to the present, but her mind kept spiraling backward. To the way he’d leaned forward, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as his hand hesitated just inches from hers. And then, to the look on his face when she pulled away—the quiet resignation in his nod, the way he’d left with barely a word.

Why had she stopped him?

The answer rose immediately, unbidden: Because you’re terrified.

The words echoed in her mind, harsher than she’d meant them to be. She hadn’t lied, though. She couldn’t—not yet.

The thought sent a pang of guilt through her chest. Logan didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her fears. He’d done nothing but offer her kindness and quiet support, showing up time and again without asking for anything in return. And yet, when the moment came, she’d pulled back.

The embers in the hearth cracked softly, breaking the stillness. She stared into the glowing coals, her thoughts swirling. Maybe she should’ve said more, explained herself better. But how could she, when she wasn’t sure she fully understood her own hesitation?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t that broken girl anymore—the one who’d been left behind, who’d questioned her worth because someone else had decided she wasn’t enough. She was stronger now, wasn’t she?

And yet, as the hours stretched on, the emptiness in the cottage seemed to grow. The walls she’d once found solace in now felt suffocating, pressing in on all sides.

For the first time in weeks, Evelyn found herself questioning whether she truly belonged here.

Logan gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles standing out stark against the calloused skin of his hands. The truck rumbled down the narrow road, the headlights slicing through the darkness, but his mind was miles away—still back in her kitchen, caught in the flicker of firelight and the sound of her voice trembling with hesitation.

He let out a low growl, more at himself than anything else. He should’ve seen it coming—the hesitation in her eyes, the way her shoulders had tensed as he leaned in. She wasn’t ready, and he’d known that. Hell, he’d known it from the start.

But still, he’d pushed.

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, shifting gears with a sharp motion.

Logan exhaled sharply, rolling the window down just enough to let the cold night air sting his face. He needed the sharpness, the bite, to cut through the frustration boiling in his chest. Not at her—never at her—but at himself.

She’d pulled back. And why wouldn’t she? She didn’t owe him anything, least of all her trust. Hell, he was the one who’d crossed the line, who’d let himself get too comfortable in the space she’d carved out of her pain.

But still…

The memory of her expression lingered, the way her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Her voice, trembling with apology, had cut deeper than she probably realized.

“Logan, I can’t.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. He knew she didn’t mean them as a rejection—not entirely. But they still lodged themselves in his chest, heavy and unyielding.

But the truth clawed at him, raw and undeniable. He didn’t want to walk away. Not from her. Not from the moments of quiet connection that seemed to bloom between them, unspoken but palpable.

The truck hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present. He slowed down, the soft crunch of gravel under the tires filling the silence.

What the hell was he thinking? He was no good at this—not at getting close, not at navigating the messiness of human connection. It was safer to stay on the periphery, to keep people at arm’s length.

And yet, when he thought of her, sitting alone in that drafty little cottage, her hands twisting together as she struggled to find the right words...

He shook his head, pulling the truck to a stop at the edge of the woods. The engine idled softly as he leaned back against the seat, staring into the darkness.

Maybe he’d screwed things up. Maybe it was too late. But for the first time in years, the thought of walking away felt wrong—like turning his back on something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

If she needed time, he’d give it to her. If she needed space, he’d take a step back. But he wasn’t walking away—not yet.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. She tossed and turned, her thoughts refusing to settle, until finally, as dawn broke, she gave up entirely.

The cold of the morning didn’t ease the knot in her chest. It stayed there, heavy and unwelcome, as she moved through the motions of her day. Even crocheting, her usual refuge, didn’t bring the same comfort it usually did.

By mid-afternoon, the cottage felt suffocating, the silence pressing down on her. The new landline sat on the counter, its presence a reminder that she wasn’t as cut off from the world as she sometimes wanted to believe. Her fingers hovered over the receiver, debating.

She hadn’t called her best friend in weeks—not since the move. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because explaining everything felt like dredging up a wound she was trying to let scar over. But now, with the weight of her encounter with Logan still fresh, she needed someone to talk to.

Finally, she dialed.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice picked up.

“Evie!” Martha’s voice burst through the receiver, warm and animated. “I was starting to think you’d gone off the grid for good.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her grip tightening on the phone. “Hey. Sorry for disappearing. It’s been… a lot.”

“Of course it has,” her friend replied, her tone softening. “How’s the new place? Are you settling in?”

“It’s… okay,” Evelyn said carefully, turning to look out the window. “The town’s small, the cottage is old, but it’s quiet. Peaceful, mostly.”

Her friend hummed thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement. What’s going on?”

Evelyn hesitated, chewing on her lip. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to put words to the tangled mess in her chest. But she’d called for a reason.

