#mechanic ant spotted

[bluehardtops]

MercedesAMGF1: "Our Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula 1 Team race team class of 2024 ❤️" || December 5th 2024 [x]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Humans in the loop” must detect the hardest-to-spot errors, at superhuman speed

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

If AI has a future (a big if), it will have to be economically viable. An industry can't spend 1,700% more on Nvidia chips than it earns indefinitely – not even with Nvidia being a principle investor in its largest customers:

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=39883571

A company that pays 0.36-1 cents/query for electricity and (scarce, fresh) water can't indefinitely give those queries away by the millions to people who are expected to revise those queries dozens of times before eliciting the perfect botshit rendition of "instructions for removing a grilled cheese sandwich from a VCR in the style of the King James Bible":

https://www.semianalysis.com/p/the-inference-cost-of-search-disruption

Eventually, the industry will have to uncover some mix of applications that will cover its operating costs, if only to keep the lights on in the face of investor disillusionment (this isn't optional – investor disillusionment is an inevitable part of every bubble).

Now, there are lots of low-stakes applications for AI that can run just fine on the current AI technology, despite its many – and seemingly inescapable - errors ("hallucinations"). People who use AI to generate illustrations of their D&D characters engaged in epic adventures from their previous gaming session don't care about the odd extra finger. If the chatbot powering a tourist's automatic text-to-translation-to-speech phone tool gets a few words wrong, it's still much better than the alternative of speaking slowly and loudly in your own language while making emphatic hand-gestures.

There are lots of these applications, and many of the people who benefit from them would doubtless pay something for them. The problem – from an AI company's perspective – is that these aren't just low-stakes, they're also low-value. Their users would pay something for them, but not very much.

For AI to keep its servers on through the coming trough of disillusionment, it will have to locate high-value applications, too. Economically speaking, the function of low-value applications is to soak up excess capacity and produce value at the margins after the high-value applications pay the bills. Low-value applications are a side-dish, like the coach seats on an airplane whose total operating expenses are paid by the business class passengers up front. Without the principle income from high-value applications, the servers shut down, and the low-value applications disappear:

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

Now, there are lots of high-value applications the AI industry has identified for its products. Broadly speaking, these high-value applications share the same problem: they are all high-stakes, which means they are very sensitive to errors. Mistakes made by apps that produce code, drive cars, or identify cancerous masses on chest X-rays are extremely consequential.

Some businesses may be insensitive to those consequences. Air Canada replaced its human customer service staff with chatbots that just lied to passengers, stealing hundreds of dollars from them in the process. But the process for getting your money back after you are defrauded by Air Canada's chatbot is so onerous that only one passenger has bothered to go through it, spending ten weeks exhausting all of Air Canada's internal review mechanisms before fighting his case for weeks more at the regulator:

https://bc.ctvnews.ca/air-canada-s-chatbot-gave-a-b-c-man-the-wrong-information-now-the-airline-has-to-pay-for-the-mistake-1.6769454

There's never just one ant. If this guy was defrauded by an AC chatbot, so were hundreds or thousands of other fliers. Air Canada doesn't have to pay them back. Air Canada is tacitly asserting that, as the country's flagship carrier and near-monopolist, it is too big to fail and too big to jail, which means it's too big to care.

Air Canada shows that for some business customers, AI doesn't need to be able to do a worker's job in order to be a smart purchase: a chatbot can replace a worker, fail to their worker's job, and still save the company money on balance.

I can't predict whether the world's sociopathic monopolists are numerous and powerful enough to keep the lights on for AI companies through leases for automation systems that let them commit consequence-free free fraud by replacing workers with chatbots that serve as moral crumple-zones for furious customers:

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0747563219304029

But even stipulating that this is sufficient, it's intrinsically unstable. Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops, and the mass replacement of humans with high-speed fraud software seems likely to stoke the already blazing furnace of modern antitrust:

https://www.eff.org/de/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Of course, the AI companies have their own answer to this conundrum. A high-stakes/high-value customer can still fire workers and replace them with AI – they just need to hire fewer, cheaper workers to supervise the AI and monitor it for "hallucinations." This is called the "human in the loop" solution.

The human in the loop story has some glaring holes. From a worker's perspective, serving as the human in the loop in a scheme that cuts wage bills through AI is a nightmare – the worst possible kind of automation.

Let's pause for a little detour through automation theory here. Automation can augment a worker. We can call this a "centaur" – the worker offloads a repetitive task, or one that requires a high degree of vigilance, or (worst of all) both. They're a human head on a robot body (hence "centaur"). Think of the sensor/vision system in your car that beeps if you activate your turn-signal while a car is in your blind spot. You're in charge, but you're getting a second opinion from the robot.

Likewise, consider an AI tool that double-checks a radiologist's diagnosis of your chest X-ray and suggests a second look when its assessment doesn't match the radiologist's. Again, the human is in charge, but the robot is serving as a backstop and helpmeet, using its inexhaustible robotic vigilance to augment human skill.

That's centaurs. They're the good automation. Then there's the bad automation: the reverse-centaur, when the human is used to augment the robot.

Amazon warehouse pickers stand in one place while robotic shelving units trundle up to them at speed; then, the haptic bracelets shackled around their wrists buzz at them, directing them pick up specific items and move them to a basket, while a third automation system penalizes them for taking toilet breaks or even just walking around and shaking out their limbs to avoid a repetitive strain injury. This is a robotic head using a human body – and destroying it in the process.

An AI-assisted radiologist processes fewer chest X-rays every day, costing their employer more, on top of the cost of the AI. That's not what AI companies are selling. They're offering hospitals the power to create reverse centaurs: radiologist-assisted AIs. That's what "human in the loop" means.

This is a problem for workers, but it's also a problem for their bosses (assuming those bosses actually care about correcting AI hallucinations, rather than providing a figleaf that lets them commit fraud or kill people and shift the blame to an unpunishable AI).

Humans are good at a lot of things, but they're not good at eternal, perfect vigilance. Writing code is hard, but performing code-review (where you check someone else's code for errors) is much harder – and it gets even harder if the code you're reviewing is usually fine, because this requires that you maintain your vigilance for something that only occurs at rare and unpredictable intervals:

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

But for a coding shop to make the cost of an AI pencil out, the human in the loop needs to be able to process a lot of AI-generated code. Replacing a human with an AI doesn't produce any savings if you need to hire two more humans to take turns doing close reads of the AI's code.

This is the fatal flaw in robo-taxi schemes. The "human in the loop" who is supposed to keep the murderbot from smashing into other cars, steering into oncoming traffic, or running down pedestrians isn't a driver, they're a driving instructor. This is a much harder job than being a driver, even when the student driver you're monitoring is a human, making human mistakes at human speed. It's even harder when the student driver is a robot, making errors at computer speed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle

This is why the doomed robo-taxi company Cruise had to deploy 1.5 skilled, high-paid human monitors to oversee each of its murderbots, while traditional taxis operate at a fraction of the cost with a single, precaratized, low-paid human driver:

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

The vigilance problem is pretty fatal for the human-in-the-loop gambit, but there's another problem that is, if anything, even more fatal: the kinds of errors that AIs make.

Foundationally, AI is applied statistics. An AI company trains its AI by feeding it a lot of data about the real world. The program processes this data, looking for statistical correlations in that data, and makes a model of the world based on those correlations. A chatbot is a next-word-guessing program, and an AI "art" generator is a next-pixel-guessing program. They're drawing on billions of documents to find the most statistically likely way of finishing a sentence or a line of pixels in a bitmap:

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

This means that AI doesn't just make errors – it makes subtle errors, the kinds of errors that are the hardest for a human in the loop to spot, because they are the most statistically probable ways of being wrong. Sure, we notice the gross errors in AI output, like confidently claiming that a living human is dead:

https://www.tomsguide.com/opinion/according-to-chatgpt-im-dead

But the most common errors that AIs make are the ones we don't notice, because they're perfectly camouflaged as the truth. Think of the recurring AI programming error that inserts a call to a nonexistent library called "huggingface-cli," which is what the library would be called if developers reliably followed naming conventions. But due to a human inconsistency, the real library has a slightly different name. The fact that AIs repeatedly inserted references to the nonexistent library opened up a vulnerability – a security researcher created a (inert) malicious library with that name and tricked numerous companies into compiling it into their code because their human reviewers missed the chatbot's (statistically indistinguishable from the the truth) lie:

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

For a driving instructor or a code reviewer overseeing a human subject, the majority of errors are comparatively easy to spot, because they're the kinds of errors that lead to inconsistent library naming – places where a human behaved erratically or irregularly. But when reality is irregular or erratic, the AI will make errors by presuming that things are statistically normal.

These are the hardest kinds of errors to spot. They couldn't be harder for a human to detect if they were specifically designed to go undetected. The human in the loop isn't just being asked to spot mistakes – they're being actively deceived. The AI isn't merely wrong, it's constructing a subtle "what's wrong with this picture"-style puzzle. Not just one such puzzle, either: millions of them, at speed, which must be solved by the human in the loop, who must remain perfectly vigilant for things that are, by definition, almost totally unnoticeable.

This is a special new torment for reverse centaurs – and a significant problem for AI companies hoping to accumulate and keep enough high-value, high-stakes customers on their books to weather the coming trough of disillusionment.

This is pretty grim, but it gets grimmer. AI companies have argued that they have a third line of business, a way to make money for their customers beyond automation's gifts to their payrolls: they claim that they can perform difficult scientific tasks at superhuman speed, producing billion-dollar insights (new materials, new drugs, new proteins) at unimaginable speed.

However, these claims – credulously amplified by the non-technical press – keep on shattering when they are tested by experts who understand the esoteric domains in which AI is said to have an unbeatable advantage. For example, Google claimed that its Deepmind AI had discovered "millions of new materials," "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge," constituting "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity":

https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/

It was a hoax. When independent material scientists reviewed representative samples of these "new materials," they concluded that "no new materials have been discovered" and that not one of these materials was "credible, useful and novel":

https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/

As Brian Merchant writes, AI claims are eerily similar to "smoke and mirrors" – the dazzling reality-distortion field thrown up by 17th century magic lantern technology, which millions of people ascribed wild capabilities to, thanks to the outlandish claims of the technology's promoters:

https://www.bloodinthemachine.com/p/ai-really-is-smoke-and-mirrors

The fact that we have a four-hundred-year-old name for this phenomenon, and yet we're still falling prey to it is frankly a little depressing. And, unlucky for us, it turns out that AI therapybots can't help us with this – rather, they're apt to literally convince us to kill ourselves:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/pkadgm/man-dies-by-suicide-after-talking-with-ai-chatbot-widow-says

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

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

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

[starboltz]

My thoughts of the new Minecraft wolf variants!

With the recent announcement of the new wolf variants, I wanted to give my two bits about what real life animal each of the variants are based on! (I study animal ecology so I get excited when animals are depicted in anywhere)

The Pale Wolf, Black Wolf, Snowy Wolf, Ashen Wolf, and Woods Wolf

All of these wolf variants are based on the Grey Wolf (Canis lupus), whether it be the typical Plains Wolf (Canis lupus nubilus), or a different subspecies. The Grey Wolf is the most common wolf species found on the world, typically lives in packs of 4-9 members, and typically has 5 accepted subspecies in the science community - but in total has over 30 subspecies (determining subspecies can be tricky).

The Pale Wolf is specifically meant to represent a Plains Wolf, as this design has been representing the Grey Wolf in Minecraft for at least 12 years. The Taiga biome is one of the biomes where Grey Wolves can be found, making it a great place to find Pale Wolves in Minecraft.

