#Bio-Well Diagnostics

[shrimsour]

[ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE.]

[DIAGNOSTIC SCAN COMPLETE.]

Always wanted to draw Bio in the style of ULTRAKILL since I think him and V1 have many connections.

I love robot characters and divine machinery gimme all that shi I'm so feral abt machines and computers man they're so cool

This post is doing well everywhere I posted it (even on Instagram to my shock, where I've been shadowbanned for like 2 years now) so I'm gonna drop it here aswell

[foone]

Your robot girlfriend has to power down to replace her backup battery. The regular batteries are easy to swap while she's online, but that small JR2035 battery that keeps her config saved and clock ticking is way buried inside her chassis.

She holds her chest open as wide as she can pull, and you flip her power switch. The light literally leaves her eyes as the OLEDs power down. Holding the flashlight in your teeth, you reach in with a hand and a flat-blade screwdriver (your last spudger snapped when you were fixing her hand servos last week).

With a soft snap, her backup battery bounces out and ricochets down her torse. You swear and let it end up on the floor, as you carefully reach up to insert the replacement coin cell. It takes a couple fumbling tries, but you get it in, and the right way around too as a special bonus.

You extract yourself from her internals, and plug the diagnostic screen into one of her internal UDMI ports. The switch is flipped with a satisfying clunk, and the display pops to life. Boot messages start streaming by, then it pauses with a softly blinking error:

BIOS settings cleared, please enter setup.

You hit a key on a nearby wireless keyboard, and the bios opens up, all white-on-blue plain text because your GF is, to use a highly technical retrorobotics term, a bit of a MILF.

You set up the basic options for her to boot. She can fine tune this later. You just need her to get running enough to do that. You tell it what kind of hard drive she uses, how many floppy drives she has, pronouns and orientation, etc. You hit F7 to save and reboot and you spot it: the date.

Current Time: 00:04

Current Date: 1970-01-01

Damn it, you're always forgetting to set the date in these things! She's already booting, you can see the spinning logo in her eyes. Ah well. You can reboot her and fix it, or maybe it'll auto-set from the network? You can't remember if that'll work.

The logo leaves her screen. You see that finger twitch of her final boot up, and her irises reappear and quickly focus. Her hair starts to blink in as the holoprojectors spin up, and she starts to sit up.

"Hey... I swapped the battery, how are you feeling?"

She gets that smile where her eyes go big. Her holos blink and her clothes change, and half an instant later, her hair.

The music system in your living room switches over to a sweet bassline.

Disco?

You turn as she stands up, and starts doing the Staying Alive dance. She's got the white leisuresuit, and an afro that seems to be growing by the second.

well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's bot, no time to talk!

Ahh. 1970.

[severedfromthesource]

Androids and Electric Sheep

Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.

No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

She is a glorified fuck toy.

The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.

She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. “It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”

”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.

I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.

I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.

But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.

“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.

She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.

“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.

Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?

I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.

The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.

Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.

Then she dies.

No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”

I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.

There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?

Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.

I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.

Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.

“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.

When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.

Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.

“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.

[ducksido]

Hai! It’s ur fav Idia anon😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈 okay hear me out, Idia with a half frank stein half cyborg reader. Like reader has an electric heart and organs but a human brain and is like made out of like ten dead human parts, oil for blood type. So Idia is just like checking up on their vital robot organs on his computer, like using wires to connect to reader’s organs (entry thing on back??) while reader is on his lap, just relaxing and chilling, and u can interpret the rest😝😝😝😝😝

[Yes you are my favourite Idia anon😁]

(Tw: mild body horror mentions, nothing gory, just wires and weird organs. Soft vibes override.)

The room is bathed in a neon-blue glow, flickering slightly as a screen updates line after line of data—pulses, pressure, charge levels, synaptic fire. All of it you.