“There’s someone here,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s been helping me with repairs around the cottage. He’s… nice. Quiet. A little rough around the edges.”

“And?” her friend prompted, sensing there was more.

“And last night… something almost happened.”

The line went quiet for a moment before Martha spoke again. “Define ‘something.’”

“He tried to kiss me,” Evelyn admitted, her voice trembling. “And I—I pulled away. I told him I couldn’t.”

“Oh, hon,” her friend said, her voice filled with understanding. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I feel awful. He looked so hurt, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it. I thought I was ready to move on, but when it came down to it…”

“It’s okay,” her friend said gently. “You’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to rush into anything you’re not ready for.”

“But what if I hurt him?” Evelyn asked, her voice breaking. “He’s done so much for me, and the last thing I want is to make him feel like he’s not enough. He is. It’s me. I’m the one who’s not ready.”

“Then you need to be honest with him,” her friend said firmly. “You don’t owe anyone your heart if you’re not ready to give it, but you do owe them honesty. If he’s as kind as you say he is, he’ll understand.”

Evelyn nodded, even though her friend couldn’t see her. “I don’t know if I can explain it to him without messing it up even more.”

“You can,” her friend assured her. “And if he’s worth it—and it sounds like he is—he’ll wait. But you have to let yourself believe you’re worth it, too.”

The words hit her like a jolt, her chest tightening with emotion. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her grip on the phone loosening. “I mean it.”

“Anytime,” Martha replied. “And hey—don’t be a stranger, okay? Call me when you need to talk. Even if it’s just to complain about the weather.”

Evelyn laughed weakly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I will. I promise.”

When the call ended, the cottage felt a little less oppressive. She sat by the window for a while, staring out at the forest and letting her friend’s words settle in.

Honesty.

It wasn’t easy, but it was a start.

The tension between her and Logan lingered like an unfinished conversation, heavy and unspoken. Her best friend’s words played on a loop in her mind: Be honest. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand.

Honesty. It seemed so simple in theory, but the thought of baring her tangled emotions to Logan made her palms sweat. Still, she couldn’t shake the image of his hurt expression as he’d walked out of her cottage. She owed him more than that.

Determined to make things right, Evelyn bundled up against the crisp morning air and made her way to his cabin. The drive was short, the road flanked by tall evergreens that whispered in the wind. When she arrived, she hesitated at his door, her heart thudding in her chest as she raised her hand to knock.

No answer.

She frowned, glancing around. His truck wasn’t in the driveway, and the quiet that surrounded the cabin felt almost eerie. With a sigh, she stepped back and considered her options.

If he wasn’t home, maybe he was at work.

The idea of going to the logging company made her stomach twist, but she couldn’t just leave things unresolved. Squaring her shoulders, she got back into her truck and headed toward town.

The logging company was a modest operation, its main office a squat building with peeling paint and a few trucks parked out front. The hum of chainsaws and the distant crash of falling trees echoed from the forest behind it, a reminder of the hard, unrelenting labor that sustained the town.

Evelyn parked and stepped out, her breath visible in the chilly air. As she approached the office, a group of men lingered near the door, laughing and chatting as they smoked their lunch break cigarettes.

When they noticed her, the conversation stopped.

“You’re looking for Logan, aren’t you?” a man called out, his voice tinged with amusement but not unkind.

Evelyn hesitated. “Yes. Do you know where he is?”

Another man nearby chuckled, tipping his hat. “Down in the forest, working on that west patch. Lunch break came and went, but he didn’t stick around.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing toward the trail they pointed out.

As she turned to leave, one of them called after her, “Don’t let him scare you off, miss. He means well.”

She smiled faintly, their words settling uneasily in her chest. Did they all know how much Logan kept to himself? Did they see through the walls he put up as easily as she did?

The forest was quieter here, the roar of machinery fading into the background as Evelyn followed the trail. Her boots crunched over fallen leaves, and her breath puffed out in small clouds as she walked deeper into the woods.

She found him near the edge of a clearing, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows despite the cold. He stood by a felled tree, his hands gripping the handle of an ax. His movements were methodical, each swing splitting the wood with a resounding crack that echoed through the trees.

For a moment, she hesitated, watching him from a distance. There was something raw about the way he worked, as if he were trying to exorcise something he couldn’t put into words.

Finally, she stepped closer, her voice soft but steady. “Logan.”

He froze mid-swing, the ax hovering above the log for a heartbeat before he brought it down with one last, decisive crack. Turning, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his gaze sharp as it landed on her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone more curious than curt.

She took a deep breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket. “I wanted to talk to you. About the other night.”

Logan’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the ax tightened. “Nothing to talk about,” he said, turning back to the woodpile.