The Black Wolf is not a subspecies, but rather a color variant of the Gray Wolf. The black coloring of their coats is not typically caused by melanism, but rather is a normal gene found in Grey Wolves. One of the causes of wolves having a black coat is due to the black gene being linked to higher immunity to canine distemper, meaning the black wolves that survive the virus are able to reproduce and pass on their black genes. Does this mean distemper exists in Minecraft? Probably not, but that's up to your interpretation.

The Snowy Wolf is based on the Arctic Wolf (Canis lupus arctos). Artic wolves' white coats help them blend into the snow to help them hunt prey, and to hide them from potential predators.

The Ashen Wolf is likely based on the Eurasian Wolf (Canis lupus lupus). The Eurasian wolf can have similar coloring to the plains wolf, but has also been found with greyer coloring along its back, tail, and upper legs and face, and with white on its cheeks, underbelly and lower legs.

I think that the Woods Wolf is based on the Tibetan/Himalayan Wolf (Canis lupus chanco). It was a challenge to find what subspecies the woods wolf was based on because most wolves don't have the deep brown-orange coloring seen on the woods wolf, but the Tibetan/Himalayan wolf can often be seen with these colorings in the wild.

The Rusty Wolf

The Rusty Wolf is based on the Dhole (Cuon alpinus), also known as the Asiatic Wild Dog. Dholes have a rich tawny coat with a rich chocolatey tail. Unlike another popular red canine (the dingo), Dholes live in tropic forests, rainforests, and other habitats, making it an appropriate fit to be the jungle dwelling rusty wolf.

The Spotted Wolf

The Spotted Wolf is based on the African Wild Dog (Lycaon pictus), also known as the Painted Dog or the Cape Hunting Dog. This is variant is my favorite of the variants, and is one of my favorite canines of all time. African wild dogs live in savannah and grasslands biomes irl, and have beautiful coats ranging in different patterns of tawny, black, and white. I don't know if this is possible for Minecraft mechanics, but hopefully the spotted wolves will have different coat variants like their irl counterparts.

The Striped Wolf

The Striped Wolf is based on the Aardwolf (Proteles cristata), which is a species of hyena, making them felids instead of canids! (Yes, hyenas are more closely related to cats than dogs). Aardwolves can be found in semi-arid and open plains, making the badlands a good place to find them in-game. Fun fact! Aardwolves mainly eat termites/ants. Hopefully the striped wolf won't starve in a "bugless" game (rip fireflies).

The Chestnut Wolf

This one frustrates me. I couldn't find a canine or canine adjacent animal that had even a similar coat pattern. This is not a wolf. It is a dog. Probably a Norwegian Elkhound.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Brilliant - Scott Lang X Female (Daughter) Reader

Title: Brilliant

Scott Lang X Female (Daughter) Reader

Additional Characters: Natasha, Steve, Bruce, Wanda (Mentioned), Thor, Hope, Cassie (Mentioned), Hank Pym (Mentioned), and Tony Stark

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 2,893

Warnings: Reader has a huge love for ants, ants facts, Tony being Tony, alcohol mentioned, Reader's super smart, Reader's mentioned to be a kid in homeschooled college, slight family angst, brief mention of Reader punching a kid, sarcastic reader, banter, and family fluff

The best word to describe your life was 'chaos.' Chaos was your life. But not for a while, in the beginning, your mother and father; Hope and Scott, said that you were a good baby and toddler. Yes, you cried and threw some tantrums like any other child would, but it wasn't until you were around six that Hope and Scott realized how very similar you were to your grandfather, Hank Pym. It started off small, noticing a few things here and there, but it wasn't until your seventh birthday that they both knew that you were going to be just like Hank.

Looking back, it was a bright, sunny day. It was warm out, not too cold and not too warm; perfect weather for a birthday. Your first-grade friends were playing in the backyard, swinging on your swingset, and some playing tag with each other, but you were nowhere to be found.

Scott had panicked slightly when he checked around the backyard, while also trying to entertain three kids with a magic card trick. His eyes filtered around the backyard, until he spotted you, in the corner, staring at the ground. Scott found it a bit odd, thinking that you were just a bit shy and didn't want to play with your class friends... So he let it slip his mind. 

But, Scott knew something was up once you blew your candles out. 

"Good job, honey! What did you wish for?" Hope, your mother asked, as you just started at the cake before you.

"I want an ant farm."

From then on, it seemed like your ant fascination skyrocketed. It became such a big part of your daily routine that Hope and Scott weren't sure what to do with you anymore. It was literally taking over most of your life as the years went on. You began only wanting things that were related to ants. Posters, books, an actual ant farm, and more. You had even started up a lemonade stand to get money to buy more books about ants. Hope and Scott thought it was cute that you were making lemonade for the people of New York who would occasionally walk by the house; Hope thought that it was a great experience to help you in the future with any jobs you might get. 

However, Hope and Scott began to notice that instead of getting regular kids' books about facts on ants, like 'Ten Fun Facts about Ants,' or ‘Annie and her Friend Ant,' you were going to bookstores, and leaving with 'Ants of North America; A Guide to the Genera,' and 'Identification Guide to the Ant Genera of the World.' Along with you, at the age of six and seven, reading college-level books and novels, you had become mighty close with your grandfather Hank.

You obviously loved spending time with him, since he would tell you about ants and the history and evolution of the world. That didn't stop you from getting lost every single day; that and the fact that you liked to pretend you were an explorer and explore new places, sometimes even in Central Park; hoping you could one day find a new ant species.

At the age of ten, you had become a spitting image, personality-wise, of your grandfather. You were as witty and sarcastic as you were incredibly wise beyond your years. Incredibly wise to the point that Hope and Scott thought it was best to take you out of grade school and set you up with college classes at home, where Hope could teach you. And it was totally not also because you punched a kid in the face after he said that Ant-Man was the worst Avenger. 

