#my job is meant to be databases!!!!!!!!

[plangentia]

i actively hate this part of my job

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[dewdr0pz-alt]

Hoii :) i saw that you liked making luci x reader mini stories and i LOVE THEM. I just have a tiny petite itty bity request for a new story. Id love to see either a story about him gicing us aome after care after spoicy time or apologizing after an argument. Take as much time as needed. Thank youuu <3

jealousy, jealousy ⊹ ࣪𐙚꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱｡⋆

summary: you recently got a new job working for Voxtech, causing you to come home late nearly every day. Lucifer's a bit angry that you keep missing dinner, which sparks an argument (word count: 1.3k).

warnings: arguing/yelling (obviously), crying, swearing, accusations of cheating, Lucifer's kind of a jackass in the beginning, mentions of death (reader talks about life when they were alive), generally gn!reader terms

a/n: hello!! this is a really cute idea so tysm for requesting it! i'm really sorry i haven't gotten to other stories, I've been so busy 😭

tags: (as always, just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on or off of the taglist!) @o-kye @zuuriell @strangleetomz@ax-y10 @stars-around-scars-collective@blu3-lemonad3@myheartticks@mochamuff1n@unbeleevable@danvstheworld @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @average-vibe @back-totheoldhouse @prettysinners @lovevxle

You recently got a new job at one of the largest companies in Hell, Voxtech, as Vox's secretary. When you got the job, you mainly wanted to do it because of the pay, thinking that you wouldn't have to do much as a secretary.

But boy, you were wrong.

You rarely sat down during work hours unless you were on lunch break, and even then Vox and other employees were asking you to come help, or Valentino was trying to persuade you to work for him for double the pay (you 'politely' declined every time). You were constantly printing and filing papers, answering calls to deal with angry customers or business meetings that Vox needed to attend, arranging those meetings and appointments, helping with report preparation for staff meetings (nobody really paid attention to them anyway unless Vox was threatening them to do so), managing databases, etc. You almost always worked overtime, which meant your nightly dinners with Lucifer seldom occurred; on the days you were off or didn't work overtime, you usually rested through half of it and didn't have the energy to eat or make dinner for the two of you.

Tonight was no different; you got home later than you usually did and were greeted by the sight of an angry Lucifer.

"Where were you?" he asked, his arms crossed. "Do you know how late it is?"

"Hi, honey," you said breathlessly, taking off your shoes and jacket. "I'm so sorry I got home late, Mr. Vox really needed me to finish up reports for the next staff meeting tomorrow and it was such a-"

"No, be honest," he interrupted. "Where were you?"

"In the...office," you said, raising a brow. "Where else would I have been?"

Lucifer scoffed. "Sure, sure."

"Lucifer, you know how he's making me work late," you sighed, dragging an aching hand down your face. "If I could come home earlier, I would, but Mr. Vox is a busy man."

"Busy with what?" Lucifer snapped, much to your surprise. "Adultery?"

"Honey, what are you talking-" you started.

"Don't 'honey' me," Lucifer laughed coldly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You think I'm cheating on you with my fucking boss?" you said. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Lucifer mocked your tone. "I have eyes. I can see. Do you not see how he shows you off on TV? How he preaches about you at company gatherings and dinners? You two are fawning over each other, it's clear as day."

"Oh, so my boss isn't allowed to think I'm a good worker?" you said sarcastically. "Great, I'll make a note of that, thanks."

"Stop that, Y/N," Lucifer exclaimed. "Don't act like nothing is going on. He can tell people that you're a good worker without bragging about you like you're a trophy. He doesn't deserve to do that when he makes you work your ass off every day until the crack of dawn. If you're even working," he muttered.

"Look," you retorted, dropping your bag on the ground, "I'm sorry that I work late nights and that I can't have dinner with you every day. But you could at least be happy that I have such a good job. You can appreciate that I'm doing well at work and my boss likes me. That's not fucking hard. And, yeah, I am working, thank you."

"If you're actually working so late, why does he put his arm around you in interviews, hm?" Lucifer crossed his arms and stepped closer to you. "Why does he think he can touch you?"

"Jesus Christ, Lucifer, people are allowed to like me!" you exclaimed. "He does that with every worker there!"

"Yeah, sure, he's having an affair with every worker there," Lucifer said furiously.

"You really think I'd cheat on you?" you hissed, hot tears bubbling up in your eyes. "You sit there an-and talk about how it's good that we trust each other, yet as soon as my new boss likes me suddenly I'm a slut."

"I never called you a slut, Y/N," Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic!" you shouted, your face warm and sticky with tear streaks. "You are treating me like I'm a slut! Look, I'm sorry you're jealous, okay? But I'm pretty sure people aren't suspecting that I could potentially be having an affair with Vox because of how you act in public around me! People are putting too much attention on me and you to even think that!"

"That's rich coming from a world-class attention seeker," Lucifer shouted, freezing as soon as the words came out of his mouth. His eyes widened when yours did, and he looked like he'd just spewed out bile.

"No, wait, Y/N-" he started when he saw you put your shoes on and grab your bag again.

"No," you snapped, "clearly I'm not wanted here, so I'll go."

"I never said I wanted you to leave, sweetheart, please-"

"Don't call me fucking 'sweetheart'," you growled, glaring at him through glassy eyes. "And I can tell you don't want to be around a world-class attention seeker, so I'll leave and spare you." You walked out and slammed the door before he could continue, the sound of rain drowning out the sound. You muttered a "great" under your breath before walking out of the house and onto the sidewalk to pull out your phone to call someone.

"Hi, Y/N!" Charlie's voice rang through the speaker. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I need a ride," you tried to say calmly, but it came out strained and wobbly.

"Oh, I'm so so sorry, but I'm super busy right now and I can't drive over there," Charlie said apologetically, "but I could call Angel!"

"That works," you sniffled. "Thank you."

"Of course!" Charlie said sweetly. "Hope you feel better, Y/N!" The disconnect sound came through promptly after. You sighed and sat under an awning, shivering from your rain-soaked clothes. You slumped your head against a wall and cried softly, your eyes shut tight.

Around 15 minutes later, you felt warm, fluffy arms wrapping around you and Angel Dust's voice saying, "Hey, hey, you're okay, toots, let's get in the car and get you to the hotel." You took his hands and stumbled over to the car, slumping into the passenger seat.

"Trouble in paradise?" Angel asked, driving to the hotel. You nodded weakly. "You two will get over it. You're perfect for each other."

"I hope so," you sniffled.

The next day...

You heard a soft knocking at the door of the room you were sleeping in; it was Angel's room, but he'd gone to sleep in Husk's room so that you could have privacy.

"Come in," you said groggily, sitting up and finger-combing through your bedhead.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing a nervous Charlie and an even more nervous Lucifer (although his cheeks were rosy from seeing you so sleepy). Charlie pushed him into the room, gave you a thumbs up, and closed the door, leaving the two of you in the room, swallowed by the silence.

He hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of the blankets. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "I was cold for a little bit, but I slept fine."