“Yes, there is,” she insisted, stepping closer. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his voice low as he picked up another log.

Evelyn shook her head. “I do. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Logan, and I just… I feel like I let you down.

He paused, his shoulders stiffening as he slowly set the log down. When he turned to face her again, there was something guarded in his eyes, like he was bracing himself for a blow.

He crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “You didn’t let me down. I pushed too hard. That’s on me.”

“It’s not just about that,” she said quickly. “It’s about me, and the way I’ve been holding back. You’ve given me so much patience, so much understanding, and I’ve been too scared to give anything back.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t interrupt her.

She took a shaky breath, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I’m not ready, Logan. Not yet. But I don’t want you to think that what happened—or didn’t happen—was because of you. It’s not. You’re—” She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “You’re more than I know how to handle right now.”

His expression softened, just slightly. “You don’t need to say anything you’re not ready for.”

“But I do,” she insisted. “Because I don’t want you to think I’m running away from you. I’m not.”

Logan let out a slow breath, his arms dropping to his sides. “I don’t want to push you, Evelyn. But I’m not going to pretend it’s easy to see you pulling away.”

Her chest tightened, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through her defenses.

“I’m not pulling away,” she said softly. “I’m trying to move closer—I just don’t know how yet.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Then, slowly, Logan stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

“When you figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle, “I’ll be here.”

Evelyn felt the weight in her chest begin to lift, just slightly. She nodded, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “Thank you.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on hers for a moment before he reached down to pick up the ax. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the forest. “I’ll walk you back.”

They fell into step together, the quiet of the forest wrapping around them like a protective shield. The earlier tension between them still lingered, but now it felt lighter, easier.

As they reached the edge of the lot, Evelyn’s truck came into view. He opened the door for her, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for walking me back,” she said, her voice softer now.

He nodded, leaning against the truck for a moment. “Anytime.”

Her hesitation was barely noticeable, but he caught it as she turned slightly toward him. “Logan,” she began, her tone unsure.

He straightened, his gaze steady on hers.

“Would you—” She cleared her throat, mustering her nerve. “Would you want to have dinner at my place later this week? As a thank-you for... everything.”

Logan raised a brow, his expression unreadable for a beat. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, feeling the words spill out. “Just food. You’ve done a lot for me, and I’d like to repay you.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Alright. What day?”

“Friday?” she offered, a little too quickly.

He gave a short nod. “That works.”

With that, he stepped back, watching as she climbed into the truck. Once she was gone, the vehicle rumbling down the dirt road, Logan exhaled deeply and turned back toward the group.

The crew had been waiting, their expressions ripe with mischief.

“Well, well,well, look at you, playing the gentleman.”, said Rick.

Logan shot him a warning look, but Rick just smirked, undeterred. “We’re just saying, Logan—if this keeps up, don’t forget to send us invites to the wedding.”

“I don’t want to hear a single comment,” Logan muttered, his voice low but edged.

Pete smirked. “Sure thing. But, uh, you might want to remind us if it’s going to be a spring or summer wedding. Just so we can plan accordingly.”

Logan ran a hand over his face, clearly done with their antics. “You’re all idiots,” he muttered, heading toward the stack of logs waiting for him.

“Hey, just saying, she seems nice,” Rick added, chuckling as Logan passed. “Hope you don’t mess it up.”

Logan ignored the laughter trailing behind him, focusing on the rhythm of his boots crunching over the gravel. His crew meant well—hell, he knew they did—but the teasing felt sharper than usual. Maybe because a small part of him wondered if they were right to joke. What if he did mess it up?

Reaching the worksite, he gripped the handle of the ax tighter than necessary and brought it down against the first log with a force that sent splinters flying. The physicality of the work grounded him, drowning out the echo of her voice from earlier: Would you want to have dinner at my place later this week?

For a man like Logan, used to solitude and simplicity, her tentative offer shouldn’t have stirred much. But it did. The vulnerability in her tone lingered, wrapping itself around him like a thread he didn’t know how to untangle.

Friday. Dinner.

It wasn’t a date. Not really. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the thought of sitting across from her in that warm, firelit cottage made something in his chest tighten.

Meanwhile, back at the cottage, Evelyn stood by her kitchen window, staring out at the fading light. The quiet wasn’t as oppressive as it had been before, but tonight, it carried a new kind of weight.

She ran a hand over the edge of the counter, her thoughts flickering back to the way Logan had looked at her. There was something steady about him, something grounding, but it was also unsettling. She’d built walls to keep herself safe, yet somehow, he was finding ways through without even trying.

Her fingers traced a threadbare potholder hanging near the stove. She caught her reflection in the window—flushed cheeks, slightly furrowed brow—and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Friday. Dinner.