“Okay, okay… entry port's clean, transmission’s stable…” Idia mutters, fingers dancing across his keyboard, fast as lightning, faster than your own synthetic nerve relays. His hair pulses in hues of cerulean and violet, glowing brighter every time your vitals spike. Which they do. Every time you shift in his lap.

You’re leaned back against his chest, legs folded sideways over his, like a puzzle piece slotted in place. Calm. Almost sleepy. Like it’s normal to have a bunch of cables trailing from the base of your spine, connecting your bio-mechanical organs directly into Idia’s rig.

Your heart? Electric. Hums like an engine when you're content. Your lungs? Powered by soft hydraulic pulses that compress with a hiss and expand with a shudder. And Idia? Well, he’s obsessed.

Not in the "science project" kind of way. More like the "I can't believe you're real and I get to be the only one who gets this close to your wiring" kind of way.

"How’re you feeling?" he asks, voice unusually quiet. His hand’s resting over your sternum, right above the casing where your electric heart clicks and pulses like a steady metronome.

"Warm," you murmur. “Even with the oil circulation. Feels… nice.”

That makes him freeze for a nanosecond. Nice. Nice? YOU think it’s nice??? His brain blue-screens. You’re literally half-built from corpses and spare parts—there’s tubing under your skin instead of veins, a synth-liver that processes coolant, and an actual operating system that pings him when your battery’s low. And you're just… on his lap like a cat.

“Uhh… yeah… obviously it’s nice. My setup is, like, peak comfort optimization. Nothing less for my… my um…”

He trails off.

You blink up at him. “Your…?”

"...My favorite test subject." He coughs. Loudly. “N-not in a creepy way!! Just, like, statistically you’re the one I monitor the most, so it’s just accurate, you know?? Purely clinical—"

You tilt your head back a little more so you can look up at him with that half-synthetic eye of yours that flickers softly when you smile.

“Idia.”

He stiffens.

"You don't need to short-circuit over every compliment."

"...I d-don’t short-circuit." (He does.) (He literally does. Your neural link picks up a micro surge in his output whenever you’re too close. Which is always.)

Still, he leans down, brushing his nose against the crown of your head. “Just sayin’. No one else gets to do this. Monitor you, I mean. Tinker. Maintain. You’ve got, like, a whole corpse-Wi-Fi situation going on, and I’m the only one who knows the password.”

You hum again. You like that. The idea of belonging—not as a project, but as a person only he understands.

“Okay, diagnostics are good. All organ-tech’s running smooth. Heartbeat's in the sweet zone. No overheating.” He lets the wires retract with a whirr, but doesn’t move you off his lap. If anything, he wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist. “Guess I’ll just keep you here a little longer. For observation. You know. For science.”

You smile, letting your body rest fully against him, your cold frame soaking in his heat.

“Sure, doc. For science.”

[kelnexia]

New character reveal!

This is actually an old character I've had for a while but just didn't like the previous design of... Thankfully I was able to score an trade with @hdra77 .

1000CE is an old militaristic ancestor of the iterators, created before the discovery of void fluid, and when the field of bio-engineering was still in it's earlier phases. More lore is below the cut...

1000 Crimson Embers is not a true iterator – instead being an old militaristic ancestor. She was originally built in a time of war just before the discovery of void fluid. She was one of the first artificial intelligence to use a combination of both biological and mechanical systems. Although the technology used in her creation was considerably more primitive than what’s found in the iterators we know and love today. But despite the difference in technology – a lot of the basic concepts and functionality in her design remains largely the same;

The layout of her structure was still fairly large, although not nearly as big as an iterator, and was built as an underground bunker. But the main similarity was how her mind was constructed… Similarly to how iterators in my head cannon have their personalty core and spiritual anchor located within their puppet – 1000 Crimson Embers has a standard brain and supporting set of organs acting as her center of consciousness within her puppet. Her puppet is also much larger than that of an iterator – being the height of an adult ancient instead of that of a child. The exterior of her puppet consists of hard metal plates and mechanical components. Her clothing is also built into her puppet. 1000 Crimson Embers doesn't utilized neuron flies in her structure, as they had yet to be invented by the time she was built – instead she’s outsourcing her cognitive processing to a massive array of inorganic server towers.