"Your clothes got wet from the rain, I'm guessing?" Lucifer said.

You nodded. "Charlie put them in the wash, bless her heart," you chuckled. He chuckled lightly with you.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, taking your hands in his, "for everything I said. You didn't deserve a word of that. You're such a great worker and I'm so incredibly proud of you, sweet darling. You're not an attention seeker and I should've never even thought you would cheat on me."

"Thank you, Lucifer," you smiled. "I'm sorry for storming out on you without letting you apologize, that was unfair on my part."

"You had every reason to storm out on me," Lucifer said, squeezing your hands. "I'm surprised you didn't do anything else," he laughed.

"I wouldn't have the heart to do it," you returned with a laugh, his smile, that gorgeous smile, widening at the sound.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "Please, love, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you, just ask."

"Cuddles?" you grinned.

"That works for me," he laughed.

[whatisamettafor]

I saw a horrible AI Tam and Lucy this morning in animal onesies and had to use my actual human hands to make a better version.

After drawing the whole thing I was like damn....I should have made s*xy pin ups with little ears, so if you want to tell me to do that, consider joining the patreon

Edited because tumblr absolutely will not allow me to reply to messages, so I'm trying to reply to @booksnwriting:

The difference is that the other person put their prompt into a computer and the computer program took a bunch of artists' hard work and skill without permission to fill that prompt. I'm taking human skill, time and effort and using it to fill a prompt. What I'm doing is no different than any art challenge, or draw your OTP like this meme or whatever. Do I have their permission? No, but frankly if you're out here stealing other people's skills and calling it art, then I think it's only fair that your ideas can be turned around and used as prompts by people with those skills to produce actual drawings. Furthermore, what I'm doing is not hurting them, but if they didn't have access to a database of stolen work, maybe they would have given money to an actual human artist to draw their prompt, maybe they would have held a little drawing prompt contest and shared the art and gained real artists exposure which could then allow those artists to find work doing other commissions. Even if they didn't do either of those things, even if not having AI meant their idea just stayed in their head never to see the light of day, the existence of AI art in general devalues skills people had to work to develop and takes jobs away from those people by taking their existing work. That actively hurts artists. I'm "bashing" them because what they're doing is actively harming me and people like me.

Based on your user name I assume you are probably a writer, and I would like to ask you: is there more value in an actual human being writing things like fanfic (stories using other people's ideas as their jumping off point) or original books that include genre tropes than there is in typing prompts into a text generating AI?

Would you be annoyed if someone chose to write a retelling of Dracula using their own brain and hands in response to hearing that someone else was marketing a Dracula retelling that they'd "written" using a text autofill program?

And just so we're clear, the thing that makes the AI horrible is that it's AI, not whether or not it's nice to look at.

[sen-ya]

Sen's Important Info Post

Post last updated 10/29/24

Hey I'm Sen and I draw One Piece too much! I am terrible at keeping things easy to find, turns out when ur job is project management you don’t want to also do it in ur down time. My current theme is following the dopamine, keeping it as fun as it can be for me to draw. Below the cut is information on the different AUs & serializations I've got going on right now :^)

Important Links

[How to use Airtable]

[Sen's Digital Comic Book] - a database of every comic I've made that is woefully not updated often I am sorry. I gotta work on a better system for easy viewing.

[Life After Digital Comic Book] - a database of every page of Life After

[See Comics Early on Ko-Fi!]

[Life After Info Post] - Life After is currently on hiatus!

Posting Schedule

Thursday - Serialized Comics (current: Family AU//Forgetful)

Universe: Main Timeline

Comics that belong to this timeline are meant to follow through the events of canon, many of them were written while I was actively reading and didn't know what would happen next! Every comic that receives this tag happens in the same universe, so they may refer to each other in both plot-important and not important ways. These comics are largely LuLaw but include sprinkles of Heart Pirates (in general and as family), ZoSan, and general shenanigans.

Serializations:

Getting Together - Will they/won't they? They will, but they're gonna be stupid about it. Anything tagged into this series you can assume they haven't established that they're romantically interested in each other.

Established LuLaw - Two idiots in love. Anything tagged with this series you can assume they're together. They may not refer to each other as "boyfriend" or "partner" but whatever it is that's going on is clear to the two of them and that's what matters.

Law Loses - Most comics in this series deal with the aftermath of Winner Island. Law feels like a curse.

Goofs Only - These comics don't require serialization. They're just some good fun. If they include LawLu/LuLaw, they'll also be tagged as either "Getting Together" or "Established" so you have context for their reactions.

The Heart Bros - Law, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi found each other as kids. Comics in this series act as glimpses into their time growing up and other brotherly interactions. This is noncompliant with the Law novel. Once they form the Heart Pirates, they consider each other brothers.

ZoSan - I don't draw these two a lot anymore, so this series is just a general ZoSan category!

Heart Pirate Shenanigans - I went all in on Heart Pirates Week 2024 and wrote a bunch of comics about the various crew members! Leaving this as an open series for when I inevitably fall down another Heart Pirate rabbit hole.

Universe: Older/Family AU

Comics that belong to this timeline are meant to follow through the events of canon, many of them were written while I was actively reading and didn't know what would happen next! Every comic that receives this tag happens in the same universe, so they may refer to each other in both plot-importanComics in this universe take place anywhere from 7 - 30 years post canon. Mostly LuLaw with sprinkles of other shenanigans. You can assume events from the main timeline are canon in this AU.

Serializations:

Accidents Happen - Law gets a cold and stops running a few effects that he'd taken for granted.

Getting Married - Did you know if two pirate captains want to get married, they can just say they're married?

Extras - This series is for posts that offer context/additional information about what's going on in the AU

Family Fluff - These are a series of comics where the focus is on Law and/or Luffy as a parent.

Forgetful - Law gets hit by a devil fruit that makes him forget everything that's happened since just before Marineford.

Get back to it - After spending some time on Zou in Rocy's first 18 months, it's time for Luffy & Law to get back to pirating.

Universe: The Worst Timeline

Comics in this universe branch off of the main timeline around Whole Cake/early Wano. These comics may refer to earlier 'main timeline' events, but what happens in them is so terrible I've refused to make them part of my own personal canon. Sometimes it's just too temping to make them suffer :^)

Serializations:

Rightfully Worried - This series is an AU in which Luffy gets the absolute shit kicked out of him in Whole Cake and when he arrives on Wano Law has to save his life. It's not the first time he's performed surgery on him, but it is the first time he's had to since he's cared so much about his patient.

The Worst Wake-Up Call - During an intense battle, Law makes a decision. The ones who love him deal with the aftermath.

[renstardust]

Two months.

It had been exactly two months since you fled the First Order, leaving behind your life as Apprentice beneath Commander Ren.

You left without any trace or explanation. Ren assumed you left because you didn’t think anyone would care; that they could track down another dark side loving Force-user with ease. He worried that maybe, you thought you were disposable.

It’s not like the lingering glances or touches between you and your Master meant anything anyway — it was all just business. Neither of you had time for feelings or any of that soft shit.

