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hamletthedane · 4 months

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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

#shut up e #long post #Saturday thoughts #this has been in my drafts for a week haha #also this is the heart of why AI art feels so wrong #forget the discussion of copyright and theft etc - even if models were only trained on public domain they would still feel very wrong #because they’re not art. art is the labor of creation #even commercial art and art commissioned by the popes and kings of history: there is humanity in the labor of it #unrelated: I did not know living in the Bronx was now something to brag about. How the fuck do y’all New Yorkers afford this city???

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gonzodangerfeels · 5 months

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It's not that I minded U doing drugs

I minded what they acted like when they were on those drugs

#me: I don't like them #her: i was on them #me: I do like them #Michael Engineer ring #you poor thing I was given a name and a backup name and you just like....fucking vanished on me #probably freahly breathing me is like there she goes 👁️ j 👁️#the unknowing knowing how #yeah I am looking forward to our biofeedback experiments #wigs drive me nuts though

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alsaurus-loves-dean · 10 months

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#lol thank god i decided to hold off on adding the identifiers until later #this framework is really advanced for UI automation and it's a big stretch for me!!#like this is real software engineering and not just scripting #which is NOT EASY TO FIND #my coworker/lead who introduced this framework on our project is literally so fucking valuable...#does he even KNOW? does he even UNDERSTAND #how hard it is to find actual talented engineers who are willing to work on automation??????#if people say I'm a unicorn then what about this guy????#i'm so grateful to have him leading our team because i am learning SO MUCH #and building shit that i never ever in a million years would have built on my own #like the job i just left? i could have coasted there just writing the simplest POMs and test scripts #but this job is like. i am doing Real and Cool Engineer things #and yet it's still 'just automation' so the pressure from leadership just isnt there lmao9o #the devs are in crunch and we're not even MANUAL TESTING right now #they have the poor product folks testing for the imminent release jdkkskksksjsjsjs #clearly that is bad for the team and the product etc. i do not approve #and yet.#it has been nice to be able to focus solely on automation <_<

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soarrenbluejay · 3 months

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Since I’ve been encouraged to actually share my funny little blorbo ideas here’s another one gang;

Danny moves to Gotham on scholarship for engineering, because the Fentons may be infamous but they’re also insanely brilliant and besides both he and Jazz are showing every sign of embarrassed child of a super genius syndrome, so while the bats are keeping a close eye on him Just In Case, duke is also thinking of introducing him to the Our Parents Are Maniacs But Anyway club maybe after the first month or so.

Gotham does not go for standard dorm living bc of his ‘condition’ and lack of wanting to constantly spook/gaslight a roommate. Besides, living with two small children is a dorm sounds like a disaster in action.

So Danny signs up as a mechanic in Crime Alley, buys himself a teeny weensy lil apartment and Makes It Work. He has been all year after showing up with a de aged Dani and Dan in Amnity after all, and that had gone,,, fine? (The entire town, observing how Danny had been getting increasingly more uncomfortable around his godfather prior to the cloning incident, then just dropped off the face of the earth for several months, the first two weeks stuck in Vlad’s basement enduring horrors and the next Too Many desperately fapping around in the Ghost Zone to get everything handled. All the clones live, all 13 of them. Bunch of them are stuck in the Ghost Zone due to constant need for ectoplasm, but eh, plenty of Zone born never leave, so. One, in the future, apprentices under a green warrior lady on Pandora’s suggestion, another is working in the Eternal Library with Ghost Writer, etc etc. so Danny eventually came back to Amnity with one small child under each arm very obviously traumatized by Somethingn with vlad and doesn’t like being alone with him,,, or touched without warning,, and immediately and passionately proclaims the kids his but struggles to explain how or why,, look some very reasonable assumptions are drawn okay. So the town does the very reasonable thing and does the midwestern equivilant of excommunicating Vlad, except it’s a lot more run him out with pitchforks vibes since he’s the Mayor. Anyway)

He is immediately loved, because while non Gothamites are usually more of a pain than they’re worth, everyone in a while someone even from out of town will just fit in so nicely it’s uncanny for everyone involved. Addams family vibes, it’s referred to as ‘making it home’, just personal hc. He is protective of all the kids playing in the parks and street girls that can totally take care of themselves on their corners but find it HILARIOUS when he just tackles a dick like a wild animal full force no warning. He can fix anything it seems, but refuses to work with weapons. Reasonable enough, people get twitchy about gangs sometimes. Danny mentions being not against Hood or anything, but he’s not going to work for him, littles to take care of and all, but had past experience with ‘Dora and that inheritance mess with her brother he was being a real prick about’ so everyone assumes it’s the equivilant of him having Done His Time and being plenty good for a life time and respects it as long as none of that petty midwestern small town hotshots bring any of that shit over here. And they don’t, because said individuals are on the other side of the mortal veil, so happy day.

See I really love deaged!Dan because he’s just a grumpy lil guy. But he’s also killed millions. He’s so protective of his loved ones, but held back by blending in and also being Smol that it comes off more bitey kitten than anything else. Dani, of course, is a terror, so she fits right in with the crowd.

And sorry gang, but a bunch of kids on their own in Gotham in a poor side of the city just isn’t going to get any attention: that’s just business as usual really. What first gets attention on Danny is not his ‘condition’ or being mistaken for a meta (which he legally probs has an argument for even without the gene bc like these bitches don’t know how metaism works anyway so) or alien (I’m 90% sure he’d be covered by the alien protection act by virtue of being half ‘not from earth’), but because Danny despite best efforts is a Weird Guy.

