#toaster for tom!!!

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom! 

Another day of me focusing on that TGM quote: “…no wife, no kids, nobody to mourn you when you burn in.” And it got me thinking… first of all, there’s no way that Bradley should have been saying any of that from his glass house, but also, if he did have those things then there’s no way he wouldn’t have been reunited with his family way earlier. Right?

The minute Bradley understands the feeling of never wanting your child to be hurt, to be in danger, and the feeling of doing what you know is best for your kid even though it makes them hate you? He instantly forgives Mav. He has to, because he would have wanted to do the exact same thing for a little girl in pink footie pajamas or a baby boy sleeping in his bassinet. He is Mav’s kid. 

Also, I like the idea of Bradley building this whole little family and losing his wife tragically (having their second child?) and the nuclear fallout that leads him to finally calling his family. 

I want them to come to Brooklyn and meet a Bradley who is changed in a way that only loss and war can do. 

A Bradley who is a pilot, a father of two, a pillar in his Jewish community (yes, because it’s my writing and I can do what I want) and the son-in-law of a Rabbi. A Bradley who is quiet, reserved and broken the same way Mav was when he lost Goose. A Bradley who has kept his fathers and the flyboys in his life through so many means, just in their absence. His children know who they are. Bradley converted and joined this massive Jewish community because even though he wasn’t involved in most of Ice’s traditions growing up, it still felt like home. His children love motorcycles, planes and volleyball. 

Give me a Bradley who grew up. A Bradley who regrets how he acted, one who is still angry but has the emotional maturity to understand the why, beyond his mother never wanted him to fly. 

I need Mav to see himself in a grieving Bradley, holding the hand of a little girl who looks just like his Baby Goose and a baby boy who looks like the daughter-in-law he will never know. 

I need Slider (because this is Slicemav, babeyyy) to cry while holding those babies in his big strong arms, assuring them and his son that there is life after all this pain. 

And I need Ice, to look at this little boy he raised that is now a fighter pilot, a proud Jewish man and realize that he’s done the thing he never thought he would be able to do. L’dor v’dor, from generation to generation — he loved Ice so much that instead of taking Abraham and Sarah as his parents during his conversion, he took Ice’s Hebrew name. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I like kidfics, Jewish stuff, Slicemav and angst 😘

[vintage-tigre]

[doodle-doodie-doo]

im fucking dead

[skell10]

He's singing everyone shut up

[lots-of-planets-have-a-north]

‘Doctor Who and the IRA roadblock’ has got to be one of my favourite Malcolm Hulke stories from the 70s

(Courtesy of the BBC Archive social media feed)

[toaster-hair]

was looking through the puppychan tumblr tag bc. lol. and i cant believe antoons is on tumblr... how are you gonna be anti-sjw and then be on the sjw site man.

[clumsyhusky06]

These guys are sooo fun to draw give it a shot

Toster guy fell off right after that btw <33

toaster guy on stilts SJHKJJGJG

they are actually my favorites of all time. long tom and toaster guy.... the silliest of all time....

[amastelle]

Goodwill Arkansas Wins International Award for Viral Music Video - AY Magazine

[creativecuquilu]

I absolutely love abusing the AI with Doctor Who nitpicks.

There are even more coming up next!

Hope you like them!

[nino-rox]

PETER PARKER | BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS | M | GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mature/Explicit, Gender Neutral Reader, Tom Holland As Spider-Man, Not Proof Read

DISCLAIMER: Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

(Author’s Note: Requested by Anonymous user. My first time writing headcanons, I’ve barely even read any so I’m sorry if it’s not great ! Please request for more ! )

~What dating Parker feels like on a day to day basis

THE SKYLIGHT CATASTROPHE

One night, there’s a thud loud enough to rattle the walls, followed by an ominous silence. You know exactly what’s happened even before Peter pokes his head through the window, windswept and grinning sheepishly.“So, uh… surprise! You have a new skylight!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “You broke my roof again?”“Okay, technically, it was already fragile. I just… sped up the process.”

The next morning, you find him on the roof, duct tape and webs in hand, muttering to himself like he’s crafting a masterpiece.“Peter, you’re going to fall.”He waves you off without even looking up. “Relax! You’re being ridiculous. I’m Spider-Man—I won’t fall. Skylights are all the rage anyway. Just think of it as me upgrading your house for free!”

Right as he says it, his foot slips, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself with a web against the gutter.“SEE? I caught myself!” he says triumphantly, cheeks flushed as he steadies himself.

You stare at him, appalled. “Peter, I’m not worried about you, you blithering idiot. I’m worried about my house! Fall on the road and break your head if you want, but I swear to god, if you break my house again—”

“Noted. No more house-breaking. Promise. Bob the Builder’s retired anyway,” he grins.

WEBBED LAUNDRY

You pull a ruined hoodie out of the wash—bright red, stretched beyond recognition, and sticky with web fluid. Marching into the living room, you hold it up like evidence.“Peter! Why is my hoodie fused with web glue?”

Peter looks up from the couch, cereal bowl in hand, his eyes widening. “Ohhh… yeah, about that…”

You glare, waiting.

“I, uh, might’ve had to yank my suit off super quickly after patrol last night—it was covered in webs—and I didn’t realize it stuck to your hoodie in the laundry pile.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t realize?”

Peter sets the bowl down, flashing a nervous grin. “Look, web fluid is mostly water-soluble! If we wait a day, it’ll dissolve!”

You groan, holding up the ruined fabric. “It better dissolve. Or you’re buying me a new hoodie.”

Peter slides an arm around your waist, grinning. “Or… we could share this one? Exclusive Spider-Merch for my favorite person.”