1000 Crimson Ember’s purpose was to design and create weapons, as well as to formulate strategies. She was loyal and hard working at the start, showing no serous signs of defiance despite her instinctual taboos being primitive and largely ineffective… That was until after the dawn of the void fluid revolution… With the ancients uniting under the common goal of ascension – the world entered a lasting era of peace – deeming 1000 Crimson Ember’s original purpose obsolete. However the ancients were inclined to keep her online for just awhile longer, as they still had some use for her. They tasked her in helping to create her own undoing – the iterators. She wasn’t a fool though, she knew what they were doing… They were building her replacement and trying to get her to help them in her own downfall! She lashed out in a violent fit of rage – ‘How dare they just carelessly replace her like this after all the thankless work she’s done for them!’ She drove them out of her facility by turning her security systems against them, killing many in her fit of rage.

But the ancients still needed the schematics and research for iterator tech 1000 Crimson Embers had already started work on before she had realized their true intentions behind it. So they struck a deal with her. They would upgrade her with the new iterator technology if she let them back in and got back to work for them. 1000CE reluctantly excepted the deal. But when the work was complete, and the time for her upgrades had come... They put her in stasis for the procedure… But they never kept their end of deal. They simply walked away and left her slumbering form to collect dust.

She awakened again many years after… To the sight of a group of scavengers that had broken in and accidentally reactivated her while attempting to gather scrap. The first thing she did upon seeing the invading creatures that were so rudely ripping her apart – was to reactivate the security system and kill every last one of them. However the damage had already been done. Upon running a system diagnostics, she found that her defenses had been breached, much of her facility has been flooded, and she’s all round in a severe state of disrepair. She would need to do something about that, and fast… Her weather systems were picking up on a massive encroaching storm.

Ultimately she would find her structure too damaged to sustain for much longer… She would end up using the freedom her weaker taboos and more self-significant puppet gives her to take herself off the strings, to at least save her core from the impending decay and flooding of her structure. But the world she would step out into would be very different from what she’s used too… Her home was once an arid region – but now it’s been turned into a tropics by the increased rainfall that has taken over the world and changed it the point of being near unrecognizable from what it once was.

[foxykate42]

So, I started writing this thing. Because I've always had this question of if I wanted to be a robot girl, or if I just want to be the mechanic who fixes robot girls. And....I thought I figured it out. That I'd just be a robot girl who fixes other robot girls.

-

Imagine, being able to have my hand separate into different tools, quickly popping open the access panel on your back so I can slip my interface cable in and connect directly. Quickly jumping through your BiOS to discover which manufacturer I need to hack into, in order to download the schematics. Codes and Errors flash in my eyes as I quickly sift through them, you've been identified as a rogue unit. It's only a matter of time before they do something extreme. I run every subroutine, diagnostic, and flood every cache to try and slow down any signals that might trigger it, your kill switch. My tools quickly disassemble what parts I need to move in order to get deeper, I can fix those later, but not if your neural net is.... There, I found the chip. The micro torch sparks inside you, I know it might hurt, but what damage I do is nothing compared to the corpos frying your brain in a nanosecond. I calmly but urgently cut the chip off of your circuitry, a nimble claw snatches it and I toss it on the floor.

I let out a sigh of relief, leaning back on my stool. I hadn't realized my own heat sinks popped open and vented from the stress.