He assumed you’d think he wouldn’t care if you left. That if anything, he’d probably be relieved. That he could find someone older, stronger, more serious about being in one of the most sought after positions in the galaxy.

Kylo was losing his fucking mind, actually.

The worst part was that he could feel you. Everywhere. Not just in the Force signature you’d left behind that lingered in the cold, metal hallways of the Supremacy, or in your former quarters (the same quarters he now only visits once a day, sometimes twice), but he could feel you, out there, running about.

Driving him utterly insane.

He replayed every little conversation in his head, every moment you’d spent together: training sessions, meditations, meal times, quiet moments in cockpits during missions. Trying to piece together every memory, trying to figure out exactly when and how he screwed up.

What he did — or didn’t do — to keep you.

Losing you made Kylo realize how deeply he actually felt about you. The sound of your voice that he felt soothed by, the way your black clothes hugged your body in a manner that would make his pants feel uncomfortably tight, how graceful and calculative your combat skills looked, both in training and actual fights.

He missed the warmth of your scent. The softness of your hair. Those beautiful fucking eyes. Your little quirks, your sense of humor, your confidence, your occasional stubbornness, your persistence.

Gods, he missed you. You haunted his dreams, interrupted his meditation sessions, caused a tightness in his chest that hasn’t disappeared since the day you were suddenly gone.

As if you were never here to begin with.

Kylo’s lip trembled, tears pricking at his hazel eyes as he sat in his quarters after a particularly rough day of training with the Knights. He shook his head, shoving his feelings aside, including the everlasting urge to go sit in your old quarters across the hall and try to smell the barely-there scent of your perfume. He still hasn’t let the cleaning droids come near that room.

Was he….grieving you?

Should he go looking for you? Maybe he could coax you back-

“Why is everyone being a dick to me today?”

Your voice suddenly filled his quarters, pulling him from his daze, the metal door sliding shut behind you. Kylo blinked, tense as ever, quickly rising from his seat and adjusting himself. His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted.

“I get it, I took a little leave to visit my family, but I really needed it, and I’m glad I did it. Two months without my datapad was really refreshing too. It’s not my fault everyone else here is married to their job.”

Kylo cleared his throat, confused as all hell.

“Apprentice-“

“Especially Hux! He looked at me like I was a ghost. I get that we aren’t on the greatest terms, but he could’ve at least acknowledged me with a nicety.”

“APPRENTICE.”

Your lips snapped shut, eyes widening at your Master’s stern, husky voice. The extra deep version that you only heard when he was at his breaking point.

“What, Kylo?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“…On vacation? I sent everyone notice like three weeks before I left. And the night before…?”

“Nobody knew you went on vacation.”

“But Officer Mitaka told me to have fun before I left.”

A beat of silence. A creak of leather in Kylo’s gloved hands, now squeezing into big fists. Tight, trembling fists.

“Which database did you forward the notice to?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Eleven. I usually message in eleven.”

“Highest ranking officials message in database thirteen, Apprentice.”

Your pupils dilate, lips parting. “Fuck, is that why none of you guys reacted to the pictures I sent?”

Kylo didn’t know whether he wanted to kill you, or take you right then and there. Irritation and relief pulsed through his body simultaneously as he took in slow breaths of frustration. He was fucking pissed.

And so, so fucking happy.

You were here.

You never really left.

Kylo pulled his lips into his mouth, eyes darkening before he responded. “Medbay. Now. Let’s go.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting you tagged, Apprentice.”

[psychoticallytrans]

This post is specifically meant to help kids and emerging adults that were not taught what you might not want to share online.

The purpose of not sharing personal information is to make it more difficult to connect up information about you, and especially to make it difficult to connect the "you" online to the "you" offline. The reasons one may want to do this range from maintaining safe relationships outside of an abusive relationship, to making it harder to put together enough information to break into their bank account, to being actively concerned about doxxing and swatting.

For any of these reasons, if you're not completely sure you will be fine having that information on the internet indefinitely, it's best not to share it in the first place. The internet is full of turmoil, but we all know that some posts never die, and that others are archived.

Here's some information that is generally considered a bad idea to share publicly or privately online, with the exception of applying for jobs or working with online financial and legal systems, and some strong alternatives.

Your full legal name, or any particularly distinctive part of your legal name. My first name has less than six hundred people with it in the States. I use a nickname on this blog for a reason. Nicknames are a great alternative to legal names.

Your birthday, especially if you also share your exact age. That allows for people to look for you based on your exact birth date, which is a very powerful piece of information. Unlike your legal name, there's no way I know of to change it. Consider not sharing this at all. For age, "minor" or "adult" are all the information a reasonable person should need.

Your precise location. Big cities, like Tokyo, New York City, or London, have a high enough population to act as a bit of a smokescreen, but as a rule of thumb, stick to stating a local with at least a million people in it. I often just use my time zone, since it's the main thing people need to know online.

There's other information that is questionable to share openly online, particularly your personal phone number and email, but those are the three big pieces of information that it's generally not a good idea to share either publicly or privately. This is because they can be plugged into background checkers and other databases to try to find you offline. The more information you share, the more someone can narrow down who you are. If that is something you are concerned about, consider following these guidelines about what not to share.

I encourage people to add onto and spread around this post.

[novamariestark]

Slip of the Tongue - Alden Parker

Summary: You accidentally call Alden his pet name in front of the team

Warnings: None, except maybe, use of a pet name

Word count: 1681

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Alden Parker x reader

[A/N] I've been working on this for weeks and it didn't really end up as well as I pictured it in my head but I am happy that my lazyass brain let me write something.

You hadn’t meant to say it. It was an accident. Just a slip of the tongue. You knew for sure that Nick was never going to let you live this down.

You and Alden have been together for about six months and for the sake of your professional relationship, you kept it secret. At least you did. It didn’t take an investigator to figure it out.

You all hadn’t long come back from a crime scene and whilst you were there, you spotted someone suspicious. His body language set him apart from all the other onlookers. That’s when Gibbs’ voice popped into your mind.

Rule 35: Always watch the watchers.

You were the team’s profiler and one of the best. Many agents came by and asked for your thoughts on possible motives or to observe an interrogation. Your journey into psychology and profiling began when you were just 15 years old. When you met Ducky. At that time, he was in the middle of his pursuit of his master’s degree in psychology. The world of the human mind had held a certain mystique that had captivated you from the start, just as much as Ducky's stories did.

When Ducky decided to retire as ME, he personally chose you and Jimmy as his successors. You initially apprehensive about taking that role given the size of the shoes you had to fill but Ducky believed that you were both more than capable to do the job. As it turned out, he was right. As usual.

When you got back to your desk, you immediately started to investigate the onlooker you had seen. You started to run him through facial recognition hoping to find something. Whilst you were waiting for a hit, you looked through the crime scene photos, looking for something you may have missed when you took the photo.

A little over an hour later, your computer beeped, and like meerkats, the team all looked up from their tasks.