THE GREAT SPIDER-MAN’S HANDYMAN FAILS

You and Peter finally move in together, which should have been exciting—except unpacking with Spider-Man is a nightmare.“Peter, where’s the box with the kitchen stuff?” you ask, arms crossed.

Peter scratches the back of his head, sheepishly pointing to a corner. “Uh… it’s webbed to the ceiling. I thought it’d save space?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine. But why is there a Spider-Tracer in the toaster?”

He grins nervously. “Security measure?”

Later, you catch him trying to web a shelf together instead of using screws.“PETER!”“What? This is structurally sound!”

THE HOODIE INCIDENT

Peter freezes when he sees you curled up in his hoodie, sleeves hanging past your hands.“You stole it again?”“Finders keepers.”

He steps closer, voice low and teasing. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Before you can respond, he tackles you onto the couch, hovering over you with a grin.“You’re not keeping it.”“Make me.”

MORNING HEATWAVE SNUGGLES

You wake up tangled in Peter’s limbs, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It’s cozy—until you realize he’s a human heater.“Peter. Let me go. I have stuff to do.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, pulling you closer with ridiculous Spider-strength. “Spider-Boyfriend privilege.”

“You smell like sweat and bad decisions.”

Peter chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Want me to make another bad decision?” His lips brush your jaw as his voice drops, teasing. “I can make you sweaty too.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you manage to mutter, “You’re impossible.”

His smirk is pure trouble as he rolls you onto your back. “And you love it.”

SWINGING FOR BEGINNERS

The first time Peter suggests swinging with you, you laugh nervously. “No way. I like my life.”“It’s safe! You’ll love it—I promise.”

The moment he scoops you into his arms and leaps off the edge, you scream loud enough to wake half of Queens.“PETER, I SWEAR—”

“You’re fine!” he calls out, laughing as the wind whips past. “Just enjoy the ride!”

You bury your face in his shoulder, heart pounding. “I’m never letting go. Ever.”

Peter grins, holding you tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.”

ROOFTOP MIDNIGHT ESCAPES

Peter swings into your room after patrol, his suit half-off, hair wild from the wind. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”

Before you can finish protesting, he sweeps you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Peter!” you yelp, clutching his shoulders as he shoots a web and leaps into the night.“Trust me, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his grin softening.

The wind whips past, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he swings effortlessly between buildings. When you finally land on a rooftop, he pulls you close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not scared, are you?”“Not anymore,” you whisper, and his smirk grows as his lips meet yours, slow and steady, grounding you after the thrill.

POST SWING MOMENTS

After a particularly daring swing where Peter narrowly dodges a billboard, he sets you down on a rooftop, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low as his thumb brushes your cheek.“I’m fine, Peter. You can let go now.”

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to let you go.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours softly at first, then with increasing intensity. His hands slide to your lower back, pulling you closer until the world disappears around you.

“SHH, I’LL MAKE IT WORTH IT.”

Peter returns from patrol late at night, finding you half-asleep on the couch. He crouches down, brushing a kiss to your temple.“You awake?” he whispers.

You mumble something incoherent, only stirring when his lips brush yours again, this time slower, more deliberate.“Shh,” he murmurs, pinning your wrists gently above your head. His grin turns playful as he leans closer. “I’ll make it worth keeping you awake.”

Your heart races as his kisses deepen, trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re impossible,” you manage to say, though the way your breath hitches betrays you.

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing firmly against your pulse, his smirk growing when you shiver under his touch.

SHOWER?

Peter comes home sweaty and grimy after patrol, and you shove him toward the shower. Minutes later, his head pokes out, water dripping over his shoulders as he leans lazily against the doorway.“You know… showers are more efficient with two people,” he says, his grin pure trouble.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your book. “Peter, no.”

He steps closer, letting water drip from his still-damp hair onto your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “You sure? I could scrub your back… or hold you against the tiles.”

Your cheeks burn, and you push him away half-heartedly, glaring. “Peter—”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to stand, his eyes locked on yours. “What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smirk teasing but his touch firm. “You’d look cute all wet.”

“Stop!” you squeak, swatting his chest, but he’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your temple before finally retreating back to the bathroom.“I’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case,” he teases before disappearing behind the steam.

DATE

Peter had promised to meet you at the café after your shift. You’d been looking forward to it all day—just a simple hour with him, no superheroes, no chaos. But an emergency call from Ned about some escaped tech left you waiting alone, watching the minutes tick by.

When Peter finally arrived, his hair disheveled and guilt written all over his face, you didn’t even need to ask.“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “There was this thing—Ned needed help—and I couldn’t just leave it—”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, though your tone betrayed your disappointment. “I get it. You have other responsibilities.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not fine,” he muttered. “I messed up. And I know it’s not the first time.”

You sighed, softening as you saw the guilt etched across his face. “Peter…”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, almost pleading. “Just… give me a chance.”

Later that night, he showed up at your window with a bouquet of daisies that looked like they’d survived a tornado and a homemade playlist.“I know it’s not much,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But these reminded me of you—bright and sweet. And I put all your favorite songs on here, so… I hope it makes up for me being a total idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the flowers, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Lucky you think I’m cute,” he teased, kissing your temple. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

TRIVIA NIGHT

Ned had invited you both to trivia night, but no one warned you how competitive Peter could get. It started innocently enough, with Peter rattling off science and history facts like a human encyclopedia. But when the questions shifted to pop culture, his confidence started to falter.

“You’ve never seen Mean Girls?” you asked, incredulous.“Uh, no?” he replied, looking genuinely confused.MJ rolled her eyes. “Peter, how do you even function as a person?”“I fight bad guys!” he defended, flustered. “I don’t have time for… whatever this is!”