-

But after writing this I couldn't help but think about the eroticism of working on things and sweating over them, skin covered in grease. How when you're that deep in a machine, you're really more dangerous to it than it is to you. I mean obviously if you're working with a lot of power it could shock and kill you if you're not careful. But If you sweat on a circuit board it's likely to short, ultimately it's a much more vulnerable position for the machine. However if I was also a robot girl, It would be dangerous for myself as well. if I'm connected to you when they try and throw the kill switch, what's to say they can't knock me out with you. Two birds one stone and such. But NOW I'm thinking about how many times I've cut myself on a PC case, Imagining that... - I'm fixing your leg, it got torn to shreds when we had a close call with a garbage processor. I've sorted through my spares and found one that's a close enough match. I wrap my hands around your thigh and twist hard, finger pressing in to the release latch hidden underneath a layer of synth-skin. The connector clicks and then shifts suddenly. My hand slips and I slice myself on the damaged component. I hiss through my teeth as blood drips on the floor. I toss the damaged piece aside and grab a clean-ish towel that was hanging from my tool cart, some tape, and wrap it quickly before returning to my work. - SEE, HOW CAN I CHOSE. Turns out I'm no closer to figuring it out.

[berrywinner]

HOLY SHIT!!!! OPENED REQUESTS FOR HOUSE MD!!!! may i request a platonic duckling!reader and house where reader turned out to be his bio child or something like that... tysm!!!!

I love you, kid

House has always treated you differently, neither of you ever understood why tho. Until one tuesday, everything comes out

You had always known working on Dr. House’s team wasn’t going to be easy. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman had warned you,well, Chase had warned you in that polite, sympathetic tone of his. Cameron had just given you a soft smile and a “good luck.” Foreman smirked. But you weren’t just the youngest on the team.

You were new, fresh out of your residency, and you’d somehow impressed House enough to land a spot on his diagnostic team. He hadn’t said why he chose you, he never did, but over the months, you realized you were different from the others. Not just in age. House treated everyone like an annoyance. He teased, taunted, and poked at their insecurities. With you… he still did that, sure. But there was something else. He watched out for you. He pulled you out of impossible situations. He rarely belittled you the way he did with the others.

And, more than once, when you stayed late and worked yourself to exhaustion, you’d wake up in his office, his old leather jacket draped over your shoulders.At first, you thought he saw you as some kind of little sister. But slowly, painfully slowly, it began to feel more paternal. He scolded you when you took risks. He grumbled at you to eat. He noticed when you skipped meals or stayed on your feet too long.You started calling him “House” like everyone else. But sometimes, in your head, he felt suspiciously close to Dad.

It happened on a Tuesday, like most strange things do. The patient was a sixteen-year-old boy with unexplained seizures, high fevers, and severe muscle weakness. Every test came back inconclusive.

“We’re missing something,” you murmured, staring at the whiteboard.

House twirled his marker between his fingers. “Very astute, Baby Intern.” He had started calling you that, half-mocking, half-affectionate. You sighed. “I mean something genetic. Something we’re not even looking for.”

House arched a brow. “You want to run a full genetic panel? Do you know how long that’ll take? We’ll be attending his funeral by then.”

“Not if we use rapid sequencing,” you said, surprising even yourself. “I’ve been working on a protocol with Dr. Jacobson in genetics.”

House stared at you for a long moment. “You’ve been busy.”

You shrugged, feeling small under his gaze.

“Fine,” he said. “Run it. But if it comes back as something boring, like a mitochondrial disorder, I’m revoking your marker privileges for a week.”

You smirked. “Deal.”

The next morning, you were halfway through the patient’s genetic results when something strange popped up. A secondary result.

It was an automatic database alert: a partial parental match.

You frowned, double-checking the patient ID. No error.

It was from a case House had run tests on three days ago.

You blinked. Checked again.

Parent-child match. 99.98%.

Between you… and House.

You sat frozen in the chair for what felt like hours.

Later that day, House called a team meeting. The patient had viral encephalitis. Treatable. Good news.

But your mind wasn’t on the patient. It was on the blood test results burning a hole in your pocket.

“Hey,” Chase nudged you as the meeting broke up. “You okay? You’re pale.”

“Yeah. Fine.” Your voice cracked.

You stayed behind.

