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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months

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What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

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

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

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/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

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

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

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #ai #economics #business #hype #bubbles #bubblenomics #residue

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wandasgf · 2 months

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EVERLONG. mdni. 18+.

dream girl evil universe

pairing: rockstar!natasha romanoff + yelena's best friend!reader

summary: you hadn't expected yelena's natasha to be the natasha

warnings: fluff, partial smut, light angst for like a second, top!natasha, bottom!reader, really they're just very sweet

wc: 2.5k

You freeze in the kitchen of Yelena’s apartment, seeing a redhead that you don’t recognize sitting on the couch in the living room. You briefly wonder if Yelena had had a breakdown and dyed her hair without telling you. That would explain today’s radio silence even though usually your phone was blowing up asking when you would finally be done with your classes and come make her dinner. It was Monday night and usually you’d come over to Yelena’s apartment to make dinner and watch whatever movie Yelena chose. Sometimes her girlfriend Kate would come over, but Yelena liked to keep Monday nights for ‘best friend time’ as she liked to call it. You hesitantly hang your bag on the hook by the door and close it behind you. Hopefully you didn’t just close yourself in with a serial killer or something.

At the sound of the door closing, the redhead turns her head and your jaw almost drops when you make eye contact. Natasha Romanoff is sitting in Yelena’s living room.

What the hell is Natasha Romanoff doing sitting in Yelena’s living room?

The redhead is the lead guitarist and singer in what most magazines and articles are calling ‘one of the most popular female rock bands in the past twenty years.’ Even if someone doesn’t know Spellbound’s music, they’d know Natasha. She’s recently been a hot topic of the internet, having been caught on video punching one of her bandmate, Wanda’s, exes in the face after they wouldn’t stop harassing her. The video spread like wildfire, most people on Natasha’s side and other’s calling her a bitch, saying she shouldn’t get involved. You, of course, were on Natasha’s side.

She doesn’t seem at all concerned, just raises an eyebrow at the continued silence when you don’t say anything. “You’re not Yelena.” Is what you say, lamely, when you can finally get your brain to connect to your vocal chords. “Not the last time I checked, no. As far as I can tell neither are you.”

“It’s Monday night.” You say as if that would be any explanation at all as to why you’re in Yelena’s apartment. Natasha stands from the couch, putting the bottle of beer she was drinking down on Yelena’s coffee table. “Right,” she nods in agreement, “but that doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my sister’s apartment.” You almost choke on your own spit at Natasha’s words. Yelena’s Natasha was the Natasha?

As if to save you from whatever wrath the redhead was going to unleash on you for being a stranger in her sister’s apartment, Yelena emerges from her bedroom. “Y/N! It’s nice of you to finally make it. I thought maybe a traffic monster had swallowed you up.” You were five minutes later than usual and she was acting like it was the end of the world, typical. Natasha is momentarily forgotten as you roll your eyes at your best friend's words. “Hi, Y/N. So nice to see you, Y/N. I’m so sorry I was a ghost today, Y/N.” You mock her playfully, ready to give her an earful for making you think she might have died today before Natasha clears her throat.

“Big sisters don’t get introductions anymore?”

It was easy to get over your initial starstruck feeling after the first couple of days that Natasha stayed with Yelena. You learned that there was a two week long break between legs of the tour and Natasha decided she wanted to come visit her sister. With no prior notice, of course, because that’s just how Natasha does things. It really didn’t take long for you to feel comfortable around her and although she had been skeptical to let herself fully relax around you, even if she didn’t show it, she eventually did. You found that you enjoyed being around her and even found yourself hanging around Yelena’s apartment even when she wasn’t there just so you could spend time with Natasha.

And Natasha enjoyed spending time with you. She didn’t show it, much like she didn’t show most emotions that weren’t surface level, but she was excited to finally meet the famous Y/N Yelena would always rave about for the past however many years when they spoke on the phone. She would always regret not coming to visit more often, but she wouldn’t trade her current life for anything even if it meant time spent with Yelena was over the phone more often than not. She could make up for it in other ways, hopefully her sister felt the same.