As the final round approached, you noticed the way Peter’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing like he was about to swing into battle. Leaning over, you cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze.“Peter,” you said, your voice teasing but warm, “you’re cute when you’re losing.”

His jaw dropped, and before he could protest, you kissed him in front of everyone.

Ned let out a dramatic gasp. “In public? With witnesses?!”MJ snorted. “That’s disgusting. I’m rooting for you two.”

When you pulled back, Peter’s face was a brilliant shade of red, but the grin he gave you was dazzling.“I don’t even care if I lose now,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “This is so worth it.”

HANDMADE

Peter had been acting strange all week—fidgety, distracted, and overly secretive. You were starting to wonder if something was wrong when he showed up at your door with a small, carefully wrapped box and a sheepish grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he practically shoved it into your hands.“Just… open it,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Inside was a sleek black flashlight, surprisingly lightweight, with a small engraved spider emblem on the side. You turned it over in your hands, curious.

“It’s not just a flashlight,” Peter said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, noticed you sometimes leave the light on at night, and I thought… maybe this would help.”

Your chest tightened. He’d picked up on your fear of the dark without you ever telling him outright.

“It’s also kind of… Spider-Man-approved,” he added, gesturing nervously. “There’s a tracker inside, so I’ll always know where you are. And if you press the button three times really fast, it sends an SOS directly to me.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. “Peter…”“I just want you to feel safe,” he said softly, his brown eyes earnest. “Even when I’m not around. You’re my world, and I want you to have something to remind you that I’m always here for you.”

Your throat felt tight as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“‘Thank you’ works,” he joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

Pulling back, you met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “I love you too. Always.”

SPILLING

Peter had always admired how hard you worked. While he juggled Spider-Man and school, you balanced late-night shifts, studying at your rundown public school, and still somehow found time to make him feel like the center of your world. But admiration wasn’t the only thing he felt—sometimes, he felt inadequate.

On the other hand, you often wondered how you ended up with someone like Peter Parker. He was a literal superhero, acing advanced physics while you struggled with Algebra II. You worked part-time jobs just to help keep the lights on at home, and there were days when you felt like you’d drown under the weight of it all.

That tension finally bubbled over one evening. Peter swung by your place unannounced, but his usual warmth was absent. He dropped onto your couch with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shook his head, staring at his hands. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Everything,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t have superpowers, or Stark tech, or a fancy school helping you out. And you’re still… incredible. You’re better at life than I am, and I’ve got every advantage.”

The words stung—not because of what he said, but because they mirrored your own insecurities.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice cracking as you braced yourself for what felt inevitable.

Peter hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. And I’m not sure I’m enough.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, tears began streaming down your cheeks. “Wait, are you saying this is over?”

“What? No!” Peter sat up straight, his hands shooting out to reach for yours. “That’s not what I meant! I’m talking about me, not you! I’m the one who’s not enough!”

“You are enough!” The words burst out of you, but the crack in your voice betrayed how deeply his statement had shaken you. “I’m the one who’s not enough, Peter. Look at you! You’re saving lives while I’m just trying to keep the lights on at home.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, guilt flooding his features. “What? No—no, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you whispered, pulling your hands free and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I can barely make it through my shifts without wondering if I’m going to mess something up. And then I see you—perfect Peter Parker, superhero and genius—and I just… I feel so small.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Then Peter moved closer, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not small,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping your eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter insisted, gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. “You don’t have powers, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people. You care about me. And I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t always feel like I deserve that.”

Your breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to be perfect, Peter. You don’t have to save me, or prove anything. I just want you.”

He stared at you, his eyes glistening. “I want you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I just… I don’t always know how to keep up with someone like you.”

“We’re both trying to keep up,” you said quietly, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. “And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Peter nodded, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Together.”

The two of you sat like that for a long time, the weight of your shared insecurities fading, replaced by something stronger—a quiet, unshakable love.

SERIOUS

Peter comes home late—bruised, bleeding, and far too casual about it. You snap.“Do you like scaring me to death?”“It’s just a scratch!” he argues, dropping his mask on the couch.“Peter, you’re not invincible. What happens if one day you don’t come back?”

He pauses, guilt flickering across his face. “I can’t stop being Spider-Man.”“And I can’t stop worrying about you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He looks away, fiddling with his web-shooter. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.”

MAYBE NOT SO SERIOUS?

Later that night, Peter finds you sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the skyline. He hesitates before sitting beside you.“I hate fighting with you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person who makes all of this feel worth it.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him. “Then don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”His arm wraps around you, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. That’s a promise.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and when his lips brush yours, it’s soft and full of unspoken apologies.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! PLEASE SEND KINKMAS REQUESTS AND PROMPTS! <3 Please Request if you’d like me to expand the headcanon into SMUT <3

[bluetimeombre]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ falling out of love

fans think that you and tom are falling out of love after filming for ballad of songbirds and snakes and you don't post about each other much, so you show them that it's far from the truth.