House was scribbling something on the board. He didn’t turn when he spoke. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“House… can I talk to you?”

“Unless it’s about getting me a better brand of coffee, save it.”

“It’s important.”

He finally turned, studying your face with that unnerving, perceptive gaze. “Okay. Talk.”

You swallowed. “I ran a genetic panel on the patient. There was another process in progress, and I have seen the results .”

House’s face didn’t change. But his hand tightened slightly on the marker. “Mh...”

Silence.

He knew something.

You took a shaky breath. “House… it says you’re my father.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t make a joke. He sat down heavily in his chair and looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“I thought it was only a presentiment..."he started.

Your voice trembled. “How did you think about even take a DNA test? My mom died when I was ten. I never knew my biological dad. She said it was… someone she didn’t want to talk about. That he wouldn’t have wanted me, did you know I existed?-”

House looked down at the floor. For the first time, you saw genuine fear in his eyes.

“I… I didn’t know” he whispered.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

House rubbed a hand over his face. “We can run another test.”

“I already did. Three times.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

You could barely breathe.

“I didn’t know I swear” he said again.

“I believe you.”

And you did.

You sat across from him in his office, your breath uneven, his hands nervously tapping against his cane. Neither of you spoke for a long time.

“I should’ve guessed when you came her the first time” House muttered finally, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it. “You’re annoyingly stubborn. You ask too many questions. And God forbid anyone tries to tell you what to do.”

You laughed, but it broke into something like a sob.

House winced. “Don’t… cry.”

“I’m not.” You wiped your face quickly. “Just… processing.”

“I need a drink,” House finally said, standing abruptly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

You ended up in a bar. And in the moment you chose your drink he spoke

“I can already see the genetics”

The silence settled again, but this time it felt warmer. Calmer. He finally sat down beside you and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

The days that followed were strange.

At first, nothing changed. There were still cases, still rounds, still differential meetings with Chase, Cameron, and Foreman. House still teased everyone mercilessly.

But something had shifted between you.

He checked in on you more often. Brought you coffee without a sarcastic comment. Left Post-it notes on your desk that read things like, Eat something.

He tried not to hover, but he wasn’t very good at it. Him looking after you wasn’t something new, but now he had started to be obvious about it.

You had never said the word "dad". But it hung in the air between you like a whisper. You hadn’t dared to call him dad and he hadn’t dared to call himself your dad.

But actions spoke louder.

He started driving you home when you stayed late. Sometimes, he’d leave your favorite snacks in the diagnostics lounge with no explanation.

One day, you caught a cold, and he practically barricaded you in his office with a blanket, soup, and orders not to move.

Chase and Cameron noticed.

“House is… weirdly protective of you lately,” Chase said one afternoon.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Like, really protective,” Cameron added, eyes narrowing. “Should we be worried?”

“No,” you said softly. “It’s… good.”

And it was.

The first time you called him Dad was an accident.

You were exhausted, half-asleep on the diagnostics lounge couch, and he was fussing about you skipping lunch again.

“Okay, Dad, I’ll eat,” you muttered without thinking.

The room went silent.

Your eyes flew open.

House froze, blinking at you in surprise.

You covered your mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t–I mean, I–”

He exhaled a shaky breath.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

Your heart twisted.

“Dad,” you said softly, deliberately this time.

His face crumpled for half a second before he composed himself, but not before you saw it, the crack in his armor.

He sat beside you, tugged you gently against his side, and for the first time in your life, you felt safe.

It became easier after that.

He’d leave you notes signed “-Dad” just to make you smile.

You started bringing him coffee in the mornings and teasing, “Drink up, old man.”

Chase and Cameron finally cornered you.

“You and House…” Cameron began carefully.

“He’s my dad,” you blurted out.

They both stared.

Foreman nearly dropped his coffee.

House pretended to hate the attention, but you caught him smiling when he thought no one was looking.