She wanted it to be simple, to be just a thank-you for everything Logan had done. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

Turning from the window, she glanced at the half-finished crochet project on the armchair by the fire. Her hands itched to pick it up, to lose herself in the comfort of routine, but her thoughts stayed stubbornly on Logan. On the way his gaze softened, just slightly, whenever he spoke to her. On the quiet strength he carried, like it cost him nothing to give.

The fire crackled softly, and she found herself whispering to the empty room, “Don’t screw this up.”

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, the worksite had quieted. Logan leaned against the bed of his truck, watching the forest line shift into darker shades of green. His crew had called it a day, leaving him with his thoughts and the steady ache in his arms from hours of splitting wood.

He glanced at the scarf looped loosely around his neck, its soft wool a stark contrast to the roughness of his flannel jacket. It wasn’t something he would’ve picked for himself, but he hadn’t taken it off since she’d given it to him.

Shaking his head, he climbed into the truck, the engine rumbling to life. As he turned onto the road leading away from the site, the same thought circled back in his mind:

Don’t mess it up.

Chapter 3

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls @britttzy267 @aliensfeltmyjoy

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[ianbeck]

Title: “Sleeping Bag Envy”

Scene: Teachers’ Lounge at U.A. High School. Mr. Aizawa is sprawled out in his signature yellow fluffy sleeping bag, sipping tea lazily. All Might is seated across from him, trying to mask his jealousy. The atmosphere is casual, but there’s an underlying tension over the ridiculous situation.

Aizawa (yawning and stretching within the confines of his sleeping bag):*

“Ahh… Nothing beats a good nap in my yellow fluffy sleeping bag. It’s like being hugged by a cloud, wrapped in pure comfort. You know, All Might, the softness is unparalleled. You wouldn’t understand.”

All Might (struggling to maintain his smile, his fists clenching slightly):

“Oh, I see, Aizawa! Always one to… indulge in the finer things in life, eh?” (laughs awkwardly) “A sleeping bag… that luxurious. Who would’ve thought?”

Aizawa (smirking, obviously enjoying All Might’s discomfort):

“It’s not just any sleeping bag. This baby is made from the finest fibers, meticulously woven for optimal coziness. Look at it. Look at the shine! It’s almost… silky to the touch.” (Aizawa slowly rubs the inside of the bag as if demonstrating) “Ever had anything so soft, All Might?”

All Might (clearly getting flustered, voice raising slightly):

“I—I’ve had many soft things, thank you very much!” (pauses, lowering his voice) “But… never anything quite like that. How much did it cost? Surely, I could afford one too.”

Aizawa (chuckling, eyes half-lidded):

“Ah, but it’s not about the money. It’s about… exclusivity. This is custom-made. You can’t just stroll into a store and pick one up. It’s been tailored… to my exact needs.”

All Might (getting more frustrated, his eyes narrowing):

“Tailored, huh? What, did they measure your… whole body?” (grits his teeth, trying to maintain composure) “Does it come with extra room for all that… attitude of yours?”

Aizawa (laughing softly, unzipping the sleeping bag just a little, showing how spacious it is inside):

“Actually, it does. Plenty of room for… stretching out. You know, after a long day of hero work, it’s nice to just… slide in. The feeling is… unmatched.”

All Might (blushing slightly but trying to hide it, crossing his arms):

“Slide in, huh? Sounds comfortable. Maybe I should try it out. Just, you know, for research purposes. Can’t let one of my fellow heroes have all the luxury!”

Aizawa (raising an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look):

“Research purposes, huh? Sure. You could try it, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle it. It’s… a little too cozy. Wouldn’t want you to get stuck in here.”

All Might (standing up, face red, clearly trying to maintain his pride):

“Stuck?! I— I’m All Might! I can handle anything! Just let me…” (pauses, awkwardly realizing the situation he’s putting himself in) “Besides, how soft could it really be?”

Aizawa (unzipping the sleeping bag all the way, laying it open, smirking):

“Come on then. See for yourself. But be warned… once you’re in, you may never want to leave.”

All Might (staring down at the inviting, plush interior of the bag, suddenly very self-conscious):

“I—I mean, well… maybe… maybe next time. I should really—uh—grade some papers!” (turns to leave quickly, clearly flustered)

Aizawa (closing his eyes with a satisfied grin, calling out after him):

“Sure, All Might. Anytime you want to… slide in, just let me know.”

End scene.

PICTURE AND SCRIPT WAS MADE WITH CHATGPT.

[xylophonetangerine]

ChatGPT does not "use" water, it goes back after it's been used for cooling. My new tech start-up aims to change this. We will be leveraging our insane overvaluation to use VC money to electrolyse 1 L of water every time someone sends a query to ChatGPT and storing the resulting gases in huge underground containers to permanently remove them from the water cycle.