It was the last day of Natasha’s two week visit and you were both sitting on the cargo bed of her rental truck. It was parked in the grassy parking area near the picnic area of one of New York’s many state parks. It was nearly deserted save for a few families, August wasn’t exactly peak tourist season in this part of New York. You were waiting for Yelena to arrive with Kate, the blonde finally deciding that now would be a good time for Natasha to meet her girlfriend. Of course she waited until the day before Natasha left.

You’re leaning into Natasha, your legs dangling off the edge of the cargo bed, kicking back and forth lightly. She’s leaning on one hand and letting you play with her fingers on the other. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to admit it out loud, but she will miss you when she’s gone. She hadn’t planned on growing so close to you and she’s never had a problem with being detached before, but something about you just draws her in. If she could stay here, with you leaning against her and the gentle breeze against her skin, she would. It’s a dangerous thought, she knows it is, but she wonders if you’d wait for her to come back. Whenever that is.

The mixture of Natasha’s perfume and the nature around you is comforting and you don’t want anything to burst the little bubble of comfort you and Natasha have created for yourselves. “Is it bad that I don’t want you to go?” You ask quietly, hoping if you don’t say it too loud then the question won’t hold as many emotions as you know it does. Natasha doesn’t respond for a few seconds, trying to come up with an answer that won’t make you upset but also won’t give you any false hope. “You could always come to one of my shows.” Is what she settles for, but the sigh she gets in response isn’t what she wanted.

“You know I can’t.” Your legs stop kicking and you let the warm breeze brush against them as it blows past. Natasha squeezes your hand, “I know.” She’s about to say something else, but the honk of a horn interrupts her and you practically jump off of the truck, a startled curse falling from your lips as you whip your head around. You groan when you see Yelena’s car and turn to bury your face in Natasha’s shoulder, previous feelings seemingly forgotten, “Your sister’s an asshole.”

Natasha laughs, reaching up to run a hand through your hair, the feeling much too familiar. It makes a pit form in her stomach, but she pushes it down. “It runs in the family. Now, come on. I have to go all big sister on this Kate girl.” She pats your shoulder and waits for you to pull away from her before getting down from the truck. She almost walks away, but thinks better of it, instead turning to help you down as well. There’s no reason to pull away, she reminds herself, you two are just friends. Friends who have spent the past couple of nights cuddled together on Yelena’s couch while watching movies, but still, just friends.

You both hear two car doors shut and then Yelena’s voice, “Sestra! Come meet Kate!” and then much quieter, Kate’s nervous one, “Babe, I really think maybe we should just go back. I mean she’s already met Y/N, so maybe I’ll be next time.”

Surprisingly, you’re able to stop Natasha from scaring Kate too much, but she still puts the fear of God into the brunette, promising something awful if she were to ever break her sister’s heart. Of course Kate swears she would never do anything like that and then goes on a nervous rant about how she was totally on Natasha’s side when it came to punching that guy.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, you all had a good time and you almost completely forgot that Natasha would be leaving tomorrow. Until you didn’t. You had been sleeping over at Yelena’s apartment the past couple of nights and tonight was no different, wanting to see Natasha off when she left. Like a good friend would. Because that’s what you were. Friends.

Natasha had claimed she was going to stay up all night so that when she got on the bus in the morning, she’d be able to sleep through the long drive to the hotel in Indiana. You gave some lame excuse to hide wanting to spend more time with her as a reason why you’d stay up with her. Yelena had gone to sleep long ago and you were starting to get a little sleepy, but you weren’t going to give up now. You looked at your phone to check the time: 2:46am.

You were in a similar position to earlier, except instead of a truck bed you were sitting on the couch with your legs curled up next to you as you leaned into Natasha. “Y/N?” Natasha whispers into the quiet of the living room, the only sound besides her voice being the quiet murmur from the tv. You hum in response, eyes trained on the scene being shown on the tv screen. You were watching reruns of one of your favorite shows and although Natasha wasn’t all that interested, she’d let you keep it on.