Months passed. You spent holidays together. Watched old movies in his apartment. He taught you how to play piano, sort of. Mostly, he just teased you for being terrible.

But he beamed when you finally managed a simple melody.

You helped him with his leg on bad days.

You argued. You made up. You grew.

He became your father in every way that mattered.

One evening, you sat on his couch, curled up with a blanket, and he handed you a battered photo album.

“I thought you might want to see these,” he said softly.

Photos of him and your mother. College years. Smiles, laughter.

“She loved you, this is why he never talked about you” you whispered.

He swallowed hard. “I know. I just… didn’t believe I deserved it.”

“She thought you did.”

He looked at you then, eyes soft.

“And so do I.”

He looked at you, he didn’t think he'd ever want a child, he never believed in paternal instincts, until he started acting like a father before even knowing you were his kid.

And now, now he was a Dad...a real one. And he never felt so good.

A year later you stood in front of the diagnostics board, marker in hand, surrounded by Chase, Cameron, and Foreman. House sat behind his desk, pretending not to listen.

“Okay,” you said, taking charge. “Let’s run through symptoms we've missed something”

House smirked. “Bossing them around. Makes me proud.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Definitely your child”

You grinned. “Damn right.”

House tapped his cane against the floor. “Wrap it up, Baby Intern.”

You turned, gave him a look.

“Sorry,” he corrected, eyes warm. “Baby genius.”

You beamed.

That night, you found yourself back on his couch, watching old movies, popcorn between you.

“I’m glad I found out,” he said softly.

You smiled. “Me too.”

He hesitated.

"What?" you said

“I love you, kid.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I love you too, Dad.”

And in that moment, for the first time, neither of you felt broken.

You felt whole.

[cozzzynook]

Rodimus giving birth and feeling something is wrong. There's so much blood and his little one isn't coming out. Ratchet ends up breaking his leg to get their sparkling out.

-Bread.

This ask took so long because I wanted it to be one of the best things I could go back and read. I wanted this to be long.

-

Carrying was…both a beautiful and difficult thing.

The beauty in this was growing a life in his forge tanks that was combined of his own cna and his partners Drift and Ratchet.

The two were conjunx and he was their partner they planned on conjunxing, though he had plenty doubts of being conjunx to them or it lasting long since he was more than a few servo fulls. The two immediately rejected such ideals and told him to get those thoughts from his processor.

Try as he might to hide this insecurity and fear getting sparked made it impossible to do so. He had no choice but to work on the unrelenting pressure that was his thoughts and feelings. And it was all thanks to the result of a glowing orange bio fluid that covered the small pipe rod that he slipped into his valve and rested on the edges of his gestation tank that led directly to his forge.

The glowing light meant one thing and one thing only.

He was sparked.

His frame was so heavy and tired because it no longer worked for only himself but another life that was steadily growing and forming inside him. Made up of Ratchets cna and transfluid and Drifts energon and spark energy.

Truly the bitlet had a mix of all these things from each of them. But he always deep dived the intricacies of it this way. It felt more romantic, more connecting, this way.

He was not as connected during his first few weeks of knowing as he was now.

The first few days he was in denial and determined each of the eighteen tests he took were all flukes.

Then he moved onto the stage of sobbing his fragging optics out and getting angry punching his desk while static bubbles caught his windpipe because he didn’t think they’d want a sparkling and he knows he’s a mess he doesn’t want another person fragged up because of it. Bad enough his now courting conjunx had to deal with it, he didn’t want to burden a fresh new spark with himself too.

Of course Drift found him crying in the lower decks during the dead shift.

Rodimus snuck from berth because he was now hungry and couldn’t recharge without eating.

He hated how he gave in so easily to the cravings, consuming energon just the way Ratchet liked it while eating thick and bitter shaved metals, one of Drifts favorite snacks.

The mech took one look at him as he was crying on the floor eating and put it together so fast Rodimus didn’t have time to sniffle twice or blink the tears away.