[mineonmain]

A concise (and biased) summary of GMMTV 2025 Pt.1 shows (1/2)

In no particular order:

Dare You To Death (Joongdunk, Detectives AU, Enemies to Lovers, Thriller, featuring a solid ensemble including Drake, Prom, Sing Harit, and more. Someone is murdering kids who attended this one party, can Joong and Dunk stop hate-flirting with each other long enough to find the murderer and solve the mystery?) 8/10

2. Head 2 Head (This features the kids from Only Boo. No offence to these kids, love and peace to them only, but I didn't watch Only Boo and I probably won't be watching this. I didn't even see the trailer bc i couldn't be bothered to. I know they have an audience tho and that's all that matters) NA/10

3. Burnout Syndrome (Offgun, Dew on the side. having Dew be paired up with Gun even as the third wheel is SO SO funny. kings of having the largest height difference. ik Dew doesn't usually do BLs but if anyone was gonna get him it would be Gun ATP wouldn't it, little minx. Off is bossman who doesn't want to deal w people and hires boyemployee Gun to act as his proxy. Soundtrack sounds like it'll bang, and w P'Nuchy at the helm it probably will. Can't wait) 8/10

4. Whale Store xoxo (Milklove, it's basically giving Minato's Laundromat GL edition without all the gay suppression. and the age gap. I mean it's about a big city girl who comes back to the small town to handle her small town business, and a local go-for regular who falls for her. looks cute, looks predictable, and maybe that's what we need in the GL market rn. girl don't eat the cat food) 5/10

5. That Summer (Winnysatang, side of Neomint (we love!!!) and MondRyu. Royalty AU, Temporary Amnesia AU, Summer/island/beach AU. very tropey, very fanfiction, but i'm excited to see winnysatang play the leads in a show, it's about time. I've always said they should've played the leads in My Love Mix-Up and FourthGem should've gotten something more substantial, but that's neither here nor there. Mond kissed another man and we all cheered!) 6/10

6. Only Friends 2: Dream On (Earthmix, Ohmleng, Jossgawin. Messy messy messy, and for those of you who liked the first season i'm sure you'll love this one. I didn't so I shall not be watching but I can't wait for my mutuals to enjoy it for me. Nothing else to say) NA/10

7. My Romance Scammer (Ohmfluke (no not that fluke, a different one) Markjunior, and do i need to explain anything here?? it's all in the title. two guys who marry rich people to scam them for money. *gasp* i wonder what will happen next) 3/10

8. Love You Teacher (Perthsanta, Established Relationship, Age Regression AU. Fascinating choice of subject matter, and Santa is adorable no matter what he does. Sir get back in my pocket!!) 7/10

9. Melody of Secrets (Forcebook. I wish I could tell you what this show is about but the trailer is giving me nothing. It feels like someone fed the script of Manner of Death into chatgpt and said 'do that but worse and nonsensical' and chatgpt said 'on it boss' and cranked this out. yay for Boun tho!!) 1/10

10. Mu-Te-Luv (7 different stories with 7 different couples/groups of people. Some straight some queer some unsure. Recognisable names are Dew, Nani, Prem, Prim, Jan, Luke, OhmLeng, Neo, Lego, Yacht, Fluke, Sky, etc. I'm guessing each story will only have a few eps, so i'm sure there's something out there for everyone) 4/10

[punk-pins]

fundamentally you need to understand that the internet-scraping text generative AI (like ChatGPT) is not the point of the AI tech boom. the only way people are making money off that is through making nonsense articles that have great search engine optimization. essentially they make a webpage that’s worded perfectly to show up as the top result on google, which generates clicks, which generates ads. text generative ai is basically a machine that creates a host page for ad space right now.

and yeah, that sucks. but I don’t think the commercialized internet is ever going away, so here we are. tbh, I think finding information on the internet, in books, or through anything is a skill that requires critical thinking and cross checking your sources. people printed bullshit in books before the internet was ever invented. misinformation is never going away. I don’t think text generative AI is going to really change the landscape that much on misinformation because people are becoming educated about it. the text generative AI isn’t a genius supercomputer, but rather a time-saving tool to get a head start on identifying key points of information to further research.

anyway. the point of the AI tech boom is leveraging big data to improve customer relationship management (CRM) to streamline manufacturing. businesses collect a ridiculous amount of data from your internet browsing and purchases, but much of that data is stored in different places with different access points. where you make money with AI isn’t in the Wild West internet, it’s in a structured environment where you know the data its scraping is accurate. companies like nvidia are getting huge because along with the new computer chips, they sell a customizable ecosystem along with it.