He grew up in what could only be described as a low level villain level and spent most of high school dealing with smack downs and spiritual invasion. He’s never really processed that any of that is not in fact Normal. Also, he’s capable of making Anything if given the insides of a toaster, blender and alarm clock, and could probably rewrite the circuits of the apartment blindfolded and improve them 1000% even if it ABSOLUTELY would not be up to code.

And sure, things slip every once in a while, bits of spectral ice here, small floating incident there, but everyone just Minds Their Buisness ya know? You really gunna mess with the guy that personally ensured that when your car got flattened by a fight with Killer Croc, you were still able to get in to work the next day by some wizardry? Really?

But Gotham is a city so cursed it’s probably in the exponents countwise, so of course there is a) a flourishing community of magic users and assorted supernatural weirdos and b) a whole lot of shit for Mega Overpowered Ghost King Danny to idly pick at day to day in order to help with his protecting other Obsession. Gotham has plenty of heroes, but by god do they need the spiritual equivilant of an electrician/priest.

Still, Danny, as a baby ancient under a facet of Kronos and KING OF THE DEAD is like, way, way out of their scope to be able to grok, so it mostly just comes off as you know, a family of banshees or something. When asked, Danny very haltingly says he was briefly dead but then revived, which neatly explains his Weird Ass aura and makes it SPECTACULARLY AWKWARD to ask further about. So everyone nods politely, and goes back to their lives after double checking no nefarious bullshit was being pulled.

Then, of course, Vlad finally tracks them down. The whole neighborhood is altered in short order because he doesn’t bother trying to hide being a Rich Bitch or how he’s sneering down his nose at people on the sidewalk. Every connects the dots when Danny paniks. Dani and Dan’s daycare are staffed with some extra, very buff set of hands within the hour. Jerry, Hood’s third in command, personally shows up to the garage Danny is working at to talk things out with him bc he knows he does t like the deal with this stuff due to past unspecified circumstances but well, they guys had already started fucking with him, you see. Stole his tires, spray painted the windows, pickpocketed him blind, and when he retreated tipped off the police to the drugs they’d planted in the glove box.

Danny might not have been born in Gotham, but he was one of them. And the Alley takes care of it own.

#basically I want a fic where it’s not the Batfam but Gotham itself latching onto Danny #also more angy lil baby man Dan in big puffy coats being protective #dp x dc #dc x dp #gotham

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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"Don't spy on a privacy lab" (and other career advice for university provosts)

This is a wild and hopeful story: grad students at Northeastern successfully pushed back against invasive digital surveillance in their workplace, through solidarity, fearlessness, and the bright light of publicity. It’s a tale of hand-to-hand, victorious combat with the “shitty technology adoption curve.”

What’s the “shitty tech adoption curve?” It’s the process by which oppressive technologies are normalized and spread. If you want to do something awful with tech — say, spy on people with a camera 24/7 — you need to start with the people who have the least social capital, the people whose objections are easily silenced or overridden.

That’s why all our worst technologies are first imposed on refugees -> prisoners -> kids -> mental patients -> poor people, etc. Then, these technologies climb the privilege gradient: blue collar workers -> white collar workers -> everyone. Following this pathway lets shitty tech peddlers knock the rough edges off their wares, inuring us all to their shock and offense.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

20 years ago, if you ate dinner under the unblinking eye of a CCTV, it was because you were housed in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you were unwise enough to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars for “home automation” from Google, Apple, Amazon or another “luxury surveillance” vendor.

Northeastern’s Interdisciplinary Science and Engineering Complex (ISEC) is home to the “Cybersecurity and Privacy Institute,” where grad students study the harms of surveillance and the means by which they may be reversed. If there’s one group of people who are prepared to stand athwart the shitty tech adoption curve, it is the CPI grad students.

Which makes it genuinely baffling that Northeastern’s Senior Vice Provost for Research decided to install under-desk heat sensors throughout ISEC, overnight, without notice or consultation. The provost signed the paperwork that brought the privacy institute into being.

Students throughout ISEC were alarmed by this move, but especially students on the sixth floor, home to the Privacy Institute. When they demanded an explanation, they were told that the university was conducting a study on “desk usage.” This rang hollow: students at the Privacy Institute have assigned desks, and they badge into each room when they enter it.

As Privacy Institute PhD candidate Max von Hippel wrote, “Reader, we have assigned desks, and we use a key-card to get into the room, so, they already know how and when we use our desks.”

https://twitter.com/maxvonhippel/status/1578048837746204672

So why was the university suddenly so interested in gathering fine-grained data on desk usage? I asked von Hippel and he told me: “They are proposing that grad students share desks, taking turns with a scheduling web-app, so administrators can take over some of the space currently used by grad students. Because as you know, research always works best when you have to schedule your thinking time.”

That’s von Hippel’s theory, and I’m going to go with it, because the provost didn’t offer a better one in the flurry of memos and “listening sessions” that took place after the ISEC students arrived at work one morning to discover sensors under their desks.

This is documented in often hilarious detail in von Hippel’s thread on the scandal, in which the university administrators commit a series of unforced errors and the grad students run circles around them, in a comedy of errors straight out of “Animal House.”

https://twitter.com/maxvonhippel/status/1578048652215431168

After the sensors were discovered, the students wrote to the administrators demanding their removal, on the grounds that there was no scientific purpose for them, that they intimidated students, that they were unnecessary, and that the university had failed to follow its own rules and ask the Institutional Review Board (IRB) to review the move as a human-subjects experiment.