“Ooh, sounds like [Y/N] has something,”

You shook your head, you hadn’t found anything, just the name of the onlooker, “No, it’s just an e-mail, ignore it,”

The team exchanged glances but didn’t push any further. You turned your attention to your “e-mail” and began scouring databases, cross-referencing information, and followed his digital trails, determined to find out if he had anything to do with it.

Soon you find out that he’s got a lengthy list of offences, violent ones, “McGee?” you spoke up, shifting in your seat to look at him.

“Yeah?” he asked looking away from his screen giving you his full attention.

“Have you looked into the wife yet?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

McGee couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't tell me you're following Tony's logic," he teased, referring to their former colleague's penchant for the saying, "It's always the spouse."

You joined in the laughter, shaking your head. "No, just wondering. I mean, I could if you're busy,"

McGee scrunched his eyebrows at you, “Okay, what are you working on over there?” he asked getting increasingly curious.

You glanced around the room and noticed that the entire team had turned their attention to you. You sighed and then looked back at Tim. "Rule 35," you said simply.

“Really? Someone set off your spidey sense?” he asked, you nodded in response.

“Care to share?” Alden asked, “What’s rule 35?”

You chewed your lip, would he be annoyed you kept this to yourself? You opened your mouth to answer but McGee beat you to it.

“Uh, Gibbs’ rule 35. Always watch the watchers,” he explained.

“I uh, saw a man in the crowd of onlookers. His body language was different than everyone else,” you explained further, “It was just a hunch, if it led anywhere, I would tell you guys,”

“And did it?” Alden asked, standing up from his desk and walking over to yours. You looked up at him. Sometimes you wondered how you managed to concentrate at all with how damn sexy he was. All. The. Time. But you did.

“Um, the guy I saw has a restraining order against him by a Naomi Fisher,” you shrugged, “I know that’s the first name of the victim’s wife and…” you stopped when you saw a look on his face, one you couldn’t decipher. Not that you’d tell Nick that, “I’m sorry, I just thought that it was suspicious, I should have told you,” you looked down at your hands on the desk, at the keyboard, anywhere away from his eyes. Beside you, you could hear the clacking of McGee’s keyboard.

“Naomi Wilkes’ maiden name is Fisher,” he spoke up with a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” Torres groaned playfully from the other side of you, “How am I supposed to kiss ass if you’re always using your superpowers?”

Alden smiled at you, “Good job,” he said before turning to walk away.

“Thanks, daddy,” you said, immediately clasping your hands over your mouth. Alden stops dead in his tracks.

The office fell into a stunned silence, and the team's jaws dropped making it clear that they had caught your slip up. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized what you had just said. Oh shit. Why did you say that? Because he praised you? Was that your weakness?

What the hell, of course it is. You were surprised you lasted this long.

You quickly looked at Alden, "I'm sorry, Alden,"

He gave you a subtle, reassuring smile, “It’s alright, [Y/N]”

Jess exchanged a knowing glance with Tim, who wore a subtle grin and Nick was trying and failing to suppress his laugh.

“Okay, stay focused still got a case to solve. Everyone back to what they were doing,” Alden said returning to his desk, “[Y/N], create a profile on your onlooker,” he said with a smile.

You smiled back, “Sure,”

***

You delved into both his and Naomi’s background, their relationship going as far back as pre teen years. They dated, he got multiple arrests and she filed a restraining order against him 5 years ago after he almost killed her little brother. He is currently out on parole. You found the number of his officer and rang them up. After the call you find that he’s missed his appointment with his parole officer and can’t be found. You decided to call metro and ask if they could place some officers outside Naomi Wilkes house just in case he returned.

“Okay, I’m done,” you said standing up, you faintly hear Nick mumble ‘this’ll be good,’ he enjoyed watching you analyse things, as did everyone else. Especially Alden, he found it completely sexy.

“His name is Jon Milton. He was recently released from prison on parole however his parole officer doesn’t know where he is. Anyway, he has an obsessive fixation on Naomi. He is unable to accept the end of their relationship. This is a possible motive for the murder of Craig Wilkes, likely an attempt to regain control over her and may even be punishment for her moving on. He’s narcissistic, he believes he is entitled to her affection, her love, her loyalty. He sees her choices as a direct threat to his self-esteem and he reacts with anger and violence to reassert his dominance. He has a violent history which indicates that he has often resorted to aggression as a means of gaining control. He’s delusional. He’s convinced himself that killing Naomi’s husband was the only way to regain her affections. He also exhibits psychopathic traits. He’s lacking empathy or remorse for his actions. His return to the crime scene to watch Naomi grieve her husband's death demonstrates sadistic tendencies. He derives pleasure from her pain and relishes in his own cruel actions,” you finished your presentation of your findings and looked to everyone.

“I believe he did it,” you added, nodding your head to his picture on the screen, “I also believe he will continue to harm those near her. I called Metro and asked them to have officers posted outside her house,”

As the team mobilized to verify your hunch about the onlooker being the murderer, your investigation took a turn. McGee began combing through stolen car reports, cross-referencing them with camera footage from the victim's neighborhood. Soon, on one of the cameras, he spotted the stolen car, parked on the same street as the victim's residence.

Meanwhile, Kasie, the team's forensic expert, was hard at work analyzing evidence from the crime scene. She finally came across all the prints you pulled from the porch banister. Kasie ran it through the database. It matched the onlooker's known prints. This was another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

As you all pieced together these findings, your phone rang. Your BOLO alert had come back. The onlooker had just been spotted a few streets away from his ex's house. You thanked the man and immediately called the officers that were sat outside her house to warn them and let them know they were on their way.

“He’s just been spotted a few streets away from the Wilkes’ house,”

“Alright let’s move,” Alden said as he started gearing up.

***

Later that night, after you all got back after arresting Milton, you were all back in the bullpen. McGee was getting ready to leave. So were Jess and Nick, but they all noticed that you and Alden weren’t moving.

“So, uh,” Torres spoke up, “Was he playing with his plants or…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you laughed at him.

“Yeah, please don’t,” McGee begged.

“Okay, okay,” he said walking away, towards the elevator, “Don’t stay up too late!” he called over before the doors shut.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, you knew he wanted to keep it a secret. Well not so much a secret, just he preferred to keep your professional relationship and your personal relationship separate.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alden reassured you again, “At least you don’t have to come up with all these different lies anymore. When Torres asks you to hang out you can just say you’d rather hang out with me,”

[theweirdgoodbyes]

“C’mon, lemme help you. You’re breakin’ my heart.”

It’s a Thursday night, the Eagles are playing against the Patriots, and Babe Heffron is one miserable son of a bitch. He had called Bill for an emergency meeting after a particularly gruesome day at work, which including him chasing a student eloping out of the building and down the streets of Philadelphia in 15 degree weather. Why administration hadn’t listened to him about needing locks on his doors, he’ll never understand. Babe ended the day freezing, frustrated, and with a pile of paperwork. He loved his job as a special education teacher, and loved making a difference in young lives. But days like today always brought him back to their familiar spot, The Currahee, much needed beer in hand. One beer had turned into two, and then three, and then Babe lamenting his lonely existence as a perpetually single gay man.