“Y/N.” She says slightly louder and you sit up in confusion, looking around to see if maybe you’d missed something. You furrow your eyebrows when everything is the same as it was before, “what?” Natasha looks like she wants to say something, but she hesitates slightly. “Nevermind. Sorry, I thought I saw something.”

“Nat, seriously, what?” You’re beyond confused now and a little too tired to understand the emotions in Natasha’s eyes the way you usually would. It’s a split second decision, but the resolve she’s been trying to build up for the past few days has been effectively crumbled and the question that’s been on the tip of her tongue since you asked if it was bad you wanted her to stay finally escapes her lips, “can I kiss you?”

It takes you a second to register the fact that she actually wants to kiss you, but as soon as you do you’re nodding your head. She surges forward, cupping your cheeks and pressing her lips against yours. Your eyes flutter shut and you grab at her shirt, trying to tug her closer as your lips move against each other. Her tongue slides against your bottom lip and you gasp. She takes the opportunity to push her tongue into your mouth, exploring it. There’s no real fight for dominance, you let Natasha take the lead entirely.

You tug her down as you lay back on the couch and she shifts slightly so that she can straddle your hips, one of her hands tangling in your hair. Eventually she has to pull away for air and she’s glad she does with the way you struggle to breathe properly, fists clutching her shirt. Your breathing is labored and she would find it cute had she not realized you were sacrificing breathing just to kiss her. She almost wants to scold you for it.

She rubs her thumb across your cheek as she looks down at you. She really shouldn’t be doing this, not before she has to leave, and especially not in Yelena’s living room, but she doesn’t know if she really cares right now. “I’m going to kiss you again, okay?”

“Please.” You nod desperately, tugging her back down and meeting her lips halfway. This kiss is much more heated and messy, the both of you more desperate for each other than you already were. Natasha bites down on your bottom lip and you moan softly, arching up into her. Her smirk breaks the kiss and you almost whine, but it’s almost like she can read your mind because she’s immediately shushing you and pressing her lips to yours again.

Your hands slide under her shirt to grip at her waist and pull her closer to you, desperately wanting to feel her against you. The way you’re kissing is almost feverish, the both of you so desperate that you feel if you don’t consume the other it may be your demise. Natasha pulls away to quickly pull her shirt off and discard it on the floor and if you weren’t so desperate to have her lips on yours again, you would have taken more time to admire her abs.

When she leans back down to meet your lips in another frenzied kiss, she doesn’t even take the time to pull your shirt off entirely, merely pushes it up and over your breasts, her hands finding purchase on the soft skin of your waist before traveling up. She groans at the way your body reacts to her and the little whine you let out when she slides her fingertips over the cups of your bra.

When she pulls away again you try to catch your breath, feeling a little lightheaded from having Natasha like this. She’s leaning over you, hands cupping your cheeks as her thumb rubs soothingly across one of them. “If we keep going, I’m not going to be able to stop.” She laughs lightly, the look on your face telling her that very much wouldn’t be a problem. “But I don’t think this is the right place for that, doll. Another time, alright?”

The rest of the night is spent with Natasha whispering sweet nothings to you as you fall in and out of sleep, trying your best to stay awake with her. She promises to come back soon, even though she doesn’t know when soon will be, and that she’ll text you when she can and set aside time to call, and would you like that? Eventually, you succumb to sleep and Natasha has to slip away without a proper goodbye. She’d tried to wake you, you can’t fault her for that one. And if Yelena noticed you wearing Natasha’s shirt while you were asleep on the couch, she didn’t say anything.

“I hope you guys don’t mind us playing something new.” Natasha’s words are met with loud cheers and she smirks softly, “it’s a song I wrote recently and we haven’t had a chance to play it for anyone yet so we figured why not, right? It’s called Everlong. I hope you guys like it.” She looks behind her and nods to Carol who starts the drum beat.