[heres to 2024 coming soon. this is not part of my ongoing series but a little something else to hold you all over. never proofread, just vibing. btw just watched salt burn and I’m scared of barry now]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

liked by… rachelzegler, joshandresrivera, hunterschafer & others

tomblyth: the vibes are green

893k likes 398k comments

user: he’s so happy!!!

user: um, where’s yourusername?

user: that’s definitely not yourusername

user: they don’t have to be around each other all the time

user: they haven’t been seen together in ages ☹️☹️

user: if they break up I’ll cry myself to sleep every night

user: my man looks so good

user: maybe she just didn’t want to hike (i wouldn’t)

user: 😍😍

user: he’s active again!!!!

user: I miss them

user: where’s yourusername

user: daddy 🔥🔥🔥🔥

user: just wanna know who the girl he’s with is, i just wanna know

user: is that the necklace yourusername gave him?

user: y’all are obsessed!!!

user: let my man live

liked by …. florence.pugh, austinbutler, jaimieflatters & others

yourusername: packing only the essentials

901k likes 650k comments

user: packing?

user: what do you mean packing, where you going?

user: hotmamma

user: I love u

user: where’s tom

user: where is she going? to tom

user: is she leaving tom?

user: I love her whole vibe

user: I hope she’s going to go see tom 😔😔

user: why is she always slaying, it must be so tiring to be her

user: tomblyth

user: tomblyth

user: tomblyth

user: I can’t lose my third set of parents plssss

user: hearts breaking rn

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

user: rip tomblyth and yourusername, I’ll miss you

user: cosying up??? they’re literally just talking

user: it was bound to happen

user: tom!!!! cone get ur gurl

user: crying in the club rn

user: not believing in anything until they confirm

user: I can’t believe it; i won’t

user: love is dead

user: as long as they’re happy

user: they were probably pr for the hunger games and it’s been over two years, who cares now

liked by… jaimieflaters, sadiesink_, zendaya & others

yourusername: that’s a rap on me and my Malibu dude!

871k likes 0comments

[comments restricted]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

‘It’s so over,’

trending on twitter

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

liked by… tomblyth, rachelzegler, jamieflaters, tomholland2013 &others

yourusername: tom and I falling out of love, a compilation

1.1m likes 832k comments

user: oh it’s so back

user: she really said stop it!

user: parents!!!!

user: THANK GOD

user: taking the toaster out of the bath rn

user: goals

rachelzegler: you guys are so cute I’m gonna throw up

user: the fourth picture hello?!?!?!

user: damnnnnn

user: THANK GOD IM SO HAPPY

user: stfu enews

user: he’s such a gentleman in every picture but the fourth

user: I just knows he’s packing

zendaya: ❤️

user: planning the wedding

user: twitter lied!!

liked by … yourusername, rachelzegler, joshandresrivera & others

tomblyth: falling out of love? more like falling in love with every single day that passes. I love you

tagged: yourusername

1m likes 750k comments

user: AHHHHHHHH

user: the posts!!!! the posts!!!!!

user: I just know they picked out these photos together

user: I love them

user: they’re giggling and kicking their feet rn

user: this is the cutest damn couple ever

user: I know they’re so in love because look at like these pictures, so darn cute

user: two years going on forever!!!

user: they could never make me believe you guys were over

user: they were literally probably just laughing off the rumors

user: they had us in the first half, ngl

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

‘Oh it’s so back!’

trending on twitter

[modelbus]

can i request a reader (with sbi and also separate) who’s rich rich like she was born with a gold spoon and whenever she gives them gifts or treats them food they feel bad BAHAHAHA but it's just readers love language

can this be a drabble or whatever you can do :DD

I got your other message saying you wanted headcannons, so here you go! No wilbur for obvious reasons.

Included: Cc!Tommy, Cc!Phil, Cc!Techno, + all of them (platonic)

Rich Reader Headcannons

Tommy

Unapologetic about using your money.

He cares at first, and even when you say you’re paying he’ll order cheap things from restaurants, but after you give him the go ahead he will be a menace

Expect to lose all your money to Legos, his one true addiction.

“I could stream building this one, but this one would look so good in my room…” Tommy mumbles, squinting at two Lego boxes. You’re starting to regret letting him talk you into stopping by the store for what he said would be a quick visit.

It’s been two hours.

“Just get them both, Tom.” You finally sigh.

He lights up, no better than a kid on Christmas Day. “Fuck yeah!”

He’s money conscious, and will still note the price of things, but after he gets used to it he’s fine with you paying.

Doesnt blink twice at gifts.

You get this man anything and he will GOBBLE it up. Give him an Apple Watch? Great, his forever, he’s already wearing it. Give him a toothpick? He’s using it, perfect.

Won’t ask you to pay, and is very willing if you don’t want to, but let’s be real you always do pay.

He’ll say “thank you” at least. Five days later, maybe, when he finally remembers, but he says it!!

Talks you into buying things that you don’t need.

”I mean, you have the money. Y’know. Just saying.”

Phil

This man hates it, change my mind.

It’s a competition to see who can pay first with this man, and he does it out of pure spite.

Actually, he does it because he wants you to feel normal and not like you have to pay because you’re rich.

“I have the money, Phil!” You insist, holding your card.

“And I don’t care. I already gave them my card, I’m paying.”

When you make a stupid financial decision and buy a $1,000 lightsaber (blame Tommy), he just kinda sighs at you.

If you approach him for financial advice, he will genuinely tell you helpful things as if you weren’t incredibly rich.

He accepts your gifts, but always makes sure to somehow give you one in return.

maybe not of equal value… he isn’t as rich as you… but of equal love <3

Techno

Have you SEEN this man’s setup? He is in NO POSITION to decline gifts.

Will secretly be desperately in need of literally anything and just. Wont get it. So you end up buying it for him…

You order him food online to have it delivered to him and man just won’t say thank you. He’s rather awkwardly send you a photo of the food on his desk, entirely eaten.

Or he’ll just drop a photo of his new setup in discord for you.

He will “anonymously” acknowledge you when he streams/records a video on his new gear though.

“And if you’ve noticed this video came much faster than normal, it’s because of a new PC which runs at light speed.” He zooms into the face of his Minecraft character. “It’s not a toaster guys! Praise the rich gods!”

He literally can’t afford to buy you gifts in return.

Well he COULD but that man sees the shipping and is horrified.

His gifts in return are those photos of whatever you give him.

Techno genuinely is VERY appreciative though!! Like you are practically saving this man’s life by buying him shit.