Along with your new college schedule at home - where you learn about geology, calculus, quantum mechanics, and so on - you did end up with a lot of free time, which allowed you to go to "work" with your father. Which was where you had met most, if not all, of the Avengers. 

~~~

Scott held your hand as you went up and up in the Stark Tower elevator. He let out a big sigh, becoming a bit nervous, as he glanced down at you. "You're going to behave, right?" 

You simply looked up at him, one of your favorite ant books in your free hand. "Of course. Why wouldn't I behave?" You asked, sarcasm lacing your words, before looking back at the book.

"Yeah, well, I just don't want you to bombard them with ant facts," Scott responded, before shaking his head slightly and looking forward again.

"That will be inevitable, Dad," You replied, looking forward as well, "I can't just not speak about the things that I enjoy in life. Ants bring me such joy that is beyond words, and I want everyone to know about my passions."

"Well... I guess just don't go overboard then," The elevator doors began to open, "I do love that you have something that makes you happy but I don't want you to tire them out. We have to make a good impression on them. You know I haven't met some of them yet - out of the battlefield, I mean." Scott spoke, letting out a sigh.

"You have to try and make a good impression. I don't have to try, I'm always going to succeed." You replied, before stepping off the lift and walking towards the common room, with Scott trailing behind you.

As you entered the common room, about seven sets of eyes landed on you. Some in shock, or so on, before they trailed up to see Scott.

"Hey, guys! Uh, this is my daughter. Y/N, say hello!"

"Say hello." You replied with a short roll of your eyes before you walked over to the first nearby person. Offering your hand with great conviction, "My name is Y/N Lang, I prefer Y/N Pym, but please, call me Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you." At your words, Scott felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. It was nice that you were indeed so close to your grandfather, but for a long time, Scott had felt a strain on his and your relationship for the longest time. 

The redhead blinked, slightly shocked before shaking your hand with a smile, "Pleasures all mine, Y/N. My name is Natasha, but you may call me Nat."

"That sounds satisfactory. Did you know that there are over twenty-thousand different types of species of ants in the world?" You asked as Natasha dropped your hand, staring up at her expectedly.

Natasha's eyes widened slightly as she shook her head, "No, I didn't know that. But that sounds fascinating."

“Wow,” Bruce spoke up, “She’s just like Pym.”

"It obviously is. Now, if you'll excuse me." You replied before moving along to the next person. Staring up at the man, you offered your hand, "I'm Y/N. But you must have already known that. Since you are around fifty-seven inches away from Ms. Nat. So, I believe that I do not have to repeat myself. Did you know that ants do not have ears?"

Steve gave you a small smile, shaking his head, "It's nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Steve. Uh, and I did not know that. That's very cool."

And so, you went along, speaking to Bruce, then to Wanda, and then to Thor. 

And then he came in.

"Hey! Thumbelina! Didn't know you were visiting." Tony walked in, pausing once his eyes landed on you, "And you brought your kid, that's fun." He spoke, walking over and offering you his hand. "Hey there, kid, I'm Tony. You may know me for my amazing persona as Iron Man. You know, saving the world and all."

You just stared up at him, glancing at his hand with a frown, "You can never trust a Stark."

Letting out a laugh, Tony withdrew his hand, gesturing to you as he looked at Scott. "Well, Lang, your daughter's a smart kid alright."

"Yes, she is. Very smart." Scott chuckled, placing his hands on your shoulders before you swerved out of his grasp, glaring quick daggers at him before you turned your gaze back at Tony. 

"That is correct. I am rather intelligent. But, it is only my grandfather and I that are intelligent." You remarked, giving Tony a slight smirk.

Tony laughed, "You're mighty sure of yourself there, aren't you? I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I have my own millionaire business, created my own suits, and am the lead Avenger. I am rather smart too."

"So you tell me, Mr. Stark. Are you sure you're worthy of that title? As lead Avenger, I mean." You asked sarcastically.

"Of course," Tony answered with no hesitation. "If anyone is deserving of being called leader of anything, it's me."

With a small snort, you folded your arms across your chest, nodding. Setting down your ant book on the coffee table beside you - with that, Scott knew you meant business - staring up at the man. "After all, when I can watch the news when I am not studying, by my previous calculations, you only pull twenty-two percent of your weight in most of your battles in the past seven years. That puts you closer to the bottom than any other Avenger."

"So," Tony retorted quickly, a grin still on his face, "You're what? Nine? How would you be able to make those calculations?"

"I have a photographic memory." You answered, "I've remembered everything I've read and seen ever since I was four."

"Well," Tony began, crossing his arms, "Who would you recommend should be the leader then?"

"Me." You answered, "If not myself, then my grandfather. Since we are incredibly intelligent, and no one's smarter than us. We could easily plan out an entire takedown for whatever crisis hits New York next."

There was silence between you as you waited for the man to respond. Tony then took a breath, "Well, Scott, you have a truly impressive kid here. She has quite a sharp tongue." He paused, looking back down at you. "You do remind me of Pym. Same brains and smarts. Same little attitude." He chuckled lightly, turning towards you. 

For a moment, you just stood in place. "I don't have an attitude, I have knowledge, and that knowledge is based on science, math, and ants." You began, staring up at Tony Stark as your father winced for the oncoming storm, "And about your prior comments about how smart I am. If you think I'm going to spend seven months learning Yale and Harvard level material just so you could tell me how smart I am, then you are sadly mistaken." You retorted, unfolding your arms from over your chest and narrowing your eyes. "I don't need you to tell me I'm smart. I know I am."

"Well," Tony began, a satisfied grin on his face, "Lang, your child is brilliant. I don't really care much for some children, but she's alright." He then gestured to the bar behind him, "Just don't let her near my lab or the drinks. She could cause chaos." He looked back down at you, "It was fun meeting you, kid." And with that, Tony left the room, but not before stopping by the said bar for a quick drink.

"Y/N, I told you to behave... Not- Not challenge Tony." Scott looked down at you as you grabbed your book.

"I think she was amazing." Natasha spoke, her back leaning against the cushions of the couch, "She stood up for herself and put Tony in his place. Maybe even hurt his ego a bit."

"I agree with Nat," Thor said, "Little Lady Y/N handled herself well."

The rest of the Avengers nodded along with their friend. And Scott let out a small sigh, "Well, I have to file some of that paperwork for Fury real quick. Are you guys alright with watching her?"

"Absolutely, Scott." Steve spoke with a grin, "She can tell us all about ants."

With those words said, you grin brightly, looking up at Captain America, "Finally, someone who understands me and lets me talk." 

Scott frowned before watching you speak so openly and animatedly with his coworkers before leaving for work. Scott wanted to be closer to you, but ever since you were six, it felt like there was a strain. A tension. One he couldn't break through with his easygoing personality and easygoing attitude. It was hard to try and get close to you. You seemed so far away, always talking about ants - which he too, liked - or talked about Hank. 

Scott felt like he wasn't important in your life to you. You openly showed your love for your mother, and for Hank, and Cassie. But for Scott, you hardly hugged him, barely acknowledged his presence when he was present, and never smiled at him when he entered the house after coming home from work. For years, he had dreamed of coming home from work and his children running up to him and hugging him. But when Peanut, or Cassie, would run into his arms, you would not. He loved you, and Scott knew that you must have loved him. 

After an hour, Scott found himself back in the elevator, going back up to grab you and head home to make dinner. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to go home. As the elevator doors opened, he thought he'd find you as he left you; animatedly talking about your favorite interests and ants. Though, when the elevator doors opened, he was surprised at how happy you seemed to be. You had all the Avengers in the room - Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Bruce, and Thor - all walking in a line, all holding random objects in their hands as they walked around the large room, following each other… Like ants. You stood on top of the coffee table, commanding the five of them around, similarly how an ant would. 

"Alright, honey, let's get home. I have to make dinner tonight." Scott spoke, walking over to you and helping you jump off the table. “We could watch ‘A Bug’s Life,’ huh?”

"Fine, but I want to come back. I am not done commanding my new ant army." You replied before turning to the five Avengers, "Thank you for playing with me."

As the Avengers began to say their goodbyes to you and your father, you took your book in one hand and his in the other, walking to the elevator. Once in, you dropped your hands from his, making him frown slightly but he shaky grinned down at you as he spoke. "I hope you had fun."

Looking up at him, you gave him a deadpanned look, “It was horrible, Dad. I hated it.” At his shocked look, you scoffed, "Of course, it was fun." You answered, "It was... Nice to have someone play with me."

Scott found himself nodding, "I, uh, I'm sorry I don't spend as much time with you. I wish I could. But I understand that I'm probably not the funniest dad or person to be around."

"It's not that you're not fun, Dad." You spoke, looking up at him, "I just like to spend my time with people who understand ants and in turn, me. Like grandpa."

Scott blinked, "Oh..." He trailed. "You- I- I know I don't take too much time into your interest, but I want to try. For you. I do like ants. It just can be… Tiring to hear so much about ants all the time." He then let out a sigh as the elevator doors opened and the two of you walked out, "I feel like there's some kind of strain between us."

Pausing, you stopped at the large glass doors of the Stark Tower, looking up at your father, you spoke, "I do wish you would listen to me sometimes. Hear my facts, take interest. But, I can understand that for some people, I can be a bit overwhelming with my overflowing facts. So, if I ever go overboard, you can tell me." You spoke, "It won't hurt my feelings if you tell me that I am overwhelming you with information. I can understand. I know that some people, unlike myself and grandpa, can only handle so much about ants. I would like to spend more time with you, Dad. And I do enjoy the time I do get to spend with you, Cassie, and Mom. I truly love you all. But, as I am going to learn how to manage how much I speak about ants in particular, I would like to advise that you take time to better yourself as well." You finished, turning to head out the door.

"Better myself?" Scott spoke, though unable to stop smiling at your words, "What do you suggest I better myself on?" He was finally getting somewhere.

As you stood outside of the tower, looking out at the city and the people around you, you reached up and took your father's hand before speaking, "Your magic tricks, Dad. You've been doing the same four for months. I have already memorized them. You need more material."

Scoot could only laugh, his heart swelling as the two of you walked home, "Brilliant. Okay, yeah, I can do that."

---

Main Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

[mrsalwayswrite]

What Words Can't Say - Chapter 2

A/N: Here we finally meet more of the 100th!

Warnings: not much

Words: 2800

Series Masterlist // Next chapter

June 1943

Abby absent-mindedly listened as Ken talked with the two local boys that had become regular visitors to the ground crew. Unlike some of the other men, she liked the energy and joy they brought with them - always asking questions and telling various stories. It was a bright spot in the bleak days. 

The boys stood off to the side, as Ken repaired a carburetor, avidly watching and asking questions as if they were to be tested afterwards. She paused to watch her cousin, how he interacted and gave the boys all the attention he could while focusing on his work. Instead of wearing his usual leather tool belt around his waist, he let the older of the two boys wear it. So when he needed a new tool, he would ask for it, teaching them about the various tools but also letting them feel involved in a safe way. 

A pang of sadness hit her as she watched. In reality, her cousin was only about ten years older than these kids. In a perfect world, he should be transitioning out of his own boyhood, just stepping into the shallow waters of adulthood. Instead he had to leave behind any childishness and become a responsible, mature man much too young. At the young age of nineteen and the chief flight mechanic was an astounding feat, yet he thrived and almost immediately earned the respect of those around him. He had always been good with his hands, even back home on the farm. Any machine seemed to whisper to him, and with only a look, he knew how to fix it. Somehow that ability followed him to England and the forts whispered their own problems, knowing he could hear them. 

Thorpe Abbotts was lucky to have him and thankfully the Brass knew it. 

With a smile, she turned back to her own task. She stood in front of Wild Cargo, going down the checklist and ticking off everything she had checked so far. While it was not wholly necessary for her to double check what the others had done, she felt better doing it. It might be a little thing, but she liked feeling like she did everything possible to make sure those forts under her care were ready to fly without issue. She hated when they had to turn around mid-flight due to mechanical issues. 

A nearby commotion had her swiveling her head to the side to see Major Egan along with two other pilots walking up to Ken. From what she could hear, it sounded like Egan was introducing Ken to his men. A wise decision. Some pilots overlooked the ground crew, dismissing them, since they never engaged with the enemy directly, while most appreciated the ground crew's efforts. From the start, the new Major Egan had been one of the latter, making sure to introduce himself to everyone and talk up his own Bomb Group. It was not uncommon anymore for Major Egan to randomly show up on the hardstands in the quiet times, with a bottle of stolen whiskey (although he never admitted he took it from the Officer's Club) and would share it with whoever was interested. 