“Pussy hound Bill Guarnere wants to help me pick up a guy? Has hell frozen over?” Babe asks sarcastically, pressing two fingers to the pulse in his neck, “Am I dead?”

“Shaddup. Don’t act like the guys wouldn’t go crazy over me.”

Babe leans forward, reaching out to pat Bill’s arm, “Oh, baby, you drive me crazy alright.”

Babe would do anything for Bill Guarnere. When they were sixteen, and Babe finally understood why he didn’t look at girls the way other guys did, he was terrified to tell Bill that he was gay. Bill, all rough edges and macho energy, had been his best friend since the first day of kindergarten. “You tryna play?” Bill had barked at him the moment Babe stepped into the classroom, still clinging to his mother’s legs. From that moment on the two of them were inseparable. The idea of losing Bill was scarier than anything he could think of, and it took Babe months and several pep talks in the mirror to muster up the courage. So one fateful night, as they drank some stolen beers on Babe’s childhood trampoline, Babe just blurted it out.

“Bill, I like guys.”

Bill was silent for a moment, before tossing his beer over the netting and rolling on top of Babe to envelop him in a giant hug. Babe hugged him back and fought back tears against his shoulder, comforted by Bill’s gruff assurances that best friends forever meant forever. Ten years later, here they are, still thick as thieves, and Bill is adamant that all of Babe’s problems will be solved by getting laid.

“Alright, ‘nough of the funny business,” Bill puts his hands up, as serious as he could ever be. “You want my help or not? I’m tired of listenin’ to you piss and moan over what’s his face.”

“Henry,” Babe sighs, thinking of his ex boyfriend. They had only dated for the summer while Henry was doing an internship in the area. He had gone back to Buffalo in August, and Babe’s love life has been bleak since.

“Yeah, Fuckface McGee, him. You were too good for him, Babe, didn’t I always tell you that?” Bill raises a furry eyebrow, forgetting that according to him Babe was too good for every boyfriend he’s had. He had also taken up the obnoxious but well-meaning habit of running every guy Babe had ever spoken to through the database at the police station, with something as small as a speeding ticket enough to make him concerned. “How long have you known me?”

“Too damn long.”

“And have I ever steered you wrong?”

Before Babe can open his mouth, Bill points at him with a shake of his head, “Don’t answer that. Take a good look around this bar and take your pick. Daddy’s gonna help you.”

Babe looks around the bar. It’s a freezing night in January, so it’s only regulars like him and Bill who have no better place to be. He scans past familiar faces until he sees someone he doesn’t recognize.

“Him.”

Bill turns to look. This stranger is sitting at the bar, eyes laser-focused on the game playing above him. Babe can’t make out the color, but can feel the intensity in them from across the room. He’s got a short crop of black hair to match his furrowed brows, a bit of stubble, and lips that Babe is very interested in seeing up close.

“That guy? The little one with the face?”

“He’s not little.”

“You think he’s on your team?”

Babe keeps looking at this handsome stranger, taking more of him in. His gaydar has always been horrible, highlighted by the confident kiss he had once given his buddy Welsh only to gently be told that friends is all they would ever be. Babe runs on the assumption because it’s 2024, and the world is a much more accepting place than it was ten years ago, that trying to hit on a straight guy isn’t the worst thing that could happen. The stranger is still wearing his coat, despite the stuffy bar air, arms crossed and hands tucked under his armpits like he’s cold. He’s found a lonely corner of the bar, and the drink in front of him is empty. He’s got an air about him that’s says “leave me the fuck alone”, and Babe sees him shake his head when the bartender goes over. Maybe he’s getting ready to leave, he thinks. Babe starts to second guess himself, and begins looking around to see his other options. Handsome Stranger’s mysterious vibe is intriguing, but the possibility of rejection would put Babe in the ground after his rough day.

“I’m goin’ in,” Bill stands up before Babe can protest and struts over to the bar, misplaced confidence oozing out of him.

Babe can only watch in horror as Bill plops himself down next to Handsome Stranger, sticks out a meaty hand, and begins to jabber away. He decides that’s all he needs to see and sets his sight on the nearest TV just in time to watch the Eagles make a touchdown. At least it’s a good day for the Bird Gang.

A moment passes and Babe finds the courage to look back at the bar. He sees Bill stomping back over to him, face contorted in a scowl that Babe is all too familiar with. The conversation cannot have gone in his favor. The guy is definitely straight, potentially homophobic based on Bill’s visible anger.

“What did he say?” Babe dares to ask. He puts his glass to his lips, praying for a miracle.

“First of all, kid must be fuckin’ blind because he took one look at me and says ‘Absolutely not’.”

Babe chokes on his beer, sputtering foam all over the table. He pounds his chest with his fist, willing himself to breathe through his laughter. It’s not often that Bill faces rejection, and the obvious wound to his ego is something Babe will savor for years to come.

“So I says, ‘Listen, toots’-“

Babe’s laughter is cut short and he groans, because of course Bill would make an ass of himself, and by extension, Babe. “Bill, no, you did not call him ‘toots’-“

“I says, ‘first of all, you ain’t my type, with the lack of tits and that pissy pout-“

“BILL!”

“-and you ain’t for me, you’re for the poor fucker sittin’ over here’”, Bill plops back down in his chair, shaking his head. He finishes his beer and sighs, like the interaction has exhausted him, “And then I walked away before I punched him in the mouth.”

Babe just drops his head down on the table. This isn’t the first time Bill has been an absolute beast in public, and it certainly won’t be the last. Babe’s minuscule dream of a night not spent alone has been dashed.

“You need a muzzle,” he mumbles to the wood, “I’m gonna have to tie you to the pole outside. Put up a sign that says, ‘please don’t pet me, I bite’.”

“Don’t be a prick. Can’t say I didn’t tr-“

“Hey.”

Babe looks up and Jesus Christ, Handsome Stranger is standing right in front of him. Although the bar is quieter than usual, the man had appeared with such silence that Babe wonders if he appeared out of thin air. He can barely believe this is real, certain that the guy was either straight or so repulsed by Bill that all hope was lost.

“Hey,” he squeaks out. Oh, Christ. He clears his throat and repeats himself, “Hey.”

The guy stares at him with those dark eyebrows still furrowed, like he’s looking at something under a microscope. Suddenly self-conscious under his unrelenting gaze, Babe runs his hand over his forehead, trying to rub away any red mark that might be left from slamming his head down.

God, up close he really is hot. His eyes are somewhere between blue and grey, complimented by the blue scrubs he’s wearing under his coat. Babe feels his cheeks turning as red as his hair, but unable to look away from those unblinking eyes. Over the hum of distant conversations and game commentary, Babe wonders if Handsome Stranger can hear his heart thumping out of his chest.

“You his friend?” He sticks a thumb at Bill, who immediately straightens up.

“His best friend, actu-“

“Give me your phone.”

Babe could fall out of his chair. There’s no way.

“My what?”