The letter was delivered to the provost, who offered “an impromptu listening session” in which he alienated students by saying that if they trusted the university to “give” them a degree, they should trust it to surveil them. The students bristled at this characterization, noting that students deliver research (and grant money) to “make it tick.”

[Image ID: Sensors arrayed around a kitchen table at ISEC]

The students, believing the provost was not taking them seriously, unilaterally removed all the sensors, and stuck them to their kitchen table, annotating and decorating them with Sharpie. This prompted a second, scheduled “listening session” with the provost, but this session, while open to all students, was only announced to their professors (“Beware of the leopard”).

The students got wind of this, printed up fliers and made sure everyone knew about it. The meeting was packed. The provost explained to students that he didn’t need IRB approval for his sensors because they weren’t “monitoring people.” A student countered, what was being monitored, “if not people?” The provost replied that he was monitoring “heat sources.”

https://github.com/maxvonhippel/isec-sensors-scandal/blob/main/Oct_6_2022_Luzzi_town_hall.pdf

Remember, these are grad students. They asked the obvious question: which heat sources are under desks, if not humans (von Hippel: “rats or kangaroos?”). The provost fumbled for a while (“a service animal or something”) before admitting, “I guess, yeah, it’s a human.”

Having yielded the point, the provost pivoted, insisting that there was no privacy interest in the data, because “no individual data goes back to the server.” But these aren’t just grad students — they’re grad students who specialize in digital privacy. Few people on earth are better equipped to understand re-identification and de-aggregation attacks.

[Image ID: A window with a phrase written in marker, ‘We are not doing science here’ -Luzzi.]

A student told the provost, “This doesn’t matter. You are monitoring us, and collecting data for science.” The provost shot back, “we are not doing science here.” This ill-considered remark turned into an on-campus meme. I’m sure it was just blurted in the heat of the moment, but wow, was that the wrong thing to tell a bunch of angry scientists.

From the transcript, it’s clear that this is where the provost lost the crowd. He accused the students of “feeling emotion” and explaining that the data would be used for “different kinds of research. We want to see how students move around the lab.”

Now, as it happens, ISEC has an IoT lab where they take these kinds of measurements. When they do those experiments, students are required to go through IRB, get informed consent, all the stuff that the provost had bypassed. When this is pointed out, the provost says that they had been given an IRB waiver by the university’s Human Research Protection Program (HRPP).

Now a prof gets in on the action, asking, pointedly: “Is the only reason it doesn’t fall under IRB is that the data will not be published?” A student followed up by asking how the university could justify blowing $50,000 on surveillance gear when that money would have paid for a whole grad student stipend with money left over.

The provost’s answers veer into the surreal here. He points out that if he had to hire someone to monitor the students’ use of their desks, it would cost more than $50k, implying that the bill for the sensors represents a cost-savings. A student replies with the obvious rejoinder — just don’t monitor desk usage, then.

Finally, the provost started to hint at the underlying rationale for the sensors, discussing the cost of the facility to the university and dangling the possibility of improving utilization of “research assets.” A student replies, “If you want to understand how research is done, don’t piss off everyone in this building.”

Now that they have at least a vague explanation for what research question the provost is trying to answer, the students tear into his study design, explaining why he won’t learn what he’s hoping to learn. It’s really quite a good experimental design critique — these are good students! Within a few volleys, they’re pointing out how these sensors could be used to stalk researchers and put them in physical danger.

The provost turns the session over to an outside expert via a buggy Zoom connection that didn’t work. Finally, a student asks whether it’s possible that this meeting could lead to them having a desk without a sensor under it. The provost points out that their desk currently doesn’t have a sensor (remember, the students ripped them out). The student says, “I assume you’ll put one back.”

[Image ID: A ‘public art piece’ in the ISEC lobby — a table covered in sensors spelling out ‘NO!,’ surrounded by Sharpie annotations decrying the program.]

They run out of time and the meeting breaks up. Following this, the students arrange the sensors into a “public art piece” in the lobby — a table covered in sensors spelling out “NO!,” surrounded by Sharpie annotations decrying the program.

Meanwhile, students are still furious. It’s not just that the sensors are invasive, nor that they are scientifically incoherent, nor that they cost more than a year’s salary — they also emit lots of RF noise that interferes with the students’ own research. The discussion spills onto Reddit:

https://www.reddit.com/r/NEU/comments/xx7d7p/northeastern_graduate_students_privacy_is_being/

Yesterday, the provost capitulated, circulating a memo saying they would pull “all the desk occupancy sensors from the building,” due to “concerns voiced by a population of graduate students.”

https://twitter.com/maxvonhippel/status/1578101964960776192

The shitty technology adoption curve is relentless, but you can’t skip a step! Jumping straight to grad students (in a privacy lab) without first normalizing them by sticking them on the desks of poor kids in underfunded schools (perhaps after first laying off a computer science teacher to free up the budget!) was a huge tactical error.