And then the 100th Bomb Group arrived with the subtlety of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Over the past week, since their arrival, Thorpe Abbotts had been in an uproar. The replacements were young and wild with energy, ready to test their skills and finally get up in the air. The place felt like an overturned ant hill. A couple of practice runs had happened but mostly the men were waiting…and bored pilots always caused trouble. Thankfully the Majors seemed to have a leash on the potential chaos and most of it only leaked out in silly games and wild nights of dancing and drinking in the Officer's Club. 

The women of the airbase certainly appreciated the fresh meat of the replacements. It was all they could talk about back in the hut. Abby never involved herself in those conversations. She was here to work, not flirt with pilots. And most certainly, not grow any attachments to any of them. She pitied the women who did, the few who claimed they were in love. It was one thing to have a fling with a handsome soldier but another to talk of more. She had witnessed too many of the nurses with broken hearts when those men never returned from a mission. 

“AND THAT OVER THERE IS SLUGGER!” 

Abby glanced over at the call of her nickname from the loudmouth Major Egan. She waved her hand casually, an acknowledgement of sorts before focusing back on her checklist. 

Footsteps on the hardstand had her glancing up again, a jolt of surprise that it was one of the new guys approaching. The first thought that crossed her mind was that he was too pretty for a pilot. The messy blond hair with that thick strand over his forehead, just begging for fingers to run through it. Those brilliant blue eyes that were intense yet reserved. He had a boyishness about his look but it only enhanced his attractiveness instead of making him seem young. Plus with a figure that was lean and muscular, he looked like he spent days on the dance floor. 

Oh, the ladies were going to love him. 

“How's she looking, ma'am?”

The raspy drawl that emerged from this new major was unexpected, and so was the tingle it shot down her spine. She swallowed thickly and shoved the feeling away. She could acknowledge he was a pretty flyboy but that was as far as it allowed to go. 

She followed the major's gaze towards the fort above them. “She's doing good. Just doing the final check. The only thing I noticed was the fuel pressure gauge was off but I adjusted it. She should be good to go for your next mission.”

Not removing his gaze from Wild Cargo, he smiled. “Yeah, not sure those mechanics in Greenland paid much attention to the details. They wanted us out of there.”

“Can't imagine why.”

Now his gaze slid over to her, that easy smile still in place. ���Thank you for fixing her up.”

Abby immediately went to dismiss the thanks like her usual response but something about this pilot in front of her, the genuineness of his statement and the sincerity in his eyes made her swallow her typical response. 

“You're welcome. Try to keep her in one piece for me.”

The man chuckled, shoving his hands in his flight jacket. “I'll try my best, ma'am.”

They shared a smile, their gazes connecting for several moments, as if magnetized and unable to draw away. She could feel a blush stain her cheeks, most likely making her few freckles stand out on her skin. The corners of his smile relaxed, his blue eyes softened with each passing moment, transforming from a gaze that pierced in intensity to a gentle warmth. Staring at him, she wondered if this is how flowers felt as they turned their faces towards the sun on a cool day. 

“BUCKKKK!” 

Their gazes unlatched at the shout, her's dropping to the ground. She blinked furiously, wondering what just happened, but unable to deny the butterflies fluttering in her belly. After a deep breath, she looked back up only to meet his again, a sheepish smile adorning his handsome face as he scratched the back of his neck. 

She wondered if he gave good hugs, he looked like he did. 

Nope. She was not going to think like that. 

Their attention diverted to Major Egan and the other unknown man as they approached. Egan casually tossed his arm over the blond's shoulder, pulling him close in a smooth action that appeared almost practiced with the ease used. 

“So, Buck, you've met Slugger, huh?” Egan said, that permanent smirk on his face as he glanced between his friend and the sole female mechanic. 

The man -Buck- rolled his eyes. “Not formally.”

“Alright, alright, let me introduce you.” Egan waved his arm like some conductor, his excitement bubbling over. “Gentlemen, this is Slugger, Kenny's cousin. Slugger, this handsome fella here is Buck Cleven,” he announced as he roughly smacked the chest of the man under his arm, “and that one is Curt Biddick.” He finished, gesturing to the man on his other side. 

“Hey! Why is he a ‘handsome fella’ and I'm just ‘Curt’?” The New York accent was thick as the slightly shorter man spoke but the teasing was obvious as he shoved Egan. “I'm just as handsome!”

“Look at this face!” Egan squeezed Cleven's cheeks. “He could make angels cry with how pretty he is.”

“Uh huh, sure. See if I'm nice to you again.”

“Ah, don't be like that, Curt. You know you're still my favorite little spoon.”

“We both know I'm the big spoon! You gotta stop lying to everyone about that.” 

Abby was enjoying the teasing far more than she probably should have. It was obvious the closeness and friendship between the three men. 

“So why do they call you ‘Slugger’? Are you into baseball?” Biddick asked, turning the group's attention back to her. 

“Oh no!” Egan spoke before Abby could. “This little lady right here, as I heard it, well some RAF shithead was bothering her. She was working on something and he wouldn't take the hint she wasn't interested, right? Well, apparently he tried to touch her or something and she whipped around and knocked him in the family jewels with the wrench she was holding. Now…after that, the poor guy is bent over, puking his guts out, but instead of taking pity on the poor bastard, she drops the wrench and gives him an uppercut to the jaw that knocks him flat on his back and unconscious. Medics have to come get his ass.” Egan winked at her. “That's why she's called ‘Slugger’. At least that's the story I heard.”

“That really what happened?” Biddick demanded, clearly reassessing her after hearing his friend's story. 

She shrugged. It was not one of her proudest moments and she hated how quickly the story circulated around the small airbase. At least it did keep any other pilots from attempting the same action. “He shouldn't have grabbed my ass.”

“She bunks with the nurses.” Egan stated, followed by a wicked smirk crossing his face. “Speaking of which…”

“No, Major Egan, I'm not getting Charlotte's undergarments for you.”

“What?” Biddick sputtered. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Cleven stared up at the sky as if petitioning for patience. 

Egan pointed a finger at her. “First, call me ‘Bucky’. Secondly, that was ONE time and I lost a bet because of you!” 

“You want her drawers, you get them yourself.” She muttered. 

“I'm trying…she isn't having it.” 

“Sounds like a smart girl.”

“You wound me, sweetheart.” Egan mock clutched at his heart with a wide-eyed innocence that no one believed. 

Biddick laughed. “I think she's got you figured out, Bucky.”

“Hey! What's this? Tease Bucky day or something?” Egan unwound himself from his friend and pushed Biddick.  

“That would be everyday.” Cleven drawled, shooting Abby a wink. 

“Oh I see, come here–” Egan threw a mock punch at the blond, who easily sidestepped and responded with his own swing. Soon enough they were grappling, taunting one another and laughing, right there on the hardstand.  

“Are they always like this?” Abby asked Biddick who was heckling from the sidelines. 

“You get used to it.”

She shook her head and stepped away, resuming her task. If the men wanted to act like schoolboys, she was not going to stop them but she was not about to waste her day on them either. After this checklist, she had two other forts to look over before sundown. She hated working in the dark. 

“See ya, Slugger!” 

Abby looked over from staring at engine number four, having heard Biddick's call. With a smile, she lazily waved to the three men who seemed to finally be leaving. Her hazel eyes caught the blues of Cleven, holding for a moment longer than they should have. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her before turning and following his friends. 

Quickly she spun back around, turning her face upward to the engines, willing the butterflies to fade in her stomach. She did not have time for flyboys. She was only here to fix their forts and send them off to fight the Nazis…

…But that boy was just too damn pretty. 

*****

Two days later, the boys of the 100th Bomb Group had their first mission flying over Germany. 

Abby stood to the side, watching the men load up in the various forts. The ground crew and herself had done everything possible to make sure the forts were working perfectly, the bombs were loaded, bullets for the gunners and enough fuel for their flight to the target and the return. 

Now it was up to the pilots to see it through. 

As she surveyed the hardstands, tugging on her faithful necklace to keep her hands busy, it took all of her meager energy left to suppress the yawn crawling up her throat. The past twenty-four hours were a whirlwind of chaos in making sure all the forts were ready. Mindful of the oil streaked across her hands from preparing the landing gears, she carefully tried to rub the encroaching sleep from her eyes. 

When she opened her eyes, she rapidly blinked at the scene unfolding in front of her, certain some oil had managed to get into her eyes and now she was hallucinating. That was the only explanation for Major Cleven to be walking in her direction. 

As the men unloaded off the trucks, she noticed him and his crew heading to Wild Cargo. They dropped their bags by the wheels, a few standing around waiting while others walked over to neighboring hardstands to shoot the shit until it was time to load up. 

The blond Major looked handsome in his service cap and flight jacket, a true pilot in every sense of the word, with hands tucked in his jacket pockets and a confidence in his stride. 

Abby had no idea why he would be approaching her. She most likely appeared a mess, with bags under her eyes and grease on her face from where she could feel it having hardened on her cheek but she did not have time to clean it up yet. Her coveralls were filthy, her hair was sweat-matted, but thankfully still tucked in its bun and under her red handkerchief. 

He stopped a pace away from her and nodded towards the fort he would be flying today. “How's she looking, ma'am?” 

Wariness disappated like smoke and was replaced by amusement as the memory of their first conversation came to mind. She tried to act serious but her smile peeked through the edges, betraying her humor. “She's looking good. Do try to keep her that way, please?”

“I'll do my best.” He smiled in return. 

A hushed silence fell between them, almost drowning out the cacophony of chaos around them. She was unsure why he was still standing there near her, his gaze having slid over to a group of men chatting under one of the forts. Truly, she had no understanding why he approached her in the first place. She was not someone important, just a simple mechanic. 

Finally, she spoke, unable to stand the confusing silence. “Good luck, sir.” 

“Thank you, ma'am.” Cleven nodded then turned on his heel and headed towards Wild Cargo, tossing his bag inside before slipping in himself and disappearing. 

At the first sound of engines starting up, Abigail moved off the tarmac and to the side greens, standing with the other ground crew. Ken was further down, leaning against a jeep and tapping his fingers repetitively against his thigh. A truly disconcerting image. If her cousin was nervous about something, it was not a minor thing. She made a mental note to talk to him once the forts disappeared and everyone headed out. 

Tension hung over the airfield like an oppressive fog as one by one the forts took to the sky and onward to their target. The unspoken question of how many would return salted the lips of all watching but no one dared acknowledge it. Not yet. 

With the last fort disappearing from sight, the bystanders began to finally move. 

The female mechanic started to move towards Ken but the sight of Major Egan made her pause. Everyone else had left the observation deck at the Tower except for him. His hands gripped the railing and his gaze continued to be locked on where his men had just vanished. She was too far away to discern his expression but she wondered if he told his men what it's like up there or kept silent. 

Sticking her hands in the pockets of her coveralls, she turned and headed towards her cousin. Either way, they would know what it is really like up there after today. 

Tag List: @beebeechaos

[jjtheresidentbaby]

Any more Heartbreak High headcanons? I’m obsessively reading these after watching season 2 LOL. Specifically Cash, Missy or maybe Zoe? Little or caregiver, whatever you think suits would be sweet 🥰

Little Missy Beckett headcanons

♡ you can find little harper headcanons here

warnings: !!season 2 spoilers!!, talk of canon things (relationships, the map etc), spider/missy, malakai never left, this got very self indulgent sryy

she’s known she regresses for a while by the time canon happens

she used to do it for fun and as a pass time but eventually it turns into more of a coping mechanism when things at school get chaotic

sasha is obviously her main caregiver but things get rocky after their breakup and missy finds out about the cheating from the map

her brother jai and malakai take over babysitting when she needs but she’s honestly okay just watching herself

she spends most of her time watching disney movies and preforming fashion shows for her stuffies- she does drag malakai into this and makes him judge the outfits

one side of her closet is dedicated to her little side and is packed with allll the essentials- dress up clothes, monster high & barbie dolls, coloring books, those magnetic pieces that click together to build towers, many many stuffies, a box of dvd’s with her favorite movies, and of course some play makeup

she’s very sporty in her day to day and likes to lean full girly girl when regressed

quinni becomes one of her main caregivers after she walks into missy’s room while she’s regressed looking to talk about her breakup with sasha

quinni instantly knows what’s up and very happily starts to play dolls with her

it all spirals from there and eventually in canon when quinni kind of distances herself from darren & amerie she ends up spending more time watching missy

spider catches them at the grocery store holding hands and he’s near ready to cry before missy runs up to him and excitedly wraps around his waist

he has no idea what’s going on but quinni explains it before he gets the chance to ask missy- she wouldn’t be very capable of explaining what age regression is while in headspace