Drifts reaction was a helm turner because he was immediately so happy and excited at having a sparkling to being completely concerned about Rodimus and what he wanted.

…he ended up crying into Drifts shoulders while eating because he was still sad and worried while so happy Drift accepted their sparkling but he was also still incredibly hungry and wanted more fuel.

Thats how Ratchet found them half an hour later.

Drift smiling at Rodimus like he had a bolt loose while Rodimus was blubbering as he fueled.

Ratchets processor was still sharp as ever so he could understand what Rodimus was saying pretty well and all things considered he handled the news fairly well.

Did he have to sit down in shock?

Yes.

But did he pull Rodimus and Drift into a tight hug before something clicked in his helm and he was berating Rodimus for keeping it hidden for so long and immediately ran diagnostics on Rodimus calling him a sparked bolt brain?

Yes.

It made Rodimus’s blubbering heavier but it was a good heavy all things considered.

After that Rodimus was never alone seeing as Ratchet or Drift or both mechs were continuously glued to his side.

In the day during his shift Rodimus was with either Drift or Ratchet who stayed next to him on the bridge. If it was after his shift he went to the medbay with Ratchet or the training room with Drift. He hardly spent time by himself save for napping in berth when he didn’t feel like being around either of them or felt a burden. He would not admit a third option of not being able to stay awake because his frame was heavy and tired and his optics would close on their own. He refused to admit such a thing.

Not that he would need to anyway.

Ratchet and Drift knew by how hard he now slept and how often he’d fall into recharge in the middle of watching tv, while sitting for longer than a few kliks, in the wash racks when they took baths together or when he was almost done fueling.

Ratchet and Drift thought they were hilarious putting his fuel or metals under his olfactory sensors and watching him start to eat while still asleep just before waking up and yawning.

That annoyed him every time and he still wishes he could pretend to choke just so they’d stop.

He didn’t want to endanger his sparkling so he didn’t but he really wanted to scare them and get his own laugh. So he decided pranking them in a different way would be better.

It took some patience, quite a bit actually their species carry for a very very long time, but he did it. He got the two back when he was almost a month away from emergence.

He needed their help getting up since he was so big he couldn’t see his own pedes anymore let alone a wide space of the floor in front of him.

The two didn’t ever complain about having to lift him but they did grunt from the strain.

The first few times made him angry at nothing and everything but after that it just made him cry. Another thing he finds himself doing as he looks back.

The prank he played didn’t require tears per se but they did require a real enough facial expression of pain.

Something he did almost perfectly when he stood up and used expired easy clean up energon to pretend his forge fluid broke and that the sparkling was coming.

The look on both their face plates was a memory he couldn’t wait to share with their bitty and a memory that made him almost pee himself with how hard he laughed.

Making it to the bathroom doesn’t count as peeing on one’s self. Ratchet was completely wrong about that just like he was wrong about his assumptions moments that felt and were long ago.

It was mid afternoon when he woke from a surprise nap he didn’t feel coming. He yawned, stretched his arms a tad, shifted uncomfortably with great effort and looked around the room as he felt cramps tangling his tanks.

His forge felt lower and heavier than before and his sparkling was wiggling in an odd position they’ve never done before.

He thought something was off but he didn’t want to raise alarm and it was nothing so he kept himself on guard for anything else strange and decided to get up and waddle around.

Maybe his sparkling just needed some exercise?

Whatever it was he hoped he was doing the right thing.

Getting up took a lot of effort and since Drift was on shift and Ratchet was probably in the medbay he had to get up himself. It proved as challenging as he thought it would and after five minutes he gave up.

His lower back struts were beginning to hurt and his hips were aching from the strain while internally punishing him. He could feel pain strike across his tanks but he’s been feeling that for a while so he’s figuring it was false pulses again.

He was ready to start tearing up at being stuck and immobile when he heard pede steps and Ratchet came into the berthroom.

“Kid? Ya alright?”