“Your phone. It’s right there.” Handsome Stranger points to where it rests on the table next to Babe’s glass.

“Oh, yeah, sure, here.” Babe scrambles to grab his phone and unlock it, handing it over quicker than he would like to admit.

The stranger taps at it and then quickly types something in and hands it back to Babe. He looks to see his contacts open, with a new addition: Eugene Roe. He doesn’t recognize the area code, explaining why he’s never seen this Eugene before tonight.

“Cool beans,” is all Babe can think to say because holy shit, he did not expect Bill to actually pull through with this. When he looks up again, Eugene Roe is gone. He looks to the door just in time to see it swing shut, catching a quick glimpse of white sneakers walking away.

Bill gives him a shit eat grinning and grabs his shoulders to give him a rough shake.

“Cool beans? What are you, fuckin’ twelve?”

“I panicked,” Babe defends himself. He can’t help but smile and looks back at his phone. He wonders if it would make him seem desperate to text him right now. Yeah, it would, he decides, maybe he’ll wait an hour-

Bill cackles, a sound that shocks Babe back into reality. “Never say I never did nothin’ for you, even though that guy is already on thin fuckin’ ice with me. Now go buy me a beer. The king is thirsty.”

Babe happily obliges, making his way over to the bar in a half-daze. While the bartender pours Bill’s beer, Babe looks back over to where his handsome no-longer a stranger was sitting. Eugene Roe, he thinks, who are you?

(Now posted on my ao3 with some edits! https://archiveofourown.org/works/53977666#work_endnotes)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Tumblr, WIBTA if I confronted my supervisor about a volunteer doing my job?

I (18 NB) work at a library in a temporary location while the library I am in charge of, a sister branch, goes through major construction due to neglect over the years. During this process, I've worked with my coworkers to box all the books and bring them back to "HQ". Recently we've begun a process called weeding, in which reference librarians comb through books and decide which ones to discard.

My job was to dig through the boxes (over 100 of them) and grab ones that match a specific description of what we're tackling and place them onto a cart. I prefer doing this because I have a knack for remembering placements and titles of books I've personally handled, and I like to be informed of the books I am supposed to have in my location, even in the process. I also just like working on my own and rummaging around (it's fun). I also get requests from other librarians of what they may be looking for and what they need, so I ensure that in the next round that can be applicable. This might seem like I'm asking for too much control over something so trivial, but it's important to me and my work to be fully aware of what's happening. In this job there are many instances in which, due to many factors, I've been sold short and left confused because I'm not taught nearly enough to run a library on my own in their system. Initially I was supposed to be given only 3 days worth of training, which is not nearly enough (in my opinion).

Regardless, I recently got word that a new volunteer that works a different schedule than me did this carting process and started to proceed through a different section that screwed up my plans (both in with the boxes and in what a librarian had requested). I understand that this volunteer wanted to learn more about the library and was told to do so by my supervisor, but it's super disheartening to hear the process had been intervened and messed with. From what I understand, this is outside of what specifically this volunteer is looking at (databases) and I don't see how an early stage of this process was meant to help. I could understand later on, with the reference librarians, how this could be a useful teaching opportunity when weeding comes into play. There were also many questions surrounding the purpose and job of the volunteer, but I don't know of any answers, so I can't give more.

Overall I feel very unnerved and I wish to confront my supervisor, or at least express how I feel, but would I be an asshole for doing so? I worry that I'm overstepping my position. Despite being in charge of a sister location, a lot of my work has been on par with students with a little variety in technical and creative tasks in my current location. I feel that a lot of what I strive to do is undermined with the knowledge that I will be "on my own" come when construction ends, so to grit and bear what little to do until then. Would I be an asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[yanderes-galore]

Maybe something with yandere prompts 2, 5 and 9 with toy bonnie please?

Sure! Using my prompts for this as usual. Been awhile since I've written for Toy Bonnie. I struggled on the plot for this one so hopefully it still makes a good story :)

Again, like usual, AU where all bots have the AI like the Glamrocks.

Yandere! Toy Bonnie Prompts 2, 5, 9

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Manipulation, Narcissism, Social isolation, Violence, Sabotage, Obsession, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Forced companionship, Intimidation, Broken bones, Implied kidnapping or death.

When the new Freddy Fazbear's location opened there were new animatronics introduced. The new Toy Series of animatronics were meant to look 'kid-friendly' compared to older models.

They went all out with the new look, too. The newer Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica looked way friendlier than the older models... who were stored away for part use. The newer Foxy didn't last long, unfortunately, and the new Balloon Boy and Puppet animatronic still seemed to creep out children even with attempted changes.

The more interesting part of their AI, in your opinion, was the ability to scan and register employees into their database. Although... while the previous models had this tech, it didn't transfer the best to the Toys.

That was the mechanic's assumption... many complained they stared blankly at adults but were fine with kids.

The staring was occasional and did not happen all the time, but when it did... it was freaky. The animatronics also had a component that could allow the bots to speak to employees in their own instead of the pre-programmed song library. The designer really thought things through... wanting to make the AI as realistic as possible.

Such tech isn't perfect... as you'd soon find out.

Each bot had their own personality. Although you noticed most, if not all the Toy line, has a craving for attention. It made sense... they were meant to be for kids. Kids tend to crave attention, too.

Such a quirk in their AI made the bots cling to and follow employees. The worst bots had to be the new Bonnie and Freddy. Luckily you only ever saw one around you all the time.

For the most part, each bot got along with you. They would greet you and often offer to help. Even Mangle (the broken new Foxy) with its heavily damaged AI made attempts to communicate through static.

Bonnie was the one who often looked to talk to you. Toy Bonnie, a blue rabbit with wide green eyes, was built to play songs with kids. He was always one for the spotlight and thrived on attention.

With the cute exterior and high-pitched voice, Toy Bonnie was a hit with the kids. Even when trying to speak with you... he still attempted to be friendly. You didn't mind the bot deciding you're his favorite.

You could never get used to the staring, unfortunately.

Sometimes it was just during his performances. Those green eyes would never leave you... even if you left the room. They'd always linger where you were.

It's worse when you're with another bot. Perhaps you're setting up a show with Freddy or Chica? Bonnie's staring... as though his programming is glitched.

Yet when checked, things worked fine.

This wasn't an issue you could physically find. No, it's nearly impossible to find a self-aware AI as they hid their traces. Bonnie didn't stare because he was glitching necessarily....

In his eyes, he's jealous.

He's incredibly upset at the fact the others are on such good terms with you...

The rabbit starts dropping hints.

"My guitar needs tuning!

He comes up with excuse after excuse...

"The stage needs cleaning!"

He hopes he takes up all of your time...

"Can you listen to this for me?"

Yet it never seems enough.

"I don't like that you care so much about the others...!"

"I need to, Bonnie. It's my job!"

"They have their own employees... I have you! You're meant to help me and only me! Not them! Your time is much better spent around me! Ditch them...."

"Can't believe they programmed manipulation into you...."

Toy Bonnie's eyes narrow, he hates it when you fight....