they become a trio because outside of regression, missy & spider start dating, spider & quinni talk things over and settle their past differences, and missy texts both of them at the same time to come over with no warning to the other being there while she’s small

they make a groupchat the fifth time it happens

spider likes to sing her French songs if she’s having trouble going to sleep

quinni chooses to read Angeline of the Underworld to her- and to spider cause he gets sucked in too

nobody can make sense of their trio outside of them and malakai & jai

malakai does get dragged into plans frequently but he’s busier than spider & quinni so it’s not as often

missy & harper have play dates at harper’s place and build the best forts (with ants help)

spider’s already got a soft spot for missy but it gets 10x bigger when he finds out she regresses

if she can be carried by him she will ask no matter the situation

she likes to sit on his shoulders when they go to the zoo with quinni and quinni has about 20 polaroids of it

they have a photo album just for when missy’s regressed

quinni & spider are so so protective of missy it’s a tad scary

she absolutely loves pool & beach trips and never lets spider or quinni get away with not getting in the water with her

[meta-squash]

Yet another fic post for @shamelessdvdcommentary because it's fun and I'm hoping it'll somehow inspire me to write another fic or something.

Proof Of What You Want Summary: Ian's on his goddamn mind all the time and this isn't like bruises or near misses with cops or his dad's fucked up punishments. It doesn't matter what he does. He's not thinking of anything else. You've never been like this. Slow and soft and someone asleep at your back. Vulnerable. Ever. There have been very few bright spots in your life: your mother, Mandy, Ian. You try and convince yourself it's not what you want. It is. It's what you want.

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc) I had the idea for it in December 2019, but I didn't start working on it until March 2020. It took me about 2 months of working on-and-off because the mechanic I used for this fic was a little weird so I had to be in the right headspace to work on it. It's a 7,331 word oneshot.

What was the initial inspiration for your story? My two initial inspirations were the storytelling mechanic -- third person POV and second person POV (both Mickey) switching back and forth, and examining the emotional difference between Mickey falling in love with Ian before 3x06 and his loneliness and trauma after Ian runs away to the army.

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character? Because poor Mickey went through so much trauma with the assault and then being forced to marry Svetlana and then Ian running off and he's trapped in this abusive household with a pregnant wife he doesn't want and is pretty much totally alone. And we don't see any of his feelings about that. And I've always thought that the night that Ian stayed over would have been a huge threshold crossed for Mickey, and that he was ready to start actually accepting himself and his feelings, and then the morning happened and that all came crashing down.

What was your favourite scene to write? The bit about Ian and Mickey in the dugouts, sharing a cigarette which is they way they kissed before they ever kissed for real. It's just a really warm and sweet scene. And I really liked writing that and then the crash into a less pleasant reality with the switch to "present". I did really enjoy writing sad and lonely Mickey too, because I think the conflict between his self-hatred and anger/anxiety vs the slow dawning that he misses and loves Ian, the softness of those Ian-feelings compared to the pain of the other ones is really interesting.

How did you come up with the title? Just that Mickey spends the entire fic thinking about Ian, either in the "past" segments as he's falling in love or in the "present" segments all lonely and worried and missing Ian. And that constant thought is proof that he does care about Ian and he does want him around, and he's starting to accept that after all that trauma even if it is scary.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this? The smut. I just so rarely write smut, I prefer character studies. When I read smut I often end up distracted by trying to figure out where the characters are in the space/in relation to each other, or if they do something that would be uncomfortable/unhealthy/physically impossible. I wanted to write the smut scene in a prettier way while also maintaining realism, and I wanted it to advance the plot. I concentrated less on making it sexy for the reader and more on making it a moment of emotional (and physical) first times for Mickey, which would help to heighten the feeling like some barrier had been crossed (which then reinforces how hard those walls slammed back up after the morning).

Favourite line in the story? I don't have a favorite single line but this little section is one I really like: Waking up in the morning beside the Russian bitch, feeling her breath on his neck and his skin crawling underneath like there's ants in there? There's no manual for how to handle that. He hasn't slept a full night in weeks. And he doesn't know what to do with the way Ian sits there under his skin either. He wants it to crawl like she does. He wants it to itch. He wants to want to scratch it out. He wants to hate Ian. It just aches. Definitely doesn't feel like hate.

Did the storyline change in any way as you wrote the story? I wasn't sure what I wanted to end on, if I wanted to end on a happy or a sad note. The second person POV "past" sections also jump around in time a little bit, so at first I thought I was going to do Ian and Mickey having a conversation at the obstacle course, something similar to the "he's not afraid to kiss me" conversation that indicates Mickey getting closer to accepting his feelings. But then I decided I didn't want that much dialogue; I wanted it mostly to just be Mickey's internal feelings.

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc) How well the third person/second person POV mechanic worked! It was a total experiment, I don't even know how I got the idea. But having the second person POV as pre-3x06 Mickey falling in love and starting to open up vs third person POV as post-3x06 Mickey alone and depressed and worried ended up working sooo well. People really liked it!

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line? I think post 3x06 Mickey is such a tangle of emotions and I wanted to see how that gap between Mickey's trauma and his acceptance of himself in season 4 gets bridged. I wanted to explore Mickey's self-hatred and his feelings like he deserved to get hurt, and the way those feelings are vying with the dawning knowledge that he still cares about Ian, and the feeling that he didn't deserve any of what happened to him but that he's completely trapped in it. I just think Mickey is so messed up in seasons 3 and 4, with his feelings for Ian growing stronger and him becoming really properly conscious of them, but also being completely terrified of them and of the consequences of those feelings.

Would you ever write a sequel to this story? No, but I did unintentionally write a prequel, Abrade. That one explores the immediate aftermath of the morning of 3x06. It's also in second person POV, and it's very intense. They're not fics that are meant to be read together, but they fit together like an unintentional puzzle.

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc? I have a headcanon that after the immediate events of 3x06, once both Ian and Terry left, Mickey vomited into the kitchen sink, on whatever dishes were there. I used it in this fic, and in Abrade, and maybe in another one as well (I think it's just implied in Scar Tissue). I think it's a detail that is nearly as visceral as the actual events, but it's a reaction rather than the actual moment. It really gets across how intense and traumatizing and awful the entire event was, without actually describing the details of rape.

Were you nervous or excited to post this story? A little nervous, actually, because of the weird mechanic. I just thought maybe people would click away from it once they saw the second person POV because I know it's kind of a weird way to write.

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story? Seasons 3 and 4 Mickey is fascinating to me because he's clearly depressed and scared and somewhat self-destructive and yet he's also so protective and willing to do stuff for Ian and because of Ian that I don't think he'd do otherwise. So I think the moments without Ian around in this fic are just him falling back into that misery -- but this time with a sort of awareness of how much Ian lightened everything for him without him really even realizing it at the time. Mickey's growth between seasons 3 and 5 is fascinating to me. I really think he's more introspective than people think, even though he does tend to act first. But I feel like with the important stuff, he mulls over it internally for a long while and does have thoughts and opinions, not just gut reactions.

[jennhoney]

Beasts of the Murbleage update:

A few weeks ago I mentioned to Murble that I wanted some hose guides to put around flower beds to protect them from when I have to pull the hose across the yard to water and I said that some small yard lights might be strong enough so she came home with some yard lights that I’ve been trying out. They do help with guiding the hose though they aren’t strong enough for my liking and the light might interfere with night creatures. But this morning on my survey of the Murbleage I thought a spot in the grass looked like it was glowing and I approached cautiously to discover one of the yard lights had been ripped out of the ground and strewn over the yard. There were some ants trying to build a home in the solar mechanism so I think it was cracked open for a snack by a neighbor beast.

[vacancy-virtues]

#2- "Nothing But Static"

It was just supposed to be another surveillance mission on Villain. Heros one goal was to search their newest hiding spot and Intel gave Hero a detailed schedule of their routine. Hero finally located precisely where in the expansive apartment building Villain resided so while Villain was out on their usual Thursday grocery run, Hero was tasked to search the apartment for their next plans of mass destruction.

Clothes stuck to the skin from how humid it was, making it useless in trying to stay dry with the opposing misty downpour. The setting sun against the smog-filled clouds gave the city a warm yet dingy orange hue as the light began to fade. The rain was as steady as the traffic below the high-rise Hero was climbing the stairs to, where the people look like ants scuttling about in the rain by the time they reach the sixteenth floor.

After taking a moment to catch their breath, they eventually found themselves at their nemesis' door. They looked around, ensuring no one would bear witness to the unsavory act of them breaking into the apartment before promptly doing so with ease.

The apartment was a pristine mess. While the contemporary flair of the furniture complimented the architecture of the apartment, papers remained scattered about the couch and boxes were piled high near the bar in the kitchen. It didn't even look like the kitchen was used often compared to the rest of the apartment. Hero gave a small huff as they looked around, unsure of where to start.

In the corner, by the large bay window beside the TV, was a small electric piano. It had struck the Hero as odd, because when did Villain ever play an instrument? It seemed impractical to them, but many of Villains actions Hero viewed as impractical. They maneuvered carefully around the mess, mindful not to crinkle a single paper, before seating themselves on the bench of the piano. It was the only clear spot to sit in, as the chairs were also occupied with various blueprints and schematics.

"Alright, now what are you up to..." Hero murmured, before carefully searching through a box.

To Heros surprise, the blueprints were from older missions they'd worked on in the past. As they sifted, it was only revealing mechanics of software Intel knew inside and out. Hero shuffled about to another box, and it was filled of past addresses they already met Villain at. Box upon box, nothing was proven to be useful. Hero was just about to get up, until they noticed a notepad atop of the keyboard. On the paper was a half-finished composition, which admittedly, Hero didn't know how to understand.

Hero eyed the boxes in the kitchen. Various labels like "bedroom" and "pantry" marked the boxes. The items Hero could see seemed to correspond, but it didn't make any sense. It had taken some time to find Villain this time around, which allowed plenty of time to craft something only their sickly brilliant mind could comprise. Hero reached for their mic, yet after a moment with no response, they called again.

Nothing but static.

They looked around at the apartment. Perhaps Villain bugged it, and was interfering with their reception? It had to be it. Before the panic could set in, there was the sound of metallic clicking coming from the front door. Hero didn't recall being there for long and it seemed too soon for Villain to return. Carefully, they maneuvered through the papers and into the linen closet near the hallway. The light barely missed the wood slats of the door, leaving the space dark. The door opened, and an irritated huff escaped Villain as they locked up behind them.

"Closed the day before the holiday and the day of? Now it's just excessive at this point..." They sighed and tossed their bag down.

Hero watched through the slats of the closet door as they moved about their apartment. They seemed to be in no hurry to get to any planning. They stripped their coat off and onto the couch before they took a seat at their keyboard by the window. It was a mere recon mission, and with no way to alert the team on how the mission was going, Hero would be on their own.

Their racing mind began to still once a smooth set of notes rung through the air, and pulled Hero from their thoughts entirely. The rhythm felt cool compared to the summer monsoons here. The notes paused a moment, before dipping into lower and higher ranges of experimental notes. While Hero never had the eye for music, they did have an ear for it.

'No, the last bit you had before worked.. go back to it,' they thought.

Almost as if Villain were in their head, they opted for an earlier set of notes before continuing on the song. The sheer coincidence of it made Heros heart race, and they worried Villain knew they were there. The way they played felt as if it were truly an extension of themself, an authentic side Hero hadn't the opportunity to know. To see their hands dance upon the keys pulled Hero like a magnet. Yet, they kept steady their breath, and listened with eager ears the song Villain was weaving together with their beautiful hands. Another pause, and instead of the familiar scratching of the pencil, there came a sigh from Villain.

"What do you think of it so far, Hero?" They asked, their tone even and collected. "I know you're here. The bench was warm when I sat on it and I didn't play before I left."