so let’s say you spent 10 minutes browsing a clothing retailer’s website. you navigated directly to the clothing > pants tab and filtered for black pants only. you added one pair of pants to your cart, and then spent your last minute or two browsing some shirts. you check out with just the pants, spending $40. you select standard shipping.

with AI for CRM, that company can SIGNIFICANTLY more easily analyze information about that sale. maybe the website developers see the time you spent on the site, but only the warehouse knows your shipping preferences, and sales audit knows the amount you spent, but they can’t see what color pants you bought. whereas a person would have to connect a HUGE amount of data to compile EVERY customer’s preferences across all of these things, AI can do it easily.

this allows the company to make better broad decisions, like what clothing lines to renew, in which colors, and in what quantities. but it ALSO allows them to better customize their advertising directly to you. through your browsing, they can use AI to fill a pre-made template with products you specifically may be interested in, and email it directly to you. the money is in cutting waste through better manufacturing decisions, CRM on an individual and large advertising scale, and reducing the need for human labor to collect all this information manually.

(also, AI is great for developing new computer code. where a developer would have to trawl for hours on GitHUB to find some sample code to mess with to try to solve a problem, the AI can spit out 10 possible solutions to play around with. thats big, but not the point right now.)

so I think it’s concerning how many people are sooo focused on ChatGPT as the face of AI when it’s the least profitable thing out there rn. there is money in the CRM and the manufacturing and reduced labor. corporations WILL develop the technology for those profits. frankly I think the bigger concern is how AI will affect big data in a government ecosystem. internet surveillance is real in the sense that everything you do on the internet is stored in little bits of information across a million different places. AI will significantly impact the government’s ability to scrape and compile information across the internet without having to slog through mountains of junk data.

[beesmygod]

ive been slowly chewing my way through two things: the supergreatfriend playthrough of stray souls and the waynesradiotv breaking bad stream

my thoughts are:

stray souls is so insultingly incoherent and obviously and blatantly created by an AI that it can only be assumed that the dev team thinks that the audience they are trying to court are a bunch of morons who can be tricked into liking shockingly derivative crap with, apparently, no fucking editing involved in the process at all

everything being purchased assets from the unity store is embarrassing. they didn't even bother to try to make sure they had some degree of consistency across any of the models used. like they typed in "scary monster" and then described it to chatgpt and told it to write a story around it if it lived in silent hill.

in fact, it seems really, really, obvious at times that the process was either to tell an AI "write a horror plot like silent hill but technically legally distinct" or "write a silent hill story where x, y, z happens with the intent of going back and just finding and replacing all the proper nouns. we know this bc we find these obviously AI lore notes in the game that read like a fandom.com article where they missed a few spots.

or, even funnier, the robot spit out silent hill references and characters into the "original story" and the devs are too ignorant of the genre to have recognized them to edit them out.

describing this game as a "souls like" is bordering on legal fraud

who paid for this game and where the money go. because it wasn't to writers, artists, or a dev team capable of doing anything more complex than oregon trail 2.

every time the breaking bad jpg shows up in the background of the stream i start laughing

[cuprohastes]

The day after Tomorrow™

Let’s look at the world of 2040 - Hey y’all, if you want to help out and hum the Twilight Zone theme, that’d be great, kthanx.

Let’s look at Eric. Eric is a perfectly normal woman. She’s got $10,000 in bitcoin which would only cost $11,000 to convert to $USD which is now electronic only.

Last week she was told she had to work 20 hours overtime at her 60 hour a week job, or the access to AmazonCoin would be revoked. Her account balance of AZ4,200 is needed to pay her Amazon Health and Amazon home subscriptions of AZ3,200.

She is of course free to spend or save the other AZ1,000 on whatever she likes frem the Amazon store. The 5% discount she gets goes towards her AZ1,500 per month grocery and food costs.

Her self driving Tesla isn’t available because three months ago some script Kiddies in Poughkepsie used TELNET to hack into it and drive it into the Pacific because Tesla HQ didn’t change the admin password.

But Eric did get a cool 30% off voucher for NeuroLink Earwürm X.

Pure audio beamed directly to your brain: No distortion, no hearing damage and if you pay the premium you can turn people’s voices off or stream audio from your phone and make calls!

Unfortunately three days ago that service was shut down and now Eric is deaf in one ear and needs cranial surgery to remove the chip which is slowly leaking into her skull bones - And just after she paid for a year of premium!

So that overtime is sounding good right now!

She calls a Waymüber, gets in, gives it directions, confirms them, declines to tip and is driven around in a circle for 4 hours, which is then automatically charged to her account after she eventually gets the ChatGPT powered support agent to stop the car.

She’s left in the middle of an abandoned neighbourhood 60 miles away from work, who just fired her for being more than 10 minutes late.