“Hello

I’ve waited here for you

Everlong”

#alice's fics !#🎸🦇 au #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff smut

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yandere-writer-momo · 3 months

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Yandere Head Canons:

Romantic Homicide

Yandere assassin x divorcee afab reader

You had a hit placed on you by your ex monster in law. That nightmare of a woman couldn’t stand how her son had loved you so much and didn’t have his undivided attention on her (emotional incest??). Yet it wasn’t enough that the two of you are now divorced, she wanted you dead for breaking her son’s heart. Even though she was the main source of your separation. The reason why you could no longer be with the man you loved. The painful thorn stuck in your side that you finally couldn’t stand. So you removed yourself from the equation.

It didn’t matter that your ex, Vincent, sobbed and begged for you to not leave him on his hands and knees like a dog. The wealthy man sniveled at your feet and yet you could not find the strength in yourself to fight this battle any longer. The monster can have her precious son, you deserved to be happy.

Vincent had no backbone. You put up with so much verbal and even physical abuse from his mother due to your common background, and he never stood up for you. Sure Vincent would cry and apologize to you for his mother, but he never stood up to her. He was a coward. Vincent could use as many honeyed words as he pleased but they would no longer be told to you. You were hardened now and had no motivation left to fight… yet his mother wanted you dead for leaving him. She needed to make up her mind on what she wanted from you.

When you divorced Vincent Beau, you didn’t even accept any alimony because you didn’t want any of the filthy money from his family. And yet his mother, Manon, despised you even more for it… that strange woman.

So here you were in your bed with a masked hitman with wild green eyes wild and a sharp blade pressed to your neck. The thinnest of cuts formed on your neck as blood slowly pooled around your head like a grotesque halo. His breathing ragged and his voice deep like the bottomless ocean. “Any last words?”

You hummed and thought for a moment. How kind of a hitman to offer you any final words… yet you could focus on nothing else but his beautiful green eyes.

Vincent and Manon were far on your mind. It was simply your killer and you in this small world. Should you even offer the man any words? You didn’t care to beg for your life seeing to it that your monster in law would do anything to rid the world of your very existence even if he did let you go.

You stared deeply into his wild green eyes that reminded you of a forest. The ones you’d see in a National Geographic magazine. They were so unlike the cognac brown eyes of Vincent. You wondered if his face was as handsome as his piercing eyes.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You gave him a small smile and shut your eyes to wait for the final blow.

A moment passed and then another… yet it never came. The knife was flung carelessly across the room with a loud clang. Large, gloved hands roughly grabbed your face as his lips were suddenly pressed against yours. His stubble tickled your face while his mouth eagerly moved against yours.

You couldn’t even register whether or not you wanted to kiss back since he pulled away like had been burned. His gloved hands quickly shoved the mask back on before you could catch a glimpse of his face.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long… to think you feel the same way as me…” You squeaked when he scooped you up into his arms to carry you out of your home. “I just have to burn this whole place down so she thinks you’re dead… then we can be together.”

You’re as confused as a newly born fawn. This man seemed to know you but you had no idea who he was… did you know him? He seemed familiar with Manon but then again, she was a socialite. He could be anyone…

He unceremoniously shoved you into the trunk of his car. His green eyes lit up like a child on Christmas Day. “Don’t make a sound, okay? We have to convince mother that you died.”

And when the trunk door closed and left you in complete darkness, his identity finally clicked in your brain.

Acheros Beau, Vincent’s half brother and the illegitimate son of the Beau family. The family’s darkest secret and now your delusional captor who believed you were in love with him.

You hugged your knees from within the car’s trunk as you felt yourself shiver. What on earth have you done to capture the amorous feelings of a deranged psychopath?

You didn’t know whether to be grateful to your situation or horrified. Maybe it would have been better to die in the comfort of your home rather than await what terrible fate may lie ahead… more time could tell. For now you would count the seconds until you woke up from this realistic nightmare.