Hero looked to the door with wide eyes, yet said nothing. This was a bluff. All they had to do was lay low and the suspicion would die down. There was a beat of silence within the apartment. Only the hum of the steady rain outside offered any cushion to the quiet. The bench creaked, and before Hero knew it, the door to the closet opened. They looked at them with an amused, yet tired expression.

"The closet has never been your style before, why now?" They mused as they stepped aside.

Hero looked them up and down with suspicion, yet quickly realized the Villain they battled only a few months ago was not as spry as they once were. Their hair was grown out and dyed (which admittedly to Hero, looked very flattering), their sharper fashion sense was swapped for casual apparel, the sheer fire which burned behind their eyes was dulled. In all their years together, Hero never seen Villain this low. Hero moved out of the closet and backed up from them, careful of the boxes.

"What are you.." Hero stopped, and their brows furrowed once the concern broke through. "What happened to you?"

Villain shrugged and moved passed by Hero. They began to move some of the papers off the couch and into boxes. Villains expression was unreadable as they moved aside the plans they put together to bring Heros demise, only to be evenly matched in the end. It was always how it went. Always something to bring them back together, but never fully together. In all their years, so many altercations ended with someone on the end of the blade or barrel, but so many more coincidences prevented everything from ever truly ending.

"Am I a waste of time to you, Hero?"

"I... what?"

"You can be honest," Villain said while boxing up papers. "I'll still keep fucking you regardless. It's never been a problem for me in the past."

Heros face heated up as they observed the casualness of Villains quips. There was bubbling anger and confusion at the assumption of what they had going on. Where was Villain planning on taking all of this?

"Where is this all coming from, Villain?" They questioned carefully.

Villain smiled and shook their head before sitting on the couch, patting the spot beside them. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'd much rather like context for what I'm answering first, if you don't mind." Hero retorted, yet compromised by sitting on the couch. "Besides, you didn't answer mine..."

"Your question, Hero?" They asked pointedly, before taking a deep breath to rub their face in fatigued irritation. "I got tired, that is what happened. Tired of these excuses of plans which get us into whatever loft I happen to be renting at the time. I don't have another plan for you to take back. I get you're hot shot at the agency, and you have a sort of 'reputation' to uphold, but it's been years. Aren't you bored?"

This was no rouse Villain was trying to pull. Hero didn't consider how repetitive their routine had been. They would meet, one would compromise plans for the other, and would only barely 'get away' according to Intel. Once the mics were off, what they did remained between them and the walls of the many bedrooms they found themselves in.

"I didn't know you played piano," Hero softly said, glancing at the piano then to Villain. "I find all the years more... worth it, because after everything, I'm still learning about you."

It clearly hadn't been the answer Villain was expecting because their head turned to fully meet Heros, and they looked at them with a look of near disbelief and skepticism. Their hands found their way into one another, fitting together as if made to be two parts of one whole.

"But why does it always have to be through a mission?"

They sucked in their breath, their hand gripping Villains hand tighter. The hesitance was enough to tell them all they needed to know. They both wanted more than moments together, however, it seemed only one was ready to make the sacrifice to make it happen. Villain sighed and used the grip they shared to pull Hero into their arms, their eyes choosing to fixate on the rain outside the window.

"I thought you didn't like the city?"

"I don't- it's too noisy, polluted, and not enough trees," they huffed with a sigh, a leisurely hand rubbing circles on Heros back. "I don't mind the rain though."

"It made it harder to find you..." Hero mumbled, their head resting on Villains shoulder. "You're always doing something I don't quite expect."

Villain chuckled, and before they could think themselves out of it, they leaned down to capture Heros lips against theirs in the familiar pressed passion they were accustomed to. The couch was small, but accommodated the closeness of their sweating bodies, and the rhythmic pace Villain set for the evening. What they had wasn't enough for Villain, but what they had was better than not having it at all. They got their answer from Hero, one way or another, and even if they didn't like it, they understood what needed to happen for them to maintain what they had.

By the time Hero awoke, more tired and sore than when they initially fell asleep, they saw the apartment was completely empty, save for the furniture and basic decor items. The piles of boxes were nowhere to be seen and the piano was gone. There was not a trace of Villain, save for torn out piece of paper on the coffee table.

Autumn in Washington Square

A smile curled on their lips as they looked at the completed sheet music in their hands, but it soon faded and their hand fell to their lap. They got dressed after noticing their clothes neatly folded on the end of the couch. Hero pocketed the note, and left the apartment complex. The rain had let up by the morning. A voice finally came through on the mic as Hero walked down the street to their car.

"Hero! Thank god, you're okay! What happened?"

"The apartment was already empty by the time I got in there, and Villain never returned from their trip. When I left, my earpiece fell in a puddle and I had to dry it in rice overnight," They said casually, and their frustration helped in convincing intel. "The only thing they left behind was a note about Washington Square."

"The park in New York? Where do you want our people to start looking first, Hero?"

'I don't like cities'

'Too much noise and pollution'

'Not enough trees'

'I don't mind the rain'

"Start looking for Villain in the dense metropolitan areas. Near the power plants or chemical labs. There will be a dense population so it's best to take your time." They assured, before clicking off their mic.

Once in their car, sheltered from the rain, Hero pressed their forehead against the steering wheel. At least this would bide some time, like always. Hero was tired of this too, though they did not voice it immediately to Villain. With the eyes of the agency looking to the East, Hero sped towards the West. Their mind wracked at how they were going to make it up to them, for having thought they were a waste of time, but Hero had plenty of time during the quiet car ride to think about it.

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (24 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

Slowly, carefully, Killian slipped his arm into its brace, a simultaneously familiar and alien feeling after so long going without. His injuries no longer required the Warrior Ant jaws, but they were still tender and could probably still split open if he were not careful. Mandible watched with a concerned expression, but he also appeared fascinated by the straps and buckles necessary to hold the contraption in place. It would be an agonizing chore to get them all fastened, and Killian doubted he’d be able to remove it again for the foreseeable future, at least not without help. His hand was still too swollen and stiff to be of much use, but that was why he’d chosen to don his hook again. He’d have to make do.

He winced as he grasped a strap between his first two fingers, preparing to thread it into the intersecting loop circling his upper arm above the elbow. Mandible shuffled closer.

“May I assist?”

Killian was only too happy to allow the healer to take over. His hand was already throbbing from the exertion, and even the slight angle required of his neck to allow him to see what he was doing pulled at tight lines of fire that stretched from hairline to shoulder. He passed the supple leather to the monkey and coached him through the complex process of threading and tightening the buckles in various places. Thankfully, none of the straps intersected the worst of his wounds, though one came close enough to be a constant reminder of the inflamed skin.

When the last one was pulled tight, Killian straightened his arm slowly, hiding a grimace. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near rehabilitated yet, but he didn’t want Mandible to know how much pain still plagued his every movement. While he could always leave without the healer’s blessing and attempt to navigate the entire Stone Forest on his own, he was hoping he could convince the First Clan to allow the use of their transporter magic to get him at least part of the way out. Killian bit his tongue as he slipped his heavily bandaged hand into Blackbeard’s satchel.

“If you are searching for your mirror, I have placed it somewhere safe where it is less likely to be broken again,” Mandible told him, vaulting his legs to pull wide the opening of the sack so Killian could more easily access its contents.

“Thank you,” grunted Killian. “But that’s actually not what I’m after…”

He spotted the silver gleam nestled near the bottom of the pouch and leaned gingerly forward. With only the slightest bit of mental cursing, he snagged the steel with his pinkie, the least-badly injured of the lot. It took a bit of painful finagling, but eventually, he managed to trap the slender part of his hook between pinkie and ring finger and draw it forth from the bag.

“Take a good look, Mandible,” he said, straightening and feigning swagger. “I’d wager this puts to shame any hook you’ve ever encountered. Including a few hundred blasted fishhooks I’m well acquainted with.”

“It is rather larger,” Mandible agreed as Killian struggled to align the hook and brace. “It would certainly be effective were we ever seeking to disembowel our prey before bringing them back to the Burrow.”

Killian growled as he strained delicate structures in his hand, trying to apply enough force to twist the locking mechanism into place. He couldn’t bring himself to use his palm yet, but his grip with the fourth and fifth fingers was tenuous at best. At last, the satisfying click announced his success, and he flashed a devilish smirk at Mandible. Hoping the manic pain wasn’t quite as visible as he feared, he lifted the weapon a fraction and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think? Worthy of the outer name of Hook?”

“A logical inspiration.” Mandible closed the satchel and dragged it to the foot of the bed, out of the way. “Do your allies address you as such, or just your enemies?”

Killian rested the weapon on the bedding in preparation to rise. “I… don’t have many of the former, anymore. But they would more likely address me as Captain. Outdated as the rank may be.”

“You have many allies here,” Mandible reminded him. With a quick smile, Killian nodded at the small creature beside him.

“Aye, so I do. Thank you.” He tried to suppress the cynicism bemoaning how inaccessible these new allies were and concentrate on the fact that he had them at all. And was even alive to have them. The monkey beside him seemed to read his mood and rested an encouraging paw on his knee.

“From what I’ve observed during the short time I’ve known you, Laden, I believe you have the ability to forge new alliances wherever you go. But it requires a determination to see the good in the world--and a belief in your own worthiness to ask for help.”

Killian was once again astounded by Mandible’s insight. These days, it did tend to feel like everything was conspiring against him, and that he had to bear the entire burden on his own. How did this little creature, who had probably never been alone in his entire life, have such an uncanny ability to peer into Killian’s heart?

“If I didn’t know better, I’d peg you for some sort of wizard in disguise, mate. Does your magic allow you to gaze into the souls of others or something?”

Mandible remained unreadable as he answered,

“Sadly, no. I can only imagine myself in your place and advise accordingly.”

Killian reached past him and snagged the satchel with his hook, grunting,

“Well, you’re damn good at it, however it is you manage to do it.” He pulled the satchel closer, then smiled down at his obviously concerned friend. “Thank you for the words of wisdom. I’ll take it to heart, to the best of my ability. You have my solemn oath on that.”

“You are preparing to leave,” Mandible said, more than asked. Killian gave him a sidelong glance, gauging how the healer might feel about that. 

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality and assistance...”

“I understand. You are eager to begin your journey to see your child.”

“Aye.” The understatement of the century. And Mandible did not make even a token attempt to convince him to wait until he was stronger, or better healed. It seemed desperate love had no species barrier.

Without saying a word, the monkey scampered over to his shelves of supplies and retrieved Killian’s carefully secured mirror, as well as the small, stoppered vial representing the most precious gift Killian had received since his heart had been cursed. The healer proceeded to bundle this carefully as well, knowing it would have to survive the rigors of travel before it could be of any use. As he returned to the alcove, one item in his paw and the other wrapped safely in his fluffy tail, Mandible said,

“I know that Favor will want to see you before you go. I will speak to him while you finish your preparations. Please meet us at the Gathering Circle when you are ready.”

Killian reverently accepted each of the fragile packages in turn, holding them tighter than was comfortable until they were stowed safely in Blackbeard’s satchel. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

***

As it turned out, most of the clan would be there too. Perhaps his intentions had been more obvious than he’d realized. Even Blackbeard was present, tied and guarded in the periphery, glowering at the spears held ready for a ruling on his fate. Killian ignored him and moved stiffly into the center of the circle, where Favor and Puzzle waited side by side.

“Laden of the Torn,” began Favor without preamble. “As leader of the First Clan, in honor of services rendered in taking on the role of Champion in time of dire need, I now bestow upon you the well-deserved Inner Name of Valiant.”

The cave rang with a cacophony of whoops and shrieks as the clan gave voice to their approval, sounding very much like the frenzy of the battle nearly two weeks ago. Though startled, Killian stood his ground, watching the spectators and waiting for the surge of adrenaline to subside. Puzzle, too, seemed affected by the din and momentarily edged closer to her father.

When the noise had abated, Favor turned and blinked at one of his attendants, who came forward holding a jingling pouch. It looked heavy.

“To simplify your departure, we have taken the liberty of selecting a variety of our finest treasures as a token of our thanks.”

The First warrior set the pouch at Killian’s feet and retreated as Favor continued,

“We cannot honestly place a value on a life; therefore, please tell us if the sum is inadequate.”