A more tactically sound version of this is currently unfolding at CMU Computer Science, where grad students have found their offices bugged with sensors that detect movement and collect sound:

https://twitter.com/davidthewid/status/1387909329710366721

The CMU administration has wisely blamed the presence of these devices on the need to discipline low-waged cleaning staff by checking whether they’re really vacuuming the offices.

https://twitter.com/davidthewid/status/1387426812972646403

While it’s easier to put cleaners under digital surveillance than computer scientists, trying to do both at once is definitely a boss-level challenge. You might run into a scholar like David Gray Widder, who, observing that “this seems like algorithmic management of lowly paid employees to me,” unplugged the sensor in his office.

https://twitter.com/davidthewid/status/1387909329710366721

This is the kind of full-stack Luddism this present moment needs. These researchers aren’t opposed to sensors — they’re challenging the social relations of sensors, who gets sensed and who does the sensing.

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

[Image ID: A flier inviting ISEC grad students to attend an unadvertised 'listening session' with the vice-provost. It is surmounted with a sensor that has been removed from beneath a desk and annotated in Sharpie to read: 'If found by David Luzzi suck it.']

#pluralistic

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lizardlicks · 3 months

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You know that walrus vs fairies thing is a really good example of suspension of disbelief and how poor writing can immediately ruin it.

Further, it's a good example of how propaganda and indoctrination can be broken.

Check this out: if you are asked to believe something by a person who presents themselves as an authority about a subject in which you have little to no experience, you have no ground to question them on. Even if it seems fake, human brains are really good about going, "that doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about [thing] to dispute that." We have to specifically train ourselves to stop and go do our own research. And if it's a big, complicated topic which you're brand new to, that's really intimidating!

This is a feature rather than a bug of being a social species. Collectively, we store far more knowledge than anyone if us could store individually. It means that even if you have never seen a walrus in your life, you can be reasonably confident that you still "know" that they're large, tusked, aquatic mammals which tend to favor colder water and they don't really go farther inland than a couple miles.

It also means that you are primed to accept new information on a subject with which you have little to no direct experience: e.g. fairies are real, you just didn't know that until now.

Propaganda and indoctrination work because they're presented as authoritative sources on subjects that the target audience doesn't have much experience with. That also means those can be combatted by research and first hand experience. Multiple times I've seen posts from people who climbed out of the weeds of Q Anon because one of those secret info drops started making claims about subjects that the person was something of an expert in: electricity, infrastructure, medicine, engineering.

It's also why you can get so into reading a great fantasy or sci-fi novel that has otherwise stellar writing and world crafting, then suddenly get kicked right out of it again when the author, say, has a character fall into a convenient, non-magical coma for a month, or they start walking on a bad fracture after a couple of days without some fancy technological assistance. You have a body, and you might not be a doctor, but you can know enough to understand that's not how bodies generally work, and if the author has not previously established that their characters aren't human and work totally differently, a pall of doubt and frustration taints everything that comes there after.

Idk where I'm going with this. I just think it's neat! Definitely something to keep in mind when trying to effectively communicate with people, regardless of if you're trying to educate or simply entertain.

#lizard is starting to ramble

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youronlydarlin · 4 months

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warning: none, cat hybrid Si being kinda whole lotta clingy, fluff–ish??

Cat hybrid! Simon acting cold towards you as if he isn't actively purring just by having you around. It's loud, and he sounds like a motor engine. There's been one too many occasions where Price had to give you meetings privately, because Simon cannot physically focus on anything else when you're in the room. All wide eyed, and slow blinks while his tail gently sways.

Simon's hiss is more like a growl, and it once scared the everliving shit out of Soap, all because he made the mistake of "claiming" your seat. Which is right next to Simon.

Has threatened to claw our poor boy Kyle if he doesn't tell about the status of your relationship after he's noticed you two hang out quite often.

Stares into Price's eyes as if he's trying to possess him into pairing you two up for every mission. Will not stop until he agrees. So now you got the old man giving you info about your next deployment. Sweating like he's being held at gunpoint.

a/n: M' sorry about this, I jus' wanted to get something out by the hour. This was also not proofread lol. Have a wonderful day, sweethearts!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod imagine #cod x reader fluff #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader fluff #x gn reader #x female reader #x male reader

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year

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“The machines we have now, they’re not conscious,” he says. “When one person teaches another person, that is an interaction between consciousnesses.” Meanwhile, AI models are trained by toggling so-called “weights” or the strength of connections between different variables in the model, in order to get a desired output. “It would be a real mistake to think that when you’re teaching a child, all you are doing is adjusting the weights in a network.”

Chiang’s main objection, a writerly one, is with the words we choose to describe all this. Anthropomorphic language such as “learn”, “understand”, “know” and personal pronouns such as “I” that AI engineers and journalists project on to chatbots such as ChatGPT create an illusion. This hasty shorthand pushes all of us, he says — even those intimately familiar with how these systems work — towards seeing sparks of sentience in AI tools, where there are none.

“There was an exchange on Twitter a while back where someone said, ‘What is artificial intelligence?’ And someone else said, ‘A poor choice of words in 1954’,” he says. “And, you know, they’re right. I think that if we had chosen a different phrase for it, back in the ’50s, we might have avoided a lot of the confusion that we’re having now.”

So if he had to invent a term, what would it be? His answer is instant: applied statistics.

“It’s genuinely amazing that . . . these sorts of things can be extracted from a statistical analysis of a large body of text,” he says. But, in his view, that doesn’t make the tools intelligent. Applied statistics is a far more precise descriptor, “but no one wants to use that term, because it’s not as sexy”.

[...]