He won’t ask for anything, you’ve just got to use your gut instinct to figure out what to give him.

All

Having all three to spend money on is a DREAM for you.

Phil forces Tommy to say “thank you” every single time. Repeatedly.

Techno sends his photos in the group discord, and Tommy will jokingly rage that he didn’t get a new PC or something that Techno did.

Paying when you all go to eat is a competition of speed between you and Phil. He started getting sneaky and approaching the waiter/waitress before they even brought the bill.

So you had to compromise and agree to give your cards to the waiter and let them pick a card at random.

(you win most times because you’ve got a fancy ass card)

For your birthday they tend to kidnap you from your bed and take you to do a surprise so you can’t find a way to pay or something 😭

They’re all in awe of your house, meaning you love having them over!!

Best vlogs occur at your house, let’s be honest

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Brave Little Toaster

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The AI bubble is the new crypto bubble: you can tell because the same people are behind it, and they're doing the same thing with AI as they did with crypto – trying desperately to find a use case to cram it into, despite the yawning indifference and outright hostility of the users:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

This week on the excellent Trashfuture podcast, the regulars – joined by 404 Media's Jason Koebler – have a hilarious – as in, I was wheezing with laughter! – riff on this year's CES, where companies are demoing home appliances with LLMs built in:

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-hgi6c-179b908

Why would you need a chatbot in your dishwasher? As it turns out, there's a credulous, Poe's-law-grade Forbes article that lays out the (incredibly stupid) case for this (incredibly stupid) idea:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bernardmarr/2024/03/29/generative-ai-is-coming-to-your-home-appliances/

As the Trashfuturians mapped out this new apex of the AI hype cycle, I found myself thinking of a short story I wrote 15 years ago, satirizing the "Internet of Things" hype we were mired in. It's called "The Brave Little Toaster", and it was published in MIT Tech Review's TRSF anthology in 2011:

http://bestsf.net/trsf-the-best-new-science-fiction-technology-review-2011/

The story was meant to poke fun at the preposterous IoT hype of the day, and I recall thinking that creating a world of talking appliance was the height of Philip K Dickist absurdism. Little did I dream that a decade and a half later, the story would be even more relevant, thanks to AI pump-and-dumpers who sweatily jammed chatbots into kitchen appliances.

So I figured I'd republish The Brave Little Toaster; it's been reprinted here and there since (there's a high school English textbook that included it, along with a bunch of pretty fun exercises for students), and I podcasted it back in the day:

https://ia803103.us.archive.org/35/items/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212_Brave_Little_Toaster.mp3

A word about the title of this story. It should sound familiar – I nicked it from a brilliant story by Tom Disch that was made into a very weird cartoon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8C_JaT8Lvg

My story is one of several I wrote by stealing the titles of other stories and riffing on them; they were very successful, winning several awards, getting widely translated and reprinted, and so on:

https://locusmag.com/2012/05/cory-doctorow-a-prose-by-any-other-name/

All right, on to the story!

One day, Mister Toussaint came home to find an extra 300 euros' worth of groceries on his doorstep. So he called up Miz Rousseau, the grocer, and said, "Why have you sent me all this food? My fridge is already full of delicious things. I don't need this stuff and besides, I can't pay for it."

But Miz Rousseau told him that he had ordered the food. His refrigerator had sent in the list, and she had the signed order to prove it.

Furious, Mister Toussaint confronted his refrigerator. It was mysteriously empty, even though it had been full that morning. Or rather, it was almost empty: there was a single pouch of energy drink sitting on a shelf in the back. He'd gotten it from an enthusiastically smiling young woman on the metro platform the day before. She'd been giving them to everyone.

"Why did you throw away all my food?" he demanded. The refrigerator hummed smugly at him.

"It was spoiled," it said.

#

But the food hadn't been spoiled. Mister Toussaint pored over his refrigerator's diagnostics and logfiles, and soon enough, he had the answer. It was the energy beverage, of course.

"Row, row, row your boat," it sang. "Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I'm offgassing ethelyne." Mister Toussaint sniffed the pouch suspiciously.

"No you're not," he said. The label said that the drink was called LOONY GOONY and it promised ONE TRILLION TIMES MORE POWERFUL THAN ESPRESSO!!!!!ONE11! Mister Toussaint began to suspect that the pouch was some kind of stupid Internet of Things prank. He hated those.

He chucked the pouch in the rubbish can and put his new groceries away.

#

The next day, Mister Toussaint came home and discovered that the overflowing rubbish was still sitting in its little bag under the sink. The can had not cycled it through the trapdoor to the chute that ran to the big collection-point at ground level, 104 storeys below.

"Why haven't you emptied yourself?" he demanded. The trashcan told him that toxic substances had to be manually sorted. "What toxic substances?"

So he took out everything in the bin, one piece at a time. You've probably guessed what the trouble was.

"Excuse me if I'm chattery, I do not mean to nattery, but I'm a mercury battery!" LOONY GOONY's singing voice really got on Mister Toussaint's nerves.

"No you're not," Mister Toussaint said.

#

Mister Toussaint tried the microwave. Even the cleverest squeezy-pouch couldn't survive a good nuking. But the microwave wouldn't switch on. "I'm no drink and I'm no meal," LOONY GOONY sang. "I'm a ferrous lump of steel!"

The dishwasher wouldn't wash it ("I don't mean to annoy or chafe, but I'm simply not dishwasher safe!"). The toilet wouldn't flush it ("I don't belong in the bog, because down there I'm sure to clog!"). The windows wouldn't retract their safety screen to let it drop, but that wasn't much of a surprise.

"I hate you," Mister Toussaint said to LOONY GOONY, and he stuck it in his coat pocket. He'd throw it out in a trash-can on the way to work.