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weirdlookindog · 2 years

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Gray Morrow - Son of Frankenstein

original cover art for Monster World Magazine #7

#gray morrow #son of frankenstein #monster world magazine #horror art #art #painting

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evilhorse · 1 year

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I’m not a monster, kid!

#fantastic four #the thing #ben grimm #not a monster #uh oh #the world’s greatest comic magazine #ryan north #iban coello #marvel comics #comics #2020s comics

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 1 year

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Monster World #5 (1965), cover by Gray Morrow

#Gray Morrow #Monster World #vol. 5 #1965 #60's #60s #cover #cover art #artwork #painting #magazine #Illustration #vintage pulp art #pulp art #comics #comic #art

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queenimmadolla · 5 months

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A little sneak peak of a request! I was trying to finish this one before I got smashed but SOME PEOPLE did not like certain details, so I have to fix it. BUT this is proof that I do indeed be writing, I swear, I just grow very intensely annoyed when something doesn't turn out perfect and the way I want it immediately, so I throw it in The Vault! Just know, everything in The Vault will be released :)

𝐃𝐚𝐝!𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐌𝐨𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - angst, hurt/comfort 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 ♡

You’d expected it to be dramatic.

Your water breaking that is, but as you stared down at your toes, barely visible past your baby bump, pants darkening around your crotch and the liquid trailing down your leg to gather in a small puddle beneath you, you almost felt nothing, save for ennui.

Your last two pregnancies had been quite the spectacle; your first being dramatic in itself for the sole reason of being your first time bringing a child into the world. The second time almost killed you and your baby.

You’d been wary of having any more after that, fearful you wouldn’t be able to carry to term and the possibility of losing your own life. It would mean you wouldn’t get to see Penny and Wayne grow up.

It brought both you and your husband a sense of responsibility with your sex life that you hadn’t quite possessed before. There had been almost a four year gap between your oldest and (now) middle child and the gap between he and this baby would be even longer at about six.

Pretty good luck, considering you hadn’t wanted to get pregnant for a third time, at all. Yes, you had been wary before but now, with things between you and your husband as they were, it seemed irresponsible and senseless to bring another child into the picture.

Hell, conceiving your baby alone was a miracle. All you did was fight and ignore each other, made easier with the fact that Eddie was always away. Always missing school awards, always missing dance recitals and shows, parent teacher conferences, always missing out on your family.

Ever since Corroded Coffin broke through mainstream music, you and your children had to share your husband with the world. More often than not, it was the world who got to have him.

It led to fights, vicious ones. Words and insults thrown out, screaming, accusations ranging from spite to infidelity, and magazines thrown around with their intentionally triggering headlines featuring pretty women in the same vicinity as the man who shared your vows.

The man who once was just a boy you greatly admired in school, sat a couple of desks ahead of you. The boy who approached you and then followed from then on. The boy who was the first to make love to you, not fuck. The boy whose heart you had broken in the past. The boy who welcomed you back with open arms. The boy who asked you the most important question of your life while surrounded by a sea of high school graduates, caps and gowns. The boy whose baby you had a year after that.

You’d dreamt of a life with him, at his side while he pursued music with his band. And then life happened, and you were both surprisingly at ease with putting those dreams to rest, in favor of the new ones you welcomed in little bundles of blankets, smelling of baby powder.

You never let Eddie fully give up on pursuing music, he still played shows whenever he could, waving and blowing kisses from the stage at the tiny people in your arms with large headphones over their sensitive ears to protect them.

But that had been small venues, overnight trips at best.

Fame was an entirely different monster.

Fame was weeks away, and on occasion, months. When you had imagined your future with Eddie as a teen, traveling the world with him, there hadn’t been a family in tow. Kids.

You had them now, and you couldn’t imagine your life without them. Wouldn’t want to. It was unfair of you, and completely untrue, but you thought Eddie might.

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