Given his fascination with the relationship between language and intelligence, I’m particularly curious about his views on AI writing, the type of text produced by the likes of ChatGPT. How, I ask, will machine-generated words change the type of writing we both do? For the first time in our conversation, I see a flash of irritation. “Do they write things that speak to people? I mean, has there been any ChatGPT-generated essay that actually spoke to people?” he says.

Chiang’s view is that large language models (or LLMs), the technology underlying chatbots such as ChatGPT and Google’s Bard, are useful mostly for producing filler text that no one necessarily wants to read or write, tasks that anthropologist David Graeber called “bullshit jobs”. AI-generated text is not delightful, but it could perhaps be useful in those certain areas, he concedes.

“But the fact that LLMs are able to do some of that — that’s not exactly a resounding endorsement of their abilities,” he says. “That’s more a statement about how much bullshit we are required to generate and deal with in our daily lives.”

#ted chiang #artificial intelligence #AI #technology #science fiction

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grugruel · 1 month

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I am-- in DESPERATE need of Prewar cooper Howard FILTHY smut. Taking his Co-star in his trailer on set on a hot summer's day and they're both sweaty and needy and he's got a FILTHY mouth on him. maybe she plays the damsel in distress and he can't get over how good she looks all tied up 🔥 she definitely enjoys teasing him but takes it too far,, poor cooper 😔😏

Yessss, currently feeling feral, so this was perfect. Did my best, hope you love it🫶

Quiet on set

Pairings: pre-war!Cooper Howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: wrapping yet another movie together, these co-stars take out their constant tension in Coopers trailer.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: (acted violence and death), pinv sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, edging, lap-riding, cowgirl, doggy, bratty reader, petnames (sweetheart, princess, girl, woman), praise, slight degradation, choking (blink and you'll miss it).

AN: Currently working through my requests, it might take some time for those of you that sent them in! But I appreciate you all, thank you!!

I could feel that heavy, star-studded aura bearing it's weight down on me, his eyes ransacking every part of my body as he awaited his cue. Through the blinding stage lights, just out off frame, he stood hungry, hands white-knuckling his belt as his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

'Help! Somebody please save me!' I cried out, the rattling railroad tracks cool beneath my body. The air stuffy and clammy, the mid summer heat penetrating the studio walls. Truly making the desert set come alive.

Enter The Man from Deadhorse, walking into the picture with his signature gait, spurs jingling and eyes acting as he stared my captor down. Heat practically burning in his gaze when he delivered the infamouse line, "Feo, fuerty, y formal."

Although, a growing suspicion resided–perhaps it was not acting at all, but rather me, that had him ignite that way.

The bang of a revolver shot out, hitting the antagonist right between the eyes as a result of an experienced and deadly aim.

Dignified indeed.

I yelped, making my eyes big with shock. 'You came!' And then let a relived smile soften my expression.

The sound of a charging train began rolling, a billowing steam engine and a piping whistle thundering along a busy railroad. But it was no worry anymore, I was to be saved.

The sheriff's attention–his starved eyes, switched to me, and my bound form.

Swiftly, he moved over the dusty desert set in his blue and yellow getup. In a second of harrowing anticipation, placed in clever calculation to have the viewers at the edge of their seats, he loomed over me, that infamous gaze following every curve of my body. The rope circling me in such a way it accentuated my goods, and what the cameras did not see, was a ravenous smirk on the hero's lips–holding a silent promise ment only for me.

In a flashy movement, he cut the rope from my body and pulled me off of the tracks and into his embrace, the camera panning to us as the sound of the train just missing our bodies passed by the frame.

'Don't worry sweetheart, you're safe now.' He purred, voice drawling with that trademark smile accenting his lips, lips that only a second later collided with my own in a strong, righteous kiss-

'CUT!' A voice bellowed, and the set bustled to life with congratualations and handshakes as they were traded between the crew and cast, celebrating yet another wrap.

But his lips had stayed on mine for a second or two too long, and I had to pull away. Gasping for air, pretending that we simply hadn't heard the call over the ruckus.

'My trailer in 10 minutes, honey. Don't be late. . . I got a surprise for you.' He whispered in my ear, disguising our continued embrace as a friendly, celebrating hug. A hug with a condensed, slap off the ass–hard enough to sting, quiet enough to go undetected.

And with a wink, he was off. Chatting and laughing while coworkers patted his back with him returning the gesture. Meanwhile I myself became wrapped up in party-ready colleagues of my own. But the partying would have to wait, I had somewhere far more fulfilling to be.

I hadent been able to keep the 10 minute mark, the cast and crew had stuck around for longer than I'd thought. Which made sneaking to his trailer all the more difficult, but I managed. Eventually.

I opened the door to a dark, even hotter cabin, no movement or noise that I could detect. But the second I shut that door behind me, he revealed himself.

'There you are. . .' A low voice growled from the shadows. Then there was a sound of groaning threads, a woosh, and I was captured. A lasso had been thrown around my body, pinning my arms to my sides as I was blindly pulled into the depths of the darkness, and collided with something, strong, something hard. 'You kept me waitin' princess. Fame gone to your head already?' The words were breathed against my cheek, puffs of his sultry breath warming my already damp skin deliciously.

'I imagine I'll be on your level soon.' I hooked my index fingers through his belt loops, eyes adjusting to the dark as I pullied him closer with what little movement I was allowed. 'Now, I want my surprise.' I pouted, brushing my lips along his, the features of his face clearing up like the sea after a storm.