#

They arrested Mister Toussaint at the 678th Street station. They were waiting for him on the platform, and they cuffed him just as soon as he stepped off the train. The entire station had been evacuated and the police wore full biohazard containment gear. They'd even shrinkwrapped their machine-guns.

"You'd better wear a breather and you'd better wear a hat, I'm a vial of terrible deadly hazmat," LOONY GOONY sang.

When they released Mister Toussaint the next day, they made him take LOONY GOONY home with him. There were lots more people with LOONY GOONYs to process.

#

Mister Toussaint paid the rush-rush fee that the storage depot charged to send over his container. They forklifted it out of the giant warehouse under the desert and zipped it straight to the cargo-bay in Mister Toussaint's building. He put on old, stupid clothes and clipped some lights to his glasses and started sorting.

Most of the things in container were stupid. He'd been throwing away stupid stuff all his life, because the smart stuff was just so much easier. But then his grandpa had died and they'd cleaned out his little room at the pensioner's ward and he'd just shoved it all in the container and sent it out the desert.

From time to time, he'd thought of the eight cubic meters of stupidity he'd inherited and sighed a put-upon sigh. He'd loved Grandpa, but he wished the old man had used some of the ample spare time from the tail end of his life to replace his junk with stuff that could more gracefully reintegrate with the materials stream.

How inconsiderate!

#

The house chattered enthusiastically at the toaster when he plugged it in, but the toaster said nothing back. It couldn't. It was stupid. Its bread-slots were crusted over with carbon residue and it dribbled crumbs from the ill-fitting tray beneath it. It had been designed and built by cavemen who hadn't ever considered the advantages of networked environments.

It was stupid, but it was brave. It would do anything Mister Toussaint asked it to do.

"It's getting hot and sticky and I'm not playing any games, you'd better get me out before I burst into flames!" LOONY GOONY sang loudly, but the toaster ignored it.

"I don't mean to endanger your abode, but if you don't let me out, I'm going to explode!" The smart appliances chattered nervously at one another, but the brave little toaster said nothing as Mister Toussaint depressed its lever again.

"You'd better get out and save your ass, before I start leaking poison gas!" LOONY GOONY's voice was panicky. Mister Toussaint smiled and depressed the lever.

Just as he did, he thought to check in with the flat's diagnostics. Just in time, too! Its quorum-sensors were redlining as it listened in on the appliances' consternation. Mister Toussaint unplugged the fridge and the microwave and the dishwasher.

The cooker and trash-can were hard-wired, but they didn't represent a quorum.

#

The fire department took away the melted toaster and used their axes to knock huge, vindictive holes in Mister Toussaint's walls. "Just looking for embers," they claimed. But he knew that they were pissed off because there was simply no good excuse for sticking a pouch of independently powered computation and sensors and transmitters into an antique toaster and pushing down the lever until oily, toxic smoke filled the whole 104th floor.

Mister Toussaint's neighbors weren't happy about it either.

But Mister Toussaint didn't mind. It had all been worth it, just to hear LOONY GOONY beg and weep for its life as its edges curled up and blackened.

He argued mightily, but the firefighters refused to let him keep the toaster.

#

If you enjoyed that and would like to read more of my fiction, may I suggest that you pre-order my next novel as a print book, ebook or audiobook, via the Kickstarter I launched yesterday?

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/picks-and-shovels-marty-hench-at-the-dawn-of-enshittification?ref=created_projects

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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/2025/01/08/sirius-cybernetics-corporation/#chatterbox

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

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

[vivantesopvles]

‘You must want something,’ Tom said, sidling up to Harry, who had donned an apron and was frying eggs at the hob. ‘Come on, I said I’d repay you for what you did at the Ministry. It’s not everyday that I’m in the mood for decency.’

Harry snorted. ‘Shocking, that.’

He did a little flourishing motion with his wand; in no time came the sound of espresso being made, and milk being steamed. He floated two slices of toast into the toaster, then checked the eggs.

He was doing a very good job at ignoring Tom, which was unacceptable – as much as Tom loved watching him go about his morning routine. So Tom drew close enough to press himself up against Harry’s back, hugging his waist, the way Harry liked it.

And Harry, unsurprisingly, turned red.

‘This, for example,’ Tom said softly. ‘You must know I can give you more. You won’t have to want for things ever again.’

‘And I suppose you’re doing this right now for reasons entirely selfless?’

Tom grinned down into Harry’s hair. Other than it being Harry’s birthday, which Harry himself seemed to have forgotten entirely, Tom also did intend to keep Harry sweet for his plans to work.

To Harry’s credit, he was a hard nut to crack. Tom can’t remember spending as much time wooing someone – not even to bed; Harry hardly trusted him with the weekly shopping. It was fortunate, perhaps, he knew just how to distract him.

‘Maybe … maybe not. But on a similar note,’ Tom continued, keeping his voice low and suggestive, ‘I’m told I give quite spectacular head.’

‘How’s that even relevant?’ Harry choked out. He squirmed a little in Tom’s arms, a token attempt to break himself free. ‘Riddle, are you trying to seduce me?’

‘Hmm … seduce would suggest an intention to lead astray, though.’ Tom chose to let his hands wander then, light and innocent down Harry’s stomach. ‘Is that what you want? An excuse to run away from everything whilst being thoroughly disavowed? Well, I can always kidnap you, if you ask nicely.’

He hadn’t expected it, but his words must’ve hit too close to home. Because Harry spun around, a curious mixture of anger and embarrassment on his face.

‘Is that a threat or a very bad attempt at psychoanalysis?’ he retorted, swatting off Tom’s hands and taking a step back. ‘You were doing such a good job just now, with the sweet-talking and whatnot. Pity you couldn’t keep up the act for more than five minutes.’