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!" Toy Bonnie answers, grinning. "It's never good to waste time with unworthy scrap metal."

Sometimes you wish these locations had normal robots. Toy Bonnie's craving for attention makes the bot too obsessive about you... causing fights.

Many fights.

Toy Bonnie hates the idea of sharing... maybe you need to learn a lesson.

A harsh lesson....

Toy Bonnie knew harm towards employees was frowned upon in his programming. In his eyes, though...

This was deserved.

All it took was a planned slip and a painful fall to put you out of commission for a bit. According to gossip Bonnie heard from stage and while wandering party rooms, his little trick damaged your leg. He didn't know the degree... but you weren't coming to work for a bit.

Just in case... Toy Bonnie threatened the others during their scheduled night routine to keep their distance if his other plan didn't work. The night guard certainly got an interesting event to watch on the cameras that night....

You'd think after that you'd leave the others be, right?

Sadly, it seems the rabbit was wrong. You still paid attention to the others and not him when you came back. Still claiming it was your job....

The rabbit didn't want to stand by and be docile anymore like he was supposed to.

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

Toy Bonnie taunts you again in a quieter area while you look for something in a storage room. The bot's green eyes look towards your bandaged leg. He scans it... looks like a fracture.

You pause and look towards him. Your eyes hold fear... and anger.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'd think after that little tumble of yours you'd learn who deserves your attention. Especially when the others started ignoring you." Toy Bonnie chides, optics narrowing. You realize what he means....

"I'll have you scrapped...." You warn, teeth gritting. "You broke my damn leg!"

"Knew you were my smart rockstar! Now... perhaps I have to be more direct?"

Toy Bonnie jolts forward, causing you to jump in fear.

"You are my little rockstar... not theirs... mine. I'm the one you should care for... not them. Do you need another lesson, or do you understand?"

The presumably malfunctioning bot steps closer, blocking your exit.

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

The bot growls, glitchy twitches making the normally cute appearance of the animatronic unhinged and dangerous. You notice Bonnie position into a pounce... the room's shelves not giving you enough room to move.

"Here's your final lesson, rockstar..." Bonnie chuckles, servos clicking before launching into a dangerous attack. "I can break way more than your leg if you really want!"

Your screaming was cut off quickly, one way or another.

[copperbadge]

I feel like you had some posts about coworkers saving stuff in weird file formats a while ago. I couldn't find them to reference, but. My job is a lot of working in SQL. The company hired a new guy a year ago who isn't that comfortable with SQL. For a YEAR, I've been trying to get him to save the SQL code he uses so he can learn from it and build on it. On Friday, I asked him to open up a query I told him to save and he pulled up an Excel file. (1/2)

I asked what he was doing, and he showed me how he started saving SQL code. Instead of just saving the file as a SQL file, which would be really easy and just involve using the File menu in SQL, he copies the query into a sheet in an Excel workbook. 🤦🏻‍♀️ On the one hand, I should be happy because it took me a year to finally get him to save stuff. But why would anyone do that??? He's already in SQL! Just save it! 😂 (2/2)

LOL yeah I had posted about my HR officer sending the law firm a PDF of our handbook to "proof" and them saving it as word, proofing, then saving back to PDF to send it back to us, meaning I had to basically reformat the entire document from scratch. :D And then there was the no-fly list being saved as a CSV.

I have to admit I don't work in code at all, so what you're saying sounds very much like something I'd do -- take something I'd been told to archive but wasn't comfortable with and put it into a structure I found more familiar. Like, did he know he could save it in SQL? Did he feel confident that having saved it he could find it again? I don't know how things are saved in SQL, after all, or how I'd go about finding them. I've worked in databases where there's only one "save" slot, so when you save something, anything you'd previously saved is wiped out. Whereas in Excel, I know exactly how to keep notes and access them.

The problem tends to be less that people know how to do something but do it differently for no visible reason, and more that we're asking people who aren't familiar with certain file types to do things with them but not training them in the how or why. Like, my HR officer didn't know you can't easily proof in PDF format, but that's because we haven't trained her in it (I've offered but she's very nervous about it, and I can't MAKE her learn her way around a PDF). So while I'm mad-amused about having to redo the entire handbook, it's less because she made the job tough on me and more because a combination of her lack of training and pettiness on the part of the law firm meant more work for me. Not securing a no-fly list properly on a server is a big deal -- but that means the person we ask to do it should be thoroughly trained and understand both how and why they're doing what they're doing. And given the state of American air travel I'm guessing they just picked someone who looked like they didn't have enough work to do.

Anyway -- it is funny that he had code saved in Excel, a notoriously difficult program for saving things in the format you want them to be saved in :D But I can't help feeling for the guy, I wouldn't want to have to learn-by-doing my way through SQL code either :D

[dollsonmain]

I'd rather have been asleep at 1:40am instead of laying there thinking about how uncertain and scared I feel right now, but I was laying there feeling uncertain and scared and realized I have no idea what people that work in offices DO.

I've only worked retail/customer service outside of the military and even while working in an office in the military, I had nothing to do.

At first I was put in one office that didn't need me so they just said "Here... Manage these files." and I was like "..... how, exactly??" and ended up retyping the labels for all of them because some were wrong and there was nothing else for me to do.

Then they gave me the personnel database. I rebuilt it and made it accessible in two days, and that was it. After that, I filled out orders for one person once. The only way I had anything to DO was by becoming the mail clerk which is another customer-facing, cyclically repetitive task that is never done and needs redone in the same way every day. After the mail was done, which took about two hours, I would leave or go sit in my office with nothing to do because the database was my whole job and it was DONE. It wouldn't need changed until the software was updated and that wouldn't be for years.

I had a once-a-week task of making a physical copy of the server which meant going into a closet, popping a tape into a machine, and waiting. I had to sit there with it. There was nothing else to do. I got in trouble for coloring in a coloring book while waiting for the backups to write and I was like "........ What am I SUPPOSED to do, then?????" "Work on the database!" "It's DONE........"

If it's SQL stuff do people sit around until the boss says "Hey, I need to know how much we spent on avocado toast this month." and then whip up a report real quick and wait for the boss to want a report on something else? What about when the boss doesn't need a report?

What do IT people do when things are working smoothly?

I can understand data entry, that would be like "Here we have all these waivers that were signed for the indoor trampoline business and these need plugged into the database manually because the online one was down so they're on paper." or something like that but what about when the online waivers do work what do they do then?

?????

It's like that episode of Seinfeld where George gets an office job but just sits there all day because he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing, no one tells him, and he eventually gets fired because he didn't do anything.

[calculatesguilt]

what sort of characters do you think perceptor has an interesting relationship/dyanmic with (not necessarily romantic)? :0 sorry I’m super interested in this guy and find your thoughts really cool

Perceptor and Prowl. (Not romantic to be clear I would never ship them romantically)

There are so many hidden implications to their relationship within canon that drives me kinda crazy. I wish their dynamic was explored more but I need you to understand there's this... this almost attack dog and its handler dynamic I see between them after Perceptor became a Wrecker. Listen you must trust me. There's not Much in canon but there is plenty to extrapolate from Last Stand, AHM, and Out of Bullets.