'This is it.' He flexed the rope between his fingers, feeling its coarse texture. Taking my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged.

'My surprise is a rope?' I could't hide the sound of disappointment from my voice. 'Should I start playing the damsel now or? Oh. . . Please Sheriff save me!' I mocked.

'Yes the rope is you're surprise.' He paused. 'What makes you so sure I'll play the sheriff, huh?' He tightened the rope around me to emphasize. 'Perhaps I captured you.'

'Oh?' I was truly intrigued, but sighed an overly dramatic sigh, just cause I was hoping it'd get a rise out of him. 'C'mon now, cowboy. You can do better than that–thought I was your special girl.' I teased, eyeing his dark form through my lashes as I used his own words against him.

He nudged his nose against my cheek, his lips moving into a grin along my jaw. 'You are my special girl. . .' He confirmed, voice gravely as he pressed his hips against mine, letting me feel the hardness beneath his pants. '. . .and my special girl will be fucking pleadin' when this rope has served its purpose.' The lasso was thrown into serveral more circles around my upper body, wrapping me tighter as he imitated what he'd seen on set.

'That a threat?' I groaned, his stiffness rubbing against my mound. Creating friction so wonderful I found my hips automatically flexing against his. More. I needed more.

'A promise.' He fell back onto a couch. 'You'd better start ridin' before I put that big mouth of yours to better use.' He tugged on the lasso, helping me fall into position stradeling his lap.

I settled with a whimper, my core veiled by the thin fabric of my skirt as it made direct contact with his clothed member. But with the way I was bound, he'd restricted my arms further, they were unmovable infact. I couldn't support myself, couldn't unbutton his pants. 'Can't reach. . .' I whined, frustrated that I couldn't get his fucking dick out.

He hummed. 'Mmm, serves you right, dont it?' He pulled my skirt over my hips, and grasped the rope around my waist, making a point of not touching me as he pushed me downward and pulled forward, grinding my core against the coarse fabric of his pants. 'Now, ride.' He growled, the friction affecting him as much as me. For I had a simular reaction, if not worse.

The air was sucked right out of me, but I did as he ordered. Grinding my hips into his lap, over and over again, moaning curses left and right. But however much I tried I couldn't losen my restraints, couldn't get a grip on any part of him to work myself harder against him. I was stuck in a rut of superficial pleasure, with his occasional torturing tug. I just wanted to feel him, his touch, on me, in me. I didn't care, juat somewhere.

'Touch me.' I whispered, my head lulling against his shoulder as I desperatley tried increasing the friction.

He hummed, a breathy and guttural sound as he replied, 'Starvin' already?' He leaned closer, mouth hovering just above that sweet spot on my neck.

'Yes, yes.' I placed a kiss on his throat, grateful for what he was about to bestow me-

My button-down blouse was ripped open, buttons flying everywhere with a loud clatter as they hit the floor, the expensive prop ruined too quickly. 'Plead.' His rough knuckles brushed over the beginning of my breast, as they were now bare for him.

I gasped, 'What?' lust driven confusion clouding my mind. The stifling heat didn't help my mind to clear either.

'Plead, sweetheart.' He repeated, his murmur vibrating against my skin.

It was my turn to grin, my turn to drag my exposed teeth along his jugular, my lips closing around them as I kissed his jaw tenderly. 'I dont think so.' I purred, readying myself to stand up. 'Guess I'll have to find some other man the sate my needs.' I licked a stripe along his jaw before sitting back. 'My very, very. . . Slick needs.' And scootched back, leaving a wet inprint on the convex bulge of his jeans.

But before I could do anything too drastic, he grabbed my waist, he touched me, and pulled me back into a perch. A small victory for me, but the battle wast over yet. Now, our heads leveled with eachother. 'Don't you dare.' The jealousy was evident in his tone. 'Filthy little brat. . .' He hissed, 'I can play that game too, sweetheart.' He began unbuttoning his pants with the other hand, pulling his erect member out.

And drool dripped from my mouth as I got a good view of it, but he didn't lift me up and enter me, no. That would be too merciful. He simply pushed my undergarments to the side and pulled me closer, my slick cunt sliding over his length, wetting it as he let me feel the size of him, what I could get, but wasn't allowed. 'You aint to only woman in this cast.' His mouth trailed downward, lips following the valley between my breasts, the tip of his nose and chin collecting droplets of sweat along my skin.

His words stung, and even though I knew he only said them to rile me up, they worked. I didn't answer him, didn't deign to give him any words, but carefully began moving my hips instead, easing them into a slow rocking, and the few seconds I got were jaw dropping. I hoped he somehow just wouldn't notice, foolishly enough.

He hardened his grip, holding me steady, unmovable, as if he'd bound my lower body together aswell. 'Naughty fucking brat.' He leered.

Fuck, I just needed something, anything. The aching was building within me, unadultered want for pleasure. Pleasure which only he could give me.

'Fuck. Me.' It was an order, no sign of begging in my tone.

'Plead for me, woman.' He dragged the word out, chuckling. That ravenous grin on his lips he nipped at the soft flesh of my breast.

'Cocky bastard.' I scoffed, but yielded. 'Please. Fuck. Me.' But there was no weight behind them, the words fighting to stay in my mouth, coming out strained.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes searching my own as amusement filled them. 'C'mon now, you can do better than that.' He threw my words back at me.