‘I suppose I’ll just have to try harder, then. It’s your birthday after all,’ Tom said placidly. He was enjoying this a bit too much, he realised; winding Harry up, watching him get defensive, or even better, flustered.

He went and plated Harry’s breakfast, slathering his toast with an absurd amount of butter, poured milk into his coffee and drew a little heart in the foam with magic. When he was done, he found Harry staring at him, visibly shaken.

Tom smiled. ‘We could start with holding hands if you’d like – it’d only just occurred to me that you might be a prude.’

08052024 | @microficmay | will

[youling-the-ghost]

sfth incorrect quotes pt.12 because I have once again forgotten about this

Tom: The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was changing their name to Sam. Sam: I told Luke that his ears turn red when he lie. AJ: Do they? Sam: No. AJ: Then why did you tell him that? Sam: Because I can do this. Sam: Hey Luke! Do you love us? Luke, with his hands over his ears: No. Sam: Just trust your gut! Tom: Dude, I have anxiety. My gut is literally always telling me to abort mission.

Sam: Hey, do you know the password to Tom’s computer? AJ: Fuck you, Sam. Sam: Hey!! AJ: No, you misunderstood, the password is "fuckyouSam". Sam: Oh, no numbers? Not very safe. Sam: Why am I the bad guy? Luke: I don't know, why am I the pretty one? We all have our thing. Luke: *seductively takes off glasses* Wow, you're… blurry. Tom: I'm bored, any suggestions? Luke: Sleeping is nice. Tom: I acknowledge your suggestion, and I’m deciding to ignore it. AJ, confused and exasperated: Tom, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan? Tom: Politely. Tom: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people. Sam: Tom gave me a get better soon card. Luke: That's sweet! Sam: I wasn't sick, he just thinks I can do better. Sam: Quacking in my boobs over this Sam: QUAKING* Sam: BOOTS* FUCKER. AJ: I typed "bitch" into my GPS and guess what? I'm in your driveway. Sam: AJ: Vroom vroom, come out already. Tom: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE! Tom: *aggressively throws water bottles* Luke: Uh...what's up with him? AJ: He's trying to yell mental health and wellbeing into us. Tom: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU! Sam, crying: It's working. Luke: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective Sam: *crouches down* AJ: *kneels down* Tom: *sits on the floor* Luke: Luke: I hate all of you. Luke: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Tom? Tom: ...Not really. Luke: Nothing? Tom: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there. Luke: Sam...I'm gonna cry! Sam: Please don't. Luke, crying: Request denied. AJ: I've been expecting you, Luke. Luke: How did you do that without turning around? AJ: Let's just say the first few people I did that to were not you. Luke: Someone care to explain why we have 6 dogs in our apartment? Sam: They're golden retrievers, dude. They retrieve gold. I did this for us.

[charliehoennam]

aftermath.

A/N: nobody asked for this, but all I've seen is Will smut (which I totally love, don't get me wrong) but I need some vulnerable Will

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader

Warnings: grief, mourning, sad!will, mentions of death, mentions of Will's military past and Tom's funeral

One of the things you've always admired about Will is his strength. He was always the one to put on a brave face and push on. The captain in him had the duty of moving forward and completing whatever mission was at hand, whether it was getting his team to the landing zone or grocery shopping day at home.

It was that very same strength he possessed that got him through the darkest times in his life.

Losing his war veteran grandfather, losing his comrades in combat or to the haunting PTSD that they tried to chase away with substance abuse.

Before you came into his life, before he realized that he was lost in the same fog of that purgatory of PTSD, shutting his emotions out is the only thing he knew. After all that time, he came to believe it was easier than having to deal with them.

It just wasn't a priority; a moment of tears he refused to share with anyone anywhere other than sat naked and alone on the shower floor.

Tom wasn't the first friend he'd lost, but it doesn't mean it made losing him any easier.

It was easy for him to plaster a smile and bury his grief deep down until he felt it was time to unbury it and mourn.

Getting to that point of self-awareness was a victory in itself.

It took so much patience and love and pain, not only on his behalf but yours as well, to help him to understand what he was really struggling with.

He hadn't realized it had gotten so uncontrollable until the incident at Publix - the grand revelation of the weapon he could be, once shred of his humanity, provided the cathartic acceptance of the fact that he needed help.

Upon federal investigation, the story they told was that Tom had been shot and killed in a tragic mugging incident on their consultation trip. Just a boys' night out gone bad.

It wasn't too hard to believe, given they were 5 foreigners in a country that wasn't theirs. The heat from the Feds didn't last long. Thanks to Santiago's few but faithful contacts, that investment was quickly brought to an end.

It's barely 6 a.m. and you're stood in the kitchen making coffee, still processing how this all happened.

Your black dress is simple but elegant and modest against your body. Despite the itchy fabric, you can feel the early morning chill soaking through.

The dripping of the coffee maker lures you into a whirlwind of thoughts. You watch the droplets of dew form on the kitchen window against the cloudy sky which threatens to rain.

You start to second guess the toast when it pops up in the toaster. You're not the slightest bit hungry and you're positive Will won't be either, but you have to try.

He hasn't eaten right in the past couple days. You didn't say anything, but you've noticed the few bites he'd given his food and the way he'd pick at it.

He should've been ready and downstairs by now, so you decide to go up and check on him.

Moving forward is hard for most people, but for Will, it's what keep the pain at bay. The problem is when he stops.

Like a tornado, he's left with the screaming silence and the damage it left in it's wake.

Now that he's home, the mission of bringing Tom home is complete, the hard truth that his friend and mentor is gone has begun to sink in.

You gently knock on the door as you reach your shared bedroom.