A friendly pair of criminal offer to murder her for AZ2,000 so her next of kin can claim on her life insurance, but she doesn’t have the money. They talk a bit, and she tries to negotiate the price down but sadly they can’t budge: It’s the economy.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Piracy

Yeah, I'm awake. I have the ow. And probably the lurgy. And now I have a philosophical conundrum to attend to while I do editing work on the recording of the recent D&D session. See, I reblogged a post from @noctumsolis just now about how there's a different term needed for copying a piece of digital media for personal use without paying the one selling it than "theft". So obviously I got to thinking.

First, I looked up the dictionary definition of "theft". Which according to our sentencing laws here in the UK is, "The dishonest appropriation of property belonging to another with the intention to permanently deprive the other of it". The Oxford English Dictionary basically calls theft "The act of stealing", which when one looks it up is: "the action or offence of taking another person's property without permission or legal right and without intending to return it". This all focuses on physical property and depriving others of it. Which piracy does not do.

Now, @noctumsolis went into the details about how for piracy to be considered theft, you would have to either overwrite the original data or destroy the device upon which that data was stored. Which is a whole other set of crimes, probably. But for the most part, it's ... making a copy for your personal use. So ... like ... if you broke into the Louvre and took the Mona Lisa so you could keep it in your house, that would be theft. But sitting down and painting a copy of the Mona Lisa so you could keep the copy in your house ... weird grey area. If you were claiming that you were the original artist, or that your copy of the Mona Lisa were genuine, then you're looking at forgery, or fraud. But you're not doing any of that either. You're just ... keeping it in your house because you want a copy of the Mona Lisa in your house, and no one's going to sell it to you no matter how much money you have.

So then I got to thinking, "What is the actual crime here? Who's being hurt by this, and how are they being deprived?" My first thought was the people who actually created the work. And yeah, they're hit to a point. Authors are the worst hit, honestly - the publishing world is fucking brutal, and will probably only get worse once the spread of ChatGPT-written novels gets to epidemic proportions, and if you don't sell enough books, you're not getting a shot at a "next book". But for the most part? TV and film, video games, stuff like that? The people who made it have already cashed those cheques. They're not losing anything except maybe residuals, and that's only if the corporations that claim ownership of the material don't manage to weasel their way out of giving residuals. (YES I AM LOOKING AT YOU NETFLIX.)

Which brings me to who the crime "hurts". Piracy means that the CEOs aren't getting all the money they believe they deserve to be getting. CEOs believe they deserve all the money, in the world, full stop, so they're already grumpy about sales, but when sales aren't happening...

The CEOs would say that the pirates are stealing their money. Buuuuuut ... that's not true either. Theft as a crime is reliant on the concept of taking something that belongs to someone else with the intend to deprive the other of their property. That money doesn't belong to the CEOs yet. The potential customer refused to give the CEOs their custom and obtained the media through other means.

I mean, there is a term for the crime already - "copyright infringement". Which basically means "using any bit of media in a way that the copyright holder doesn't like", and all the copyright warnings on TV shows and movies talk about that including copying and distributing the work. And when dealing with software like, say, video games, you can also add "breach of contract" since most video games have a pretty hefty EULA which does a lot of, "By using this software, you agree to have actually paid for this license and also agree to not copy it for distribution to others", which means you're automatically signing it just by running the software.

Thing is, I guess CEOs and the like are trying to keep this both as simple and as ugly as possible. "Breach of contract" and "copyright infringement" are complicated legal matters and have a lot of nuance. Especially copyright infringement, as there are a lot of legal precedents for everything from, "I have the DVD but I want to save the movie to my computer" to ... well ... *gestures at AO3* EVERYTHING OVER THERE. But theft? Theft is simple. Theft is something they can imagine happening to them. It's "Someone took the portrait of my dog!" instead of "Someone took a picture of the portrait of my dog because it's really cute and they wanted a copy to hang in their living room BUT THEY DIDN'T MAKE ME A QUADRILLIONAIRE!"

My brain is a ludicrous place sometimes.

[titumizan]

Make Money Online

[blubberquark]

AI: A Misnomer

As you know, Game AI is a misnomer, a misleading name. Games usually don't need to be intelligent, they just need to be fun. There is NPC behaviour (be they friendly, neutral, or antagonistic), computer opponent strategy for multi-player games ranging from chess to Tekken or StarCraft, and unit pathfinding. Some games use novel and interesting algorithms for computer opponents (Frozen Synapse uses deome sort of evolutionary algorithm) or for unit pathfinding (Planetary Annihilation uses flow fields for mass unit pathfinding), but most of the time it's variants or mixtures of simple hard-coded behaviours, minimax with alpha-beta pruning, state machines, HTN, GOAP, and A*.