It didn’t seem right to Killian to discuss a specific price either, but he also did not want to offend the monkeys. With great effort, he stooped and snagged the pouch with his hook, took a brief look at its contents, and declared,

“This is most generous; thank you.”

“Is it enough?” persisted Favor, and Killian glanced quickly at the stoically silent Blackbeard.

“I ask only one additional price.”

“Name it, Valiant.”

“Will you allow me a say in the fate of my Torn compatriot over there?”

Favor cast a solemn eye on Blackbeard. “Gripe of the Torn, step forward to be judged.”

Whether or not Blackbeard understood the words, he got the message when two spears started prodding him in the back. Grumbling, he stumbled forward until he stood only a pace or two behind Killian.

“Let me guess,” he said, customary boredom in his tone. “Captain Softy spares the life of the nasty bully, but keeps the spoils for himself. Does that about sum it up?”

Favor made a recognizably human impression of disdain as he addressed Killian. “This Torn coward was prepared to sacrifice your life for his own gain. It would be completely reasonable for you to cast judgment upon him.”

Killian was tempted, for an instant. Releasing a rival might be setting himself up for trouble in the future, and if not him, then certainly Captain Smee. But, as Blackbeard had pointed out, Killian did owe him for getting him out of his quarry sentence, at least. Assuming Blackbeard hadn’t set the whole thing up to begin with…

“Give me a couple of days’ head start,” Killian sighed. “Then set him free.”

He heard the overexaggerated scoff behind him but paid it no mind. He dumped approximately half the contents of the treasure bag into the satchel on his shoulder, then turned.

“This should more than cover your expenses and your time. Afraid your heart’s desire will have to wait.”

He tossed the pouch with the remaining reward at Blackbeard’s restrained feet, and the other pirate smirked.

“You really are a complete and utter pansy, aren’t you?”

Killian graced him with a look of weary exasperation. “Don’t make me regret this. I’m not obliged to do any of this for you. In fact, one could argue that you now owe me a favor.”

He raised a disdainful eyebrow, and Blackbeard mimicked his disgust. 

“Maybe so,” Blackbeard admitted, then sneered. “Just don’t expect me to give up my pursuit of the Jolly Roger. She’s worth more than a few trinkets in a goat’s ballsack.”

Killian smirked right back. “I’ll agree that your worth pales in comparison, but there’s no need to refer to yourself so crudely in civilized company.”

As Blackbeard brayed a single exaggerated, sarcastic laugh, Killian made a mental note to warn Captain Smee of the danger the next time he saw him. If nothing else, this whole ordeal had served to demonstrate the lengths to which Blackbeard would go in satisfying his desires, and Smee would need to take ample precautions if he were to stand any chance against the covetous rival captain.

The First warriors did not allow Blackbeard to return fire with the vulgar insults he was surely concocting beneath that smug facade. The repositioned gag muffled his initial syllables, which slurred into a snarl of frustration when he realized he was about to be dragged away from the center of attention. Good riddance. Killian turned his back, eager to put the other man both literally and figuratively behind him. It was long past time to return his focus to the only thing that truly mattered.

“It is my honor to have true allies in the First Clan,” Killian told Favor and his followers. “My departure today is not intended to--”

“We understand, Valiant,” Favor interrupted his faltering apology. He pulled Puzzle closer. “Go now, with our blessing.”

A haunted smile was the only thanks Killian could give. Mandible drew near, clutching a clay pot, and this was the cue for several other warriors to join him. They all took a pawful of the pot’s contents, then formed a ring around their Champion.

“Close your eyes, Valiant of the Torn,” instructed Mandible. “We will transport you to the very edge of the Stone Forest, beyond the reach of its blades.”

“Thank you.”

Killian took one final look at the odd collection of furry faces surrounding him, catching at the end a streak of red-gold as a tiny mass scaled his form in record time. Noticeably more warmth crept into his smile as he closed his eyes, and his last sensation before dazzling light engulfed him was a silken caress of farewell, just beneath his chin.

[airdrophunting]

Notcoin – How to Earn Crypto in Telegram

Let's face it: trends have a habit of fizzling out quickly. We've seen this play out time and time again. If we're being honest, probably 95% of Telegram games are just riding the hype train, offering little to no real value.

But Notcoin? That's a whole different ball game. NOT isn't just a game; it's a philosophy. The developers realized that a simple clicker game wouldn't cut it long-term. So they used that viral mechanic merely as a way to distribute coins. The real challenge was to offer users something more substantial, something truly valuable.

No sooner had the clicker craze cooled off than Notcoin launched the next big thing: Explore-to-Earn. This is uncharted territory in the crypto world. After a successful beta run, they finally dropped the full release on July 11th.

Let's dive deep into what this project looks like today, who might benefit from it, and most importantly - how to make some money.

Getting Started with Explore-to-Earn

Jumping in couldn't be easier. All you need to do is hop into the Telegram bot.

Next up - and we can't stress this enough - link your crypto wallet to the app. Don't sweat it; it's completely safe. Notcoin can't touch your funds without your say-so. It's just requesting info. Any non-custodial wallet will do the trick. The crowd favorites? TON Space and TON Keeper.

And that's it!

The Essence of Explore-to-Earn: A Triple Win

In the crypto world, you'll often hear the phrase "win-win" - a situation where both parties come out on top. But Notcoin? They've upped the ante with a "win-win-win" system. Let's break down how this clever setup works.

The Notcoin ecosystem brings together three key players: Notcoin itself, other Web 3.0 developers, and you, the users. Notcoin's user base has already blown past an eye-popping 40 million. Let's be real - what project wouldn't jump at the chance to showcase their product to such a massive audience?

Here's how the mechanism works in practice:

A crypto project buys a chunk of NOT tokens from the market (usually around 1 million coins). Think of this as their advertising budget.

You, as a user, go through an onboarding process - getting to know their product, following their channels and social media, and completing various tasks. For your efforts, you pocket the lion's share of these tokens.

A smaller portion goes to the Notcoin team. This is how they monetize the project and fund further development of the app.

The third, also small, portion gets burned. This reduces the total supply of coins, potentially driving up the value of NOT tokens.

In the end, everyone comes out ahead:

You pocket tokens for checking out new projects.

Crypto projects tap into a massive audience.

Notcoin turns a profit from their platform.

NOT holders benefit from the token's rising value.

Simple, yet brilliant...

Let's dive deeper into how this mechanism ticks.

Pools

When a new project drops into Notcoin, they kick off what's called a "pool". Think of it as a reservoir of NOT tokens, with two key features:

Pool Size: This is the total number of NOT tokens up for grabs, waiting to be divvied up among users.

Campaign: This is your to-do list - a series of tasks you need to knock out to get your slice of the pool.

Here's how the process of participating unfolds:

You spot a new pool and decide to jump in.

You work your way through the campaign tasks. This could involve following the project's channels, getting acquainted with their product, performing specific actions on their platform, and so on.

Once you've successfully completed all the tasks, you become a full-fledged pool participant.

Now, here's where it gets exciting: As a pool participant, you start "draining" NOT tokens from it. This happens automatically, every hour. You and other participants gradually claim tokens until the pool is completely emptied.

Levels

Your farming speed in the pool depends on your level. There are three levels: Bronze, Gold, and Platinum. During the beta, your level was determined by how many NOT tokens you staked. Now, things have changed.

Those who staked their NOT tokens early (before May 16th) and haven't withdrawn them yet have been granted a permanent level (as long as they keep their coins staked).

For everyone else, it's now subscription-based. You can pay through Telegram Stars, or use your NOT tokens already in the app.

Will the subscription pay off? That's the million-dollar question. For example, over 2 months of farming at the Platinum level, we managed to mine about 10,000 NOTs. Currently, a 3-month subscription costs 9,990. It's a decision you'll have to weigh carefully.

The Evolution of Notcoin

We envision Notcoin evolving into something akin to Steam - a platform connecting products with end-users. This is the unique value Notcoin offers, setting it apart from most of its clones and imitators.

Looking Ahead:

Temper Expectations: While the potential is there, it's clear that initial promises haven't fully materialized yet. Be patient and realistic.

Stay Active: With future airdrops planned, maintaining activity in the ecosystem could pay off.

Watch the Tokenomics: The limited supply and burn mechanism could lead to price appreciation over time, but it's not guaranteed.

Keep an Eye on New Features: The trading bot and NFTs could add new dimensions to the platform's utility and value.

Platform Potential: If Notcoin successfully positions itself as a go-to platform for crypto projects to reach users, it could become a significant player in the space.

Diversify: While Notcoin shows promise, remember it's just one project in a vast crypto ecosystem. Don't put all your eggs in one basket.

The team's focus on creating a unique value proposition - being the bridge between crypto projects and users - is a smart move. If executed well, this could indeed make Notcoin a "Steam for crypto", providing lasting value beyond the initial hype.

As always in crypto, there are no guarantees. The project shows promise, but also faces challenges and competition. Stay informed, engage wisely, and as they say, DYOR (Do Your Own Research).

Good luck!

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Nuno

CR 1/4

Neutral Evil Tiny Fey

Bestiary 5, pg. 132

Wretched little hermits who live in anthills, Nuno are a species of Gremlin, destructive and spiteful Fey that exist to cause misfortune and chaos. Unlike every other Gremlin we’ve seen on this blog before, though, Nuno... aren’t like that. They’re downright harmless compared to most of their kin, spending their days alternating between gathering food and peacefully meditating inside anthills or termite mounds and generally not really bothering anything that doesn’t bother them first. Their Ant Affinity keeps their tiny (or not so tiny) neighbors from ever harming them and allows the Nuno to command and even train them as though they were intelligent animals, and if you know anything about Pathfinder’s ants, it likely comes as no surprise to learn they’re often the significantly more dangerous factor whenever a Nuno’s antics draw a party’s attention.

Nuno are entirely harmless on their own, having only a slam attack that can’t deal lethal damage and no listed weapons or means to actually damage or kill another creature if they don’t have their ant assistants at their side. If something--even a commoner with a club--wants one dead, there’s little a defenseless Nuno can do to stop it, their meager DR 2 protecting an outstanding 3 hitpoints. They aren’t built to fight and aren’t keen on sticking around to try their hand at it, relying on being able to tell an aggressor is coming--usually via their 30ft of Tremorsense--and rapidly burrowing away from danger. Safely underground, there’s few attacks that can reach them, letting them bide their time until the ants drive the attackers off (or the attackers become bored and leave on their own). Should they be unable to burrow, their +14 to Stealth is typically enough keep them out of trouble until they can secure their safety.

As for why anyone would want to harm a creature whose entire evil plan is “play with its pet ants,” that would be because anyone a Nuno touches, anyone who touches a Nuno, and anyone who damages or steals the gremlins’ property--even accidentally--must make a DC 14 Will save (or 16 in the case of property damage/theft) or become afflicted with the painful and humiliating Nuno’s Curse. This curse triggers even if the Nuno is out and about, finding bugs and fungi to eat or feed to its pets, so anyone kicking over anthills or who picks up any curious tools can find themselves afflicted. The curse manifests as painful swelling, unseemly coarse hair sprouting at random, dark spots on the skin, and sores that regularly discharge unpleasant black pus. While mechanically it only inflicts a -2 penalty to Dexterity, the social effects are likely quick to become an inconvenience, especially since the curse is A) permanent and B) extremely difficult to remove. The DC to the check to remove a Nuno’s curse is raised by 10, raising it from 14 to 24, all but impossible for lower-level casters to be rid of without a pinch of luck on their side. 

However, there are ways around it. You can, of course, simply kill the gremlin, which ends every curse it’s ever created and uncurses all its belongings at once. But you can also reason with it, should your party not wish to kill a creature who--while Evil--tends to keep to itself. Nuno accept bribes of fruits, trinkets and gemstones, or interesting arguments and side-splitting jokes... and if a particularly fetching Humanoid or Fey is the one negotiating, the gremlins are almost comically easy to convince, especially if their curse is the thing marring the victim’s beauty. Of course, regardless of if you’re going for Pacifist or No Mercy, you’ve got to find the blasted creature in the first place.

Unfortunately for the Nuno, they have a unique fey quirk that makes them easy to track for anyone with just a bit of prep. Any being cursed by the Nuno can spend a minute dripping molten wax into a spoon, then into a bowl of water. The wax curls into a shape that unerringly indicates where the Nuno is (if you’re closeby, it straight up points directly at it), and no matter what the gremlin does, it cannot avoid or hide from this Wax Locator. With a means to defeat its stealth and burrowing capabilities, all that’s left is deciding whether or not the party is morally okay with killing it.

Maybe after the third ant swarm, they’ll be more amenable to the idea?

You can read more about them here.

[green-crow]

Posting in AO3 is way too intimidating to me because it's full of such great writing so. I'm just gonna. Leave this here instead of there and run. First chapter of my Inscryption fic:

Lost little fawn