"Honey, do you want any help?"

"I'm good, sweetheart. I'll be right out."

You can hear him sniffle despite his attempt to sound as normal as possible. Unconvinced, you turn the knob and open the door.

He's sat on the edge of the bed wearing a simple black suit as he looks back over his shoulder at you with a Marine coin in hand, a gift from Tom when Will confessed about his therapy sessions.

You aren't too surprised to see he changed out of the formal military blue suit he had out on earlier.

The ribbons, the medals, the badges... He couldn't put them on without feeling the crushing and staining weight of guilt.

"Lat minute outfit change?"

The corner of your lips curl in an attempt to smile, hoping to cheer him up with a bit of tease.

"I was gonna wear my dress blues, but..." he trails off for a moment to swallow hard. "Just didn't feel right."

Without a word, you quietly walk over and sit beside him. You're not sure what he needs right now, but you don't want him to feel alone.

"Black is more flattering if you ask me," you speak up.

His beard twitches as he attempts to smile. He knows you just want to help him feel better. Yet all he can do is stare down at the gold coin.

"Five times... Five times. Five close calls. And he survived them all. He didn't deserve to go out like that. He just wanted to help his family."

You fight back tears as you listen to him with an arm wrapped his back as you press your cheek to his shoulder.

"I told Santi to get him in. I said I'd go if Tom was in. Tom didn't even want to go in the first place. He didn't-"

There's a crack in his voice which he catches it in his throat to compose himself. He sniffles letting a tear cascade down his cheek only to wipe it away quickly, hoping you hadn't seen it.

"This isn't on you, Will."

He nods although you both know deep inside that he won't stop blaming himself.

"When you told me you were a marine, I knew the risks that came with that, Will. Every knock on the door had my heart racing. But I decided to stay with you because I love you. There wasn't a person on earth or a God in the sky that was gonna tell me otherwise. I knew the risks and I took 'em anyways because not having you would've hurt more... I don't understand how fate works other than we all end up the same. What I do know is that all we can do is love our close ones and cherish the good memories you have of them."

With a tearful and silent nod, he lowers his head and rests it against your chest. His arms lock around your waist as he surrenders to the tears in your embrace.

The tears quietly trickle down your cheeks as you listen to him finally breaking down.

With your lips pressed against his golden hair, you hold him in your arms and stroke the hair on the back of his neck to soothe him for as long as he needs.

All you can do is hold him through it and he couldn't be more thankful to have you in such a vulnerable moment after having faced them on his own for so many years.

Just the feeling of not being alone was overwhelming enough, but to have you holding him and reminding him of the things that are easy to ignore in grief give him hope.

Although he feels he's coming apart, he knows that he'll have the strength he's always had.

It's different now. It's not the strength to bury and forget; it's the strength to heal.

With a sigh of relief after a long, vulnerable moment, he pulls away from you and nods, mentally assuring himself that he's alright.

Upon arriving at the church, you're greeted by Molly so you offer your deepest condolences due to the circumstances. Just as Will, you find that the guys have all opted to wear normal black suits instead of the formal military uniform and you wonder if it's for the same reason.

"Sorry for that," he sniffles wiping his eyes as he tries to regain his composure, swallowing hard with guilt. "We should get going... I don't wanna be late."

You remind him that there is no need to apologize and that he can take the time to splash some water on his face to help him recollect before leaving.

Frankie doesn't say a word other than to Molly and the girls, apologizing for their loss. Throughout the priest's religious ceremony of easing words, Benny's apathetic eyes are glued to Tom's casket set in front of the church between his military portrait and a beautiful arrangement of white flowers. During Will's heartfelt eulogy, Santiago keeps his head lowered as the guilt consumes him.

The grift and sadness during the wake only follow and weigh heavier during the long walk to the gravesite, lingering among the guests of the funeral like a dark cloud. It's only reflected in depths by the light rain pitter-pattering all around.

The military traditions at the funeral leave a bitter tinge of irony in the boys as they watch Tom's casket lowering into the ground.

Tess's happy big doey eyes are now swollen and red as she cries under her mother's arm, hugging the folded flag as if it were her dad, while Molly holds her other and youngest daughter under the other arm.

Looking over at Will, you see that he's trying his hardest to keep his strong facade as well as the boys.

You slide your hand into his and whisper to remind him he's not alone and doesn't have to feel alone.

With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he nods.

"You with me?"

"I'm with you."

You and Will - as well as the guys and Tom's family - are the last to leave, reminding Molly that you're more than willing to help with anything.

Will, however, lingers a moment to speak to her private and tells her about the fund. You can tell from her reaction, she's genuinely surprised and thankful, relieved to know that she'll be able to pay for the funeral.

Having called your boss the previous day to let them know you wouldn't be going to work due to the funeral, you take the rest of the day off to recover from the overwhelming day after the funeral.

The drive home is quiet save for the rain against the car and the windshield, echoing into the vehicle which you insisted on driving to give Will some mental ease. He didn't put up a fight. He was quite relieved you'd offered.

In spite of being eager to understand how he's doing, you refuse to burden him with constant questions and decide to respect his mourning process. So, you keep a hand on his thigh to remind you're in this together.

He doesn't mind it at all. In fact, he is grateful for your respect and your thoughtfulness. His hand rests over yours and doesn't leave until you have to pull your hand back to turn the steering wheel, but it finds it's way back onto his leg, warm fully welcomed by his engulfing hand.

As you're undressing in your room, Will's hand catches yours while you're unzipping your dress.

"Thanks... I don't know about you, but I'd say this weather is perfect cuddling weather," you share letting the dress hang loosely off your shoulders.

Will smiles shyly as if you'd read his mind and locks his arms around your waist.

"I couldn't agree more."