It's incredibly fascinating to me, their interactions and implications. They have very similar ways of thinking actually, it's just a matter of application that differentiates them.

See, the way I see it, Perceptor was just... not popular when he was a Wrecker, I'd say he was isolated even from them. It is within my opinion that... given his distance from them, given his willingness to Do The Task no matter what, he was the sort Prowl would call upon in particularly sensitive tasks. (Thus his role as "Plan B")

He was the one who would Get The Job Done, and if it meant killing other Wreckers then he would (let's not forget how willing he was to let Impactor die.)

I also find it fascinating how quickly Perceptor figured out what Aequitas was and what it was for. And that he had the codes for the shield. That he knew what, exactly, to do in there (the suicide lock. Uploading the database to Ironfist.) It seems awfully convenient to know all this if he didn't know anything about it.

Which leads me to believe Prowl and Perceptor had a discussion about what he was supposed to do. There's this. dissonance that Perceptor experiences that I find interesting. He condemns Prowl but does what is ordered of him regardless.

I would've loved to see them interact more, but it might be for the best they didn't. They are, TO ME, foils. I think they would be really bad for each other if they were ever to interact with one another again outside of their few interactions.

[victoriansecret]

I'm in my mid-30s and my ever-growing love for history has spurred me to consider a career change into the field. I'd love to work in a museum or archive in a research or curatorship role (rather than as an academic), and I live somewhere where I could take time out to get a masters degree.

From your experience - is a change like this feasible? Is there work available? Will a late (re)start be a hindrance to getting a foot in? Is a degree worth it, or should I aim to get volunteer experience instead? Or am I better off sticking with my current decent office job and treating historical research as a passion/free-time activity instead?

This is a great question, and I wanted to give you as good an answer as possible so I outsourced to a friend and former colleague who worked in collections. This is what she had to say: *follow the Emerging Museum Professional FB page. There is lots of advice there

*I don’t think it’s ever too late to follow your dreams. You’re in your mid-30s, not 99! (Although even then I’d say go for it!)

* I’d recommend volunteering at a place you would be interested in working in. It’ll give you a better sense whether or not this is actually a field you’d like to get into, or just a fun hobby. Both answers are totally ok

* I’m a fan of experience over degrees, but it really depends on where you would want to work. Many positions require a masters degree, but not all. If you are in a small town, or more rural area, it would be easier to talk your way into a position than if you are in a big city

* if you’ve loved history for a long time, try to articulate how skills you have in your hobby or through your office jobs relate to the museum field. I used to manage cafes and found that many of those skills transitioned into collections management (inventory, databasing, customer interactions, etc.)

Best of luck! ---

I will echo her point that it's definitely not too late and if it's something you're truly passionate about it's worth at least considering. Obviously it's not always that simple - giving up a stable, decent job is a risk etc., so while I'm generally not a fan of volunteer work, it might be worth trying it just to see if it's something you would like as much as you think. I will also agree with her point about experience over degrees. I've never been to college at all myself, which is a huge rarity in this field, and when I got my first museum job my only work experience was running a salad bar at a restaurant. But my supervisor told me, years after the fact, that part of why she gave me an interview was that in my cover letter I made an analogy comparing running a salad bar to being a historic interpreter: something about how being in the middle of the dining room meant the bar and by extension myself were always on display, and how that would mean I'd be more comfortable with thousands of guests seeing me in period clothing etc. Granted, interpreting is very much about talking and making analogies to help guests understand the past, so it's a bit different from the behind the scenes work in how those skills translate, and how demonstrating an ability to talk is directly related to the work itself, but still. I hope this is helpful, and I hope that if you do decide to pursue this it works out how you hope! Thanks for the question!

[bumblebeeappletree]

We meet a biologist who has spent his life observing the littlest living things; from pollen in the air to the moss under our feet.

Dr Andrew Thornhill is a research botanist at the State Herbarium of South Australia curating the bryophyte collection, including mosses, liverworts and hornworts. He also teaches plant identification at the University of Adelaide which is within walking distance via the botanic gardens.

Early in life, Dr Andrew knew he wanted to study living things and enrolled in university straight out of high school. Unfortunately, one week before studies began, Andrew discovered he had a rare form of cancer in his knee and was met with an option to amputate or go through a world-first surgery. He opted for the surgery, which was successful, though “it meant that I couldn’t run anymore, and I had to take care of my leg. It didn’t help that I was in a car accident five years after chemo. I broke both my legs and every bone in my foot, so I had to recover again.”

Despite having to defer his studies, Dr Andrew continued with a focus on plants instead of zoology, admitting that “it might be too hard to chase animals.” With moss being so close to the ground Andrew makes light of the ironies and compensations of his work. “When they made me the moss curator, it was kind of ironic because you have to get down on your knees. I don’t have one of the knees to get down on, so I get a camera or magnifying glass... and just lay on my stomach to look really closely.”

The collection holds 30,000 dry specimens which are being digitised into a database. Assisting Dr Andrew is environmental biology student Bonnie Newman who discovered four migrated species of bryophytes previously unseen in Adelaide via the iNaturalist app. Bonnie has volunteered with the herbarium collection for over two years and says, “Andrew has a really relaxed way of doing things, you know, cracking jokes and making people feel comfortable.” As well as the current collection, they also collect new specimens from the field which are pressed in tissue to extract moisture, frozen to get rid of pests then labelled and stored in the herbarium.

The First Creek wetland in Adelaide botanic gardens is a popular place to find moss, hornwort and liverwort. Andrew says it’s the combination of shade and consistent moisture that allows the mosses to survive even through dry Adelaide summers. “When they do (dry out), they sit there, and they don’t completely die. When it rains, they can pop up quickly and show themselves again.” Andrew points out a leafy liverwort which grows on rocks and logs, slowly decomposing them into soil, and performing a vital role in the ecosystem. “Mosses are doing a job, extracting nutrients, holding the soil together, slowly breaking something down. Without them, we wouldn’t have the soil that other plants can use.”

Moss outreach is also an important part of Andrew’s work, with trivia nights whimsically titled Mosstermind, art exhibitions and Moss Appreciation Society pages on social media all aiming to encourage more young scientists to the field of these mini but mighty plants.

Dr Andrew says, “Mosses and their close relatives, liverworts and hornworts, are what we think are the earliest of land-plant groups. They're the plants that came out of the water and started colonising land and forming oxygen. Mosses form part of the ecosystem. You might not see them, but they're sitting there underneath the soil holding it together in many places. It's only when it rains... they unfurl their leaves, put their little chlorophyll out, turn green and then you’ll spot them everywhere.”

You can contribute to science by uploading photos of your local bryophytes to the iNaturalist website.

Featured Plants:

SPARSE FERN MOSS - Thuidiopsis sparsa

MARBLE SCREW MOSS - Syntrichia papillosa

LEAFY LIVERWORT - Chiloscyphus sp.

Filmed on Kaurna Country | Adelaide, SA