Another flying ant fell as they slammed their palm against it, killing the bug against a nearby tree. They wrinkled their nose and cleaned off the goo from the bug, feeling repulsed by it. “I hate this stupid forest.” They mumbled under their breath, fanning their hands to keep the bugs away. “Botopia didn’t have bugs.” They lamented, and with their next step, their hoove fell into a mud puddle. They groaned in annoyance, taking their hoove out of the wet dirt and shaking it to clean it off momentarily. Botopia didn’t have mud, either. But then again, they hardly belonged there anymore.

With a sigh, they continued walking through the rough path. Their bag felt heavier than ever as they carried it on their back, but leaving it was hardly an option. In a way, they wished that the bag had been heavier. It carried everything they had ever owned, after all.

Their ears perked up and moved at every tiny noise from the forest. A snap of a twig, ruffling of leaves, anything. They felt unsafe in the woodlands and would not let their guard down. Who knew what creature could leap out from the darkness and attack them? They were clumsy enough as is, with those bothersome new hooves and legs to get used to that still made them lose their balance occasionally, even after days of walking. The uneven terrain did not help at all. They didn’t need a beast chasing them on top of that. A grizzly, a wolf, hell, even a stoat could overpower them in that moment —stupid forest and stupid beasts and stupid everything.

They missed the factory. The loose dirt underneath their hooves was nothing like the cold metallic floor they were used to, just like the air filled with the smell of melted materials compared to the damp atmosphere they were in right now, scents of different beasts surrounding them and merging, making the task of figuring out what exactly lurked behind the shadows impossible. They missed the clanking of machines or clogs moving in unison, their ears finding patterns in those familiar sounds they never thought they would sicken for. Instead, now they were enveloped by random critters and cries, their head snapping every once in a while to an unexpected direction just to check they were still safe. Nothing followed a pattern in that disorganised hell. How did nature bloom in such chaos yet refuse to do so in the factory, where everything and everyone had its place? Nonsense. But then again, they weren’t complaining about that. Botopia was much better than those lands, full of disgusting lifeforms. Inferior and frail ones. Imperfect.

Yet, for as much as they missed their home, a subtle pain settled down in their chest. They stopped and looked down at their new legs. P03 had no sense of empathy or care for its people, that much they had realised too late. They scolded themselves yet again. Looking back, volunteering for P03 to test a new card mechanic had been stupid. More than stupid, idiotic. Ridiculous. Nonsensical. Mindless. And many other adjectives of the same meaning. Of course, it had seemed like a bright idea at the time. They were P03’s favourite, were they not? It had taken them in as one of its own robots, despite being fully human. And they had not disappointed. They had learnt from the scrybe of technology. Later on, it taught them, but they had to use other methods initially. Seeing parts of plans, overhearing conversations not meant for them, sneaking glances at code. And each time, they had returned to their beloved scrybe with a solution for its worries. A fixed version of the code P03 had tackled from the wrong angle. A list of vulnerabilities that could arise from the plans it made. P03 was at first angry at them for interfering, jealous even that they could spot things a robot as perfect as itself could not.

But those feelings soon faded, being replaced with pride as the scrybe realised they had no ill intent and only meant to help. To learn from it. P03 saw greatness in them. It told them if they worked hard enough, they could become the best apprentice in the factory. And they did. They worked hard, harder than any machine or living being. They offered to be P03’s lab rat, both when it came to trying out new game mechanics and strategies. So, of course, when the robot requested a volunteer to try out a new game mechanic, a sort of bonus that would let a robot turn every other turn into a beast… Well, they were the first and only ones to present themselves. To test the machine, P03 first had to ensure it worked on living beings, be they robots, humans, beasts, or, paradoxically, skeletons. Then, it would move on to test it on cards. They didn’t understand the process perfectly, but that’s why P03 was the scrybe, and they weren’t. They understood technology but not quite magic, let alone the mix of the two. P03 knew better. It wouldn’t endanger its most precious apprentice just because of a possible game mechanic, right?

Things did not go according to plan.

And now, here they were. In the middle of the woodlands, cold, tired, angry. Betrayed. They kept walking, the soft moaning of the wind caressing their ears, the sound of their hooves hitting the dirt echoing through the forest. Not long after, they finally reached it —the dreaded cabin in the woods. Property of Leshy, scrybe of the beasts. The only hope they had left.

They stared at the door, hesitating. P03 had refused to aid them after the machine malfunctioned, saying that the piece of machinery was a priority, along with the game mechanic. They had then travelled to the tower of mages and wizards, but Magnificus had apparently been too busy “training” his students to even look at their problem. Then they went to Grimora, and while the old lady had been far more affable than anyone else, she could not do anything to aid them, as her powers had little to no effect on the living. Alas, they found themselves before the door of the scrybe of the beasts. They had learned to hate Leshy and all he stood for. P03 had told them how ugly nature is, how imperfect it is. Yet P03 had turned its back on them, and Grimora had suggested visiting Leshy. They had nothing to lose, after all.

With a heavy heart, they knocked on the wooden door and waited.

Welp, there it is. The main character is my newest OC so I'm still getting used to writing them, but I think I like how it ended up. This would take place in a state of the game equivalent to act 2, not sure yet if I want it to be right before Leshy taking over or a different state of the game altogether. I have a rough general idea of where I want to take this, but for once Im enjoying writing as I go, so who knows where this could end up at. If you are still here, thank you for reading! <3

[rodrigobera04]

Bug Type is next, finishing off my favorite types:

BUG pure:

Jumping cockroach that uses a stick to pole vault.

Very thin stick insect like a stick figure, it camouflages itself as a bush that blocks paths.

Frog bug with a mouthpiece to suck insect fluids, like a frog's tongue.

Wingless moth shooting silk to defend itself.

Spiders living in communities, together to hunt and defend themselves.

Beetle imitating an arachnid Pokémon, such as Ariados and galvantula.

Edible larva resembling homemade bread.

Literal honey ant that, when crushed, spreads sweet secretions.

Woodlouse rolling like a ball and leaving marks like a tire.

BUG/GRASS

Wasps making a nest inside a fig which explodes in a swarm bomb.

Pollinating insect, a bee or butterfly, blowing allergic pollen from its wings.

Spider with a pitcher plant for its abdomen where it traps insects.

Huge beetle similar to a sloth, covered in fungi and algae.

Termites gnawing on wood and throwing sawdust, related to carpentry.

Apple with worms coming out of it like snakes from a gorgona.

Katydid covered in thorns, where it houses its pre-evolution.

Larva inside a bean moving like a spring.

Cochineal producing a fungus that is harmful to plants.

BUG/STEEL

Deathclock beetle with a mechanical appearance, like a toy car.

Millipede looking like a little train, transporting things on its back.

Lanternfly with a serrated protuberance on its head, like a winged saw.

Silverfish rusting metal to better digest it.

Butterfly with sharp wings to cut off aerial predators.

Earwig with a stretchable hook tail.

Mechanical-looking drone fly used in espionage.

Giant cockroach resembling a shield, where it protects its young.

Whip spider fighting with metallic claws like steel clubs.

BUG/FLYING

Spider mimetizing a fly to trick insects, using webs as wings.

Locusts creating hurricanes with their swarms.

Moth making noises with its wings that sabotage the bat radar.

Female strepisiptera using a wasp as an airplane.

Bird parasitic mite flying on a feather like a board.

Crab using its hind legs as wings to fly in the air.

Flea jumping so high it seems to fly.

Beetle looking like a science fiction flying car.

Bee with Z-shaped wings, creating annoying sound waves.

BUG/ICE

Saber-toothed flea, specialized in parasitizing mammoswine.

Icebug literally made of ice, melting in contact with heat.

Ice age worm or larva, preserved and resurrected.

Springtail who lives in the snow, looks like a bunny or a lemming.

Arachnid rolling your body and creating a snowball.

Snow mayfly, melting in the spring heat, alluding to its short life.

Fly from the frozen pole, covered with ice to protect itself from high temperatures.

Carpet beetle stealing fabric to stay warm.

BUG/FIRE

Draconic-looking hairy caterpillar with boiling hairs.

Flaming mosquito that causes fever through its bite.

Volcanic beetle with a carapace formed from hardened lava.

Explosive wasp launching itself at targets.

Hellgramite, which lives in lava, has flaming jaws in its adult form.

Camel spider with solar powers in allusion to its other name, sun spider.

Vinagaroon spraying flammable liquid from its tail.

Killer insect blowing smoke to catch insects.

Ant with explosive bomb abdomen.

BUG/NORMAL

Assasin insect looking like an anteater.

Rubber toy that imitates a real insect.

House spider with long legs, covered in dust.

Fuzzy mite looking like a stuffed animal.

Camouflaged insect, with its body adapted to hide in the environment.

Giraffe beetle that looks like a literal giraffe.

Ant delivering things, carrying objects on its back.

Furry and smelly Pokémon, with symbiotic flies to protect it.

Small insects controlling a mannequin or doll, pretending to be a person.

BUG/ELECTRIC

Parasitic fly that inhabits the hair of mareeps.

Dragonfly fast as lightning, leaving a trail of light.

Ladybug with spots that glow in the dark, serving as a guide.

Scorpion adapting its stinger to a lamp, attracting insects.

Insectoid creature made of pixels that causes a "bug" in the game.

Lanterbug com asas brilhantes como LED.

Bee creating energetic and colorful honey that gives a lot of energy.

Pikachu's convergent Springtail.

Bioluminescent cockroach that inhabits appliances and sockets.

BUG/GROUND

Sprinting tiger beetle leaving a trail of sand.

Sauvas soldiers carrying buds and leaves as weapons.

Carpenter bee using a snail shell as a hive.

Termite mound golem controlled by termites like a mecha.

Millipede imitating a snake seen from above.

Insect monster imitating a coffin, with its abdomen pretending to be a corpse.

Weta digging the ground and biting the opponent's feet.

Camel spider looking like a mole.

Ant lion larvae acting like a school of piranhas, tearing apart prey.

BUG/ROCK

Arthlopleura looking like a brontosaurus, like Armaldo looks like a carnosaur.

Meganeura similar to a pterodactyl, counterpart to the arthlopleura.

Beetle decorated with precious jewels and crystals.

Cave insect that uses its claws like pickaxes to dig holes.

Cadsfly larva with a stone dwelling and hikikomori personality.

Butterfly with crystal clear wings like a mosaic.

Huge insectoid-shaped tectonic plate, based on jinshi mushi, causes earthquakes.

A literal emerald cockroach.

Fly fed with salt, gaining a square and rocky shape.

BUG/FIGHTING

Fly with structures resembling deer horns.

Epomys beetle, rival of Toxicroak, Poliwrath and other frog Pokémon.

Tongue parasite controlling a "walking" fish.

"Batman" style anti-hero moth fights birds and bats.

Wasp with stingers in its fists.

Spider using two smaller spiders as yo-yos.

Cricket with long antennas used as Olympic ribbons.

Beetle with two horns looking like an angry ox.

Flea that bit a werewolf and became a powerful monster.

BUG/WATER

Diving dragonfly, adapted its wings to swim in water.

Water flea creating water replicas of itself, alluding to its multiplication.

Tadpole shrimp sleeping for years and waking up today.

Stick insect imitating an umbrella with its wings.

Butterfly creating waves in the water by flapping its wings.

Fly inside a bubble to dive.

Flying insect living near water with a bait and hook sting.

Cleaner shrimp capable of curing poison and other damage from other Pokémon.

Sea flea hiding in the sand and quickly devouring its prey.

LEGENDARY:

Butterfly bug/flying dying and resurrecting back to its caterpillar form; personifies cycles.

[stuckinuniformdevelopment]

@bishop-percival

(Previous) Bert looked over at Teddy and mischievously grinned. “No… Though that is a good hiding spot for my game of ‘Send Ants to the CAPT Project Lab and See If Teddy Notices.’” He then walked over to the ladder and held up his hand to Mike. “Actually, can I have it? The ant?” “Sure.” Mike tilted the spike down and tapped on his helmet until the ant lost grip and fell into Bert’s hand. “Please don’t put your ants on me anymore.” “No promises!,” Bert said as he scuttled back to his cart.

Teddy tilted his head and blankly stared at Bert as he fully processed his game. Then he stiffened, while clenching his knees to help resist his urge to sweep the room.

If Bert had sent the ants over pre-Glornist shit Teddy would find them charming. Now, the mere concept of mechanical bugs secretly watching him deeply disturbed him. Even if he knew Bert had no ill-intentions.

“Ah...” Teddy wore a heavily strained smile. “How sweet...” Then he dismissively waved his hand. “...But I’d recommend recalling them before they get tossed into acid.”

Not by Teddy, of course. He’d never do that to Bert’s critters. His coworkers, however...

After a long pause Teddy cleared his throat. “So... let's assume we can disable his magic. Then which plan should we use?”

[nitrosodiumfmp]

Making the game Deaf Accessible

This piece of code puts a widget on screen when the player is being chased by a Grave Digger. There is a similar one used for the Equalizer, with a slightly different message.

As you can see, whenever you're in the Grave Diggers' line of sight, the message (!) A PRESENCE IS GROWING CLOSER (!) is broadcast on the HUD. Once more, the Equalizer has his own version, which I will demonstrate in a second video. Though I must warn you, it's a bit loud.

I wanted the Equalizer to seem an entirely different beast to the Grave Diggers, and I think his sound reflects that. It's not another worker ant in Nharro's hive, it's intelligent to a sadistic degree. And that horrid garbled shriek when you're spotted not only brings to light the Equalizer's mechanical aspects, but its glee. That sound isn't an intruder alert, it's the sound of a predator finding new prey.

You've also heard a bit of the new ambience, which I will bring to light in a third video.