But the desperation was seeping through my skin, into my quaking muscles and quivering bones. 'Please, please, please. . . Fuck me, Cooper. Oh, you big, famous movie star.' I whimpered. This time, meaning every word, although some in a more mocking fashion than others.

He faced me again, grinning as he shook his head in disbelief. 'Wicked fucking woman, I'll fuck some sense into you yet.'

'I dont think you have it in you, cowboy.' It took everything in me to keep my lips from curlingig into a smile-

Suddenly, I found my face pushed into the soft cushions of the couch. One hand pushed me down firmer by the neck, while the other lined himself up with my entrance. He stroked the tip through my folds, teasing me torturousley slow. The aching grew so strong I thought I'd break into a million pieces right then and there. 'Please. . .' I begged, the word half a whimper. '. . .please.' I had no self restraint left, no morals or standards to keep up. I just needed him, inside me. Now.

'About, damn time.' He pushed inside of me, wasting no time by setting grueling pace that had my body shaking. Muffled moans and whimpers escaped me, there was not a thought in my mind. No room for anything but him inside me. 'Yeah? You like that? Filthy girl. . .' He groaned, his hand colliding hard with my ass. The slap ringing out through the cabin, and it was glorious.

I nodded, or did the best I could while the force of his hold constricted my movements.

He hummed again, that low titillating hum. And leaned over me, bracing himself on the forearm that held my neck. His body laying flush over mine as his hips struck into mine, deeper, harder. His lips brushed against my ear, opening his mouth to whisper-

Raised voices, approaching, shouting outside the trailer. 'Better stay quiet now, sweetheart.' He breathed, and just then, out of spite, he struck into me harder, only to see if I could keep us secret. But I wanted to scream, needed to. So, I shoved my face into the cushion, muffling my crying out.

'Thats it. . . Good girl.' He praised, moaning the words against the shell of my ear. And as the voices approached, he slowed the thrusting, keeping the depth but dimming the strength. Softening the loud lewdness of our slapping bodies. His hand slid around my front, finding me clit with easy expertice. 'Good girl.' He breathed again, kissing my earlobe. As if it was my award for doing as I was told. 'Sticking my dick in you was all I had to do to fix that attitude of yours?' His fingers began rubbing circles over my clit, stimulating my already pulsating body further.

'Yes. . .' I whimpered, 'Yes, yes, yes.' And his hand moved to my throat, placing it between my jugular and jaw, tilting my face a sliver closer to his. 'Kiss me, please.' I pleaded, and he met my lips. His hungry, hungry lips surpassing the neediness my ownas be pushed his tongue into my mouth. He tasted heavenly.

The voices had passed since long, their drunk celebrating dissapearing beyond the lot. And his thrusts grew equally hungry once again, pushing into me, hitting my spot with reverance. The pressure was building, threatening to spill over the edge with every flick of his hips. 'Close. . .' I moaned into his mouth, my breath coating his lips.

'Yeah?' He moved his lips, kissing my cheek and down my throat.

'Yeah.' I shuddered, my whimpering indicating how close I was to release. The ramping, strained breaths between us almost sent me over the edge alone, white spots flecking my lids, lightning neighing in my nerves, the wall so close to collapsing-

And he pulled out, releasing my clit and pushed himself off of me.

No, no, no, Cooper please.' I whined, the pressure dissapearing, slowly seeping out into nothingness.

'There you go, sweetheart. Now you're pleadin' properly. . .' He basked in my despair, that smug grin of his adorning his face in all it's glory. He uncircled the rope, pulled me to his chestand twisted us, making us swap positions, with me once agains tradeling him as he laid on his back below me. 'Now ride me properly too.'

Oh I was, and I would get my revenge. I pulled my blouse and skirt off, I would have him pleading and squirming when I was done with him. 'That's more like it.' His eyes ravaged my body, staying longer on my nipples and hips, and cunt. 'Pretty little brat.' His tone so self-righteous it would've made me scoff, but I played along. Snaking my body against his, I wrapped my hands around his, finally able to touch him and pinned them both above his head. Then sat up and aligned myself with his length, slowly sinking down, greedily accepting every inch as he hissed. It dulled the pain he'd left me in, his member filling me up made me whole again.

But I wasn't done yet. Leaning in, I kissed him, distracted him, and carefully grabbed the discarded lasso. He would be pleading, he would.

And after a moment I sat back up, hands on his chest. Pushing him back down as he tried to follow me. Which is when he realised, that his arms wouldn't budge.

'Mmmh. . .' He chuckled, '. . .clever girl.'

I nodded, hands tracing down his sculpted abdomen. Transfering from his body to my own, I let them roam. Moving them along my hips, waist, stumache, breasts, throat. Just watching, enjoying every second of his growing displeasure, of his twitching and leaking inside me.

'Plead, cowboy.' I sqeezed my breasts, whimpering form the feeling. 'I'd much rather have you touching me.'

His lips drew into a thin line, hips bucking into me, slithering for any movement, any stimulation. 'It must be hurting.' I murmured, 'You can end it, just plead.'

His breaths were ragged, guttural and groaning. 'Cruel, cruel woman.'

'Now you're getting it.' I smirked. 'Plead. . .'

He scoffed, eyes hard as he opened his mouth, 'Please. . .' He mustered the word through clenched teeth.

Oh it felt amazing, the word as much as his member as I began moving along it, riding him. 'Fuck.' He grunted. 'When I get loose, girl-'

I laid my index finger against his lips, shushing him. Enjoying the sound of our wet squelching, his hard breaths and my own moans. I leaned down, my body rubbing against his while I kissed his chest and made my way along his collarbone.