Increasingly, AI outside of games has become a misleading term, too. It used to be that people called more things AI, then machine learning was called machine learning, robotics was called robotics, expert systems were called expert systems, then later ontologies and knowledge engineering were called the semantic web, and so on, with the remaining approaches and the original old-fashioned AI still being called AI.

AI used to be cool, then it was uncool, and the useful bits of AI were used for recommendation systems, spam filters, speech recognition, search engines, and translation. Calling it "AI" was hand-waving, a way to obscure what your system does and how it works.

With the advent if ChatGPT, we have arrived in the worst of both worlds. Calling things "AI" is cool again, but now some people use "AI" to refer specifically to large language models or text-to-image generators based on language models. Some people still use "AI" to mean autonomous robots. Some people use "AI" to mean simple artificial neuronal networks, bayesian filtering, and recommendation systems. Infuriatingly, the word "algorithm" has increasingly entered the vernacular to refer to bayesian filters and recommendation systems, for situations where a computer science textbook would still use "heuristic". Computer science textbooks still use "AI" to mean things like chess playing, maze solving, and fuzzy logic.

Let's look at a recent example! Scott Alexander wrote a blog post (https://www.astralcodexten.com/p/god-help-us-lets-try-to-understand) about current research (https://transformer-circuits.pub/2023/monosemantic-features/index.html) on distributed representations and sparsity, and the topology of the representations learned by a neural network. Scott Alexander is a psychiatrist with no formal training in machine learning or even programming. He uses the term "AI" to refer to neural networks throughout the blog post. He doesn't say "distributed representations", or "sparse representations". The original publication he did use technical terms like "sparse representation". These should be familiar to people who followed the debates about local representations versus distributed representations back in the 80s (or people like me who read those papers in university). But in that blog post, it's not called a neural network, it's called an "AI". Now this could have two reasons: Either Scott Alexander doesn't know any better, or more charitably he does but doesn't know how to use the more precise terminology correctly, or he intentionally wants to dumb down the research for people who intuitively understand what a latent feature space is, but have never heard about "machine learning" or "artificial neural networks".

Another example can come in the form of a thought experiment: You write an app that helps people tidy up their rooms, and find things in that room after putting them away, mostly because you needed that app for yourself. You show the app to a non-technical friend, because you want to know how intuitive it is to use. You ask him if he thinks the app is useful, and if he thinks people would pay money for this thing on the app store, but before he answers, he asks a question of his own: Does your app have any AI in it?

What does he mean?

Is "AI" just the new "blockchain"?

[talenlee]

Do you think banning self-checkouts in stores in order to protect the employment of service workers sounds like a decent policy?

Self-checkouts have been part of stores in my area for the past six years and weirdly, the companies that use those haven't had massive layoffs in any kind of related timing. In fact, they've been overworking the employees they have, rather than reducing their workforce and marking record profits as well, which suggest that somehow, despite the self-checkout system, they keep the worker base they had, AND the self-checkout AND they still somehow aren't distributing the money they're making to their workers. It doesn't make sense to me, especially because there's this fantasy that corporations are economic engines operating on entirely rational behaviour that makes sense to us outside of them like -$5 in sales results in -$5 to their bottom line.

But that's not how it works and that's not how these systems behave or how they value things.

Self checkouts are good for disability access, they encourage engagement and they need maintenance and oversight. Whenever a Boss tells you why they can't pay you what you're worth or the dangers presented by something or else it's an excuse and you should always distrust the person making it.

(This echoes talk of people talking about chatgpt/midjourney replacing workers is a similar example of an excuse, because the people holding the money are the ones who should be paying right regardless of their excuse.)

[palezineturkeydonkey]

I have just come across a most egregious website

"https://www.justhorseriders.co.uk/" is not a good source for equestrian information.

Its pages are riddled with poor writing, articles imitate quirky blogs whilst attempting to convey useful information, often information is repeated, nonsensical, unexplained or wrong. I strongly believe the entire site was written by chatGPT.

Not only that, the pages are infested with these AI images;

This is most horrendous when talking about equine health, these images poorly imitating diagrams are purely unhelpful and potentially harmful (Though I doubt someone could even believe any of them to be accurate) misinformation.

It seems that all of this is for money, click on any image on an article and you're sent to the store page. Most of these include, at the bottom, a section where the website answers what it deems common questions about the sort of product they are selling. You can find questions such as:

- What are horse riding socks for? -Are riding socks necessary? -Why do horse riders wear long socks? -Do you need long socks for horse riding? -Do you wear socks with riding boots?

The site seems to act like a retailer but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's freebooting. For instance, I looked at their Brogini boots, they are on this site half or a quarter the price you could find on Amazon or Brogini's own website.