'Why don't you give my lips some love too, girl.' He moaned, and I figured I could give him that at least. My lips met his jaw, bushed along his lips and then-

He grabbed me, locked his arms around my torso in a grip of steel, as he thrusted into me, rocking me violently into his arms.

'You really think I've never been tied up by a lover before?' He grunted, pushing his tongue into my mouth. And just like that, the pressure was rebuilt and released, washing over me in electric waves, shocking my body and nervous system.

'Easy girl, there you go.' He held me still, pecking me with kisses wherever he reached as he let my quivering body do what it needed, he himself coming moments later with a few last thrusts. And I collapsed on top of him, the strong rise and fall of his chest helping me calm my breathing.

'Wanna go again, movie star?' I asked.

'Which position, cowgirl?' He answered.

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tvgals · 11 months

Text

‘ BARBIE WORLD ! ‘

the spider teen group w a black barbie reader !!

MILES MORALES —

he was stunned that he pulled you to say the least

imagine when he took you home..

you and miles stand outside of his parents apartment. “and make sure you don’t call them by their first names, they hate that!” miles tells you, biting his bottom lip when he sees you knocking on the door. “i know, miles. i’m not disrespectful!” you giggle, hearing the door unlock. you’re met face to face with a brown skinned woman with her curly hair braided, laying on her shoulder. her face seems to light up when she sees the two of you. “miles!” she beams, engulfing him in a hug, when she pulls away and turns to you, she brings her hands to her chest and smiles. “and you must be y/n! miles talks so much about you!” she says, you smile and look at miles, his face flushed with embarrassment. “these are for you, mrs morales!” you grin, handing her the bouquet of azaleas. “for me? thank you so much!” she thanks you, softly grasping the stems and welcoming you two in. you see miles’ dad sitting at the table, scrolling though his phone. “dad!” miles blurts out, waiting to get his attention. once he looks up, his eyes go wide. “who’s that?” jeff asks, looking around the room just in case this was some prank.

“dad, this is my girlfriend y/n.” miles sheepishly grins, you sending a happy wave his way. jeff stares for a moment. his awkward, teenage son, was able to get a girlfriend like you? no way! “jeff, don’t just stare at the poor girl!” rio laughs. this was gonna be a long night .

HOBIE BROWN —

he loves it

the opposites attract always gets me !!

hobie watched you as you struggled to put on your favorite pair of pink chunky heels onto your feet, your annoyed groans ringing out the room. “baby!” you yell out into the apartment, hoping your boyfriend would just walk in and put your shoe on for you. you think for a second. you’ve worked multiple engineering jobs as an intern, you’ve studied multiple languages and worked many jobs, and you’re currently letting a shoe disrespect you? hobie walked in and bit back a smile at your determined face.

“love, let me help-“ hobie is cut off with a stern, “no” from you, putting your manicured hand up to stop any movement from him getting closer. “princess, just let me help.” hobie chuckles, crouching onto the floor next to you. “no! i can do it by myself. i am a strong, independent woman!” you sputter out, pushing your foot into the shoe. “bam.” you say, looking at hobie’s smiling face. now onto the next shoe.

PAVITR PRABHAKAR —

he lovessss your style

definitely helps you with makeup

“pavi!” you call out to your boyfriend, who was casually hanging off of a web from the ceiling. “yes?” he calls back to you, flipping onto his feet and walking into the bathroom where you were applying your false lashes. “baby, will you go to the mall with me?” you ask, fanning your hand in front of your eyes to dry the lash glue.

“of course! why would i say no to a pretty girl like you?” pavitr says, walking behind you and resting his chin on your head. “pavi, i need to talk to you.” you say, your tone serious and solid. pavitr gets worried, he’s never heard this tone from you like this, not so..strict and firm. “oh no…what is it?” pavitr mumbles, trailing his hands onto your waist, now moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“it’s very important, like i’m talking end of our relationship if you say the wrong answer, important.” you warn him, pulling lipsticks out of your makeup bag. “now you’re scaring me.” pavitr chuckles. “what is it?” you look at him through the mirror and hold up two lipsticks, “rose red or like a light pink?” you ask, turning to actually face him. “jeez, y/n! you can’t scare me that way!” pavitr giggles, dramatically holding a hand over his heart. “but definitely rose red.”

GWEN STACY —

gwen watches you style the wig on the mannequins head, walking over to take a better look. “what are you doing?” she asks you, watching you shimmy the hair curler from the dark brown wig. “styling my wig for this party tomorrow. wanna help?” you ask, inviting her to sit down in the chair in place of you. gwen sits down and you hand her the curler, placing your hand on top of hers.

“so you gotta put the hair into this little part right here and hold it there for like…eight seconds for looser curls. that’s how i like mine.” you shrug, watching her face contort in concentration. when gwen let’s go, a perfect curl emits from the curler, you smile and give her a hug.

“see? you’re a natural!”

TAGLIST ; — @venusluvslove @kisminarii @xricly @ohsanghoe @conniesbbymama @6olar @cupids-soul @sza-luvrrr @gobblethiskitty @lovedsolana @maniacvell @stellabunniii @theyfwkayla14 @radicaledward55 @bbytamaki @princess-hellokitty @hellomyearthlings @eva7ari @draculara-vonvamp @jared-oranges

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