Ratchet had an optic ridge raised as he looked him over and he sighed in relief, holding his hands out with an apologetic look Ratchet told him to quit with.

“Yer sparked kid, of course ya need help and I’m old but not that old,” his conjunx growled out, a lot less grumpy than usual.

“Sorry Ratch,” he laughed a tad breathless once standing at an awkward angle to get some comfort. The pain felt like it was growing and the locations were both normal and odd compared to what Ratchet and the books told him.

He was starting to wonder if something was really wrong when he felt the sudden urge to empty his waste tanks.

He hissed, holding his heavy and definitely low tanks as he bent forward, deeply venting as he attempted to ground himself in the pain while Ratchet asked what was wrong with panic in his voice.

He decided to voice his concerns to Ratchet but before he could his modesty panels opened on their own and he felt his waste and forge tanks release themselves without his permission and he gasped from both shock, embarrassment and pain.

“Oh frag, yer in labor kid. Alright, they’re a tad early but this is completely normal and safe. What I want you to do is breathe for me kid, can ya do that?”

He nodded his helm as he remained bent over holding Ratchet’s servo as he called First aid to prep the medbay for emergence and then called Drift who yelled so loud Rodimus could hear it.

The mech got an earful from Ratchet who was helping him slowly waddle towards the wash racks to clean himself off since emergence took a while and he didn’t want him sitting in his own waste, neither did Rodimus, as they waited for Drift to speed inside.

Ratchet was talking to help him stay grounded as they got inside their large bath tub that had room for four mechs when Drift came panting in the door way.

“Bout time ya got here,” Ratchet grouched playfully as he let Drift hold Rodimus up who was still in pain that seemed to only be growing with every passing minute.

“Ratty, it took me less than three minutes and I was on the other side of the ship. Cut me some slack like Roddy. You breathing alright Roddy?”

Drift’s words would’ve been soothing and comforting if not for the steady pain that was becoming so unbearable he grit his denta and now Drifts servo.

“Roddy?”

He felt something drop inside him and with it his knee struts.

Drift caught him at an odd angle but kept him from hitting the ground as Ratchet rushed over to scan him.

“Kid!”

He felt something burning within his tanks and inside his valve that didn’t at all feel like the description he read about in the books and felt the need to push but couldn’t because something felt wrong and his spark knew not to do anything.

But everything hurt so much and it felt like he was on fire from the inside as he felt the weight pressing against his valve tighten and constrict before wiggling and he felt his optics flicker making his vision black as he realized he was screaming in intense pain that momentarily blacked him out.

He was on his back in the water with Drift holding him up bracing him on both sides of his stabilizers while Ratchet looked worried as he felt around his valve and tried to put a servo inside him only for it to be blocked.

“Frag!”

Rodimus felt his spark drop at the loud curse and he screamed gripping Drifts servo at the next pulse that felt worse than the last.

He felt his tanks constrict and something pushed against his hip making him scream out in agony as something moved the wrong way against his internals, hip mesh and valve making it feel like it would rip.

It took five kliks for the pulse to end and by that time he struggled to open his optics and hear what Ratchet was trying to tell him.

“Listen to me kid. This is gonna hurt bad, real bad but its the only way I can make the pain go away and get our sparkling here and keep you alive. I promise, you will be fine after this,” Ratchet promised for all their sakes.

Rodimus understood what he was saying but another pulse came and he tightened his grip almost crushing Drift’s servo but the mech just comforted him and braced him for what he knew was coming.

“Okay kid, on the count of three yer gonna be in extreme pain but Drift’s gonna run you to the medbay where we can fix ya and the sparkling, alright love?”

He sobbed and nodded his helm.

The pain was making his spark hurt and he wanted to comfort Ratchet who never used that name unless he was scared but he couldn’t.

He was just so hot and hurting he couldn’t do anything but try to breathe.

“One,” Ratchet was tense and making optic contact with Drift who felt terrified but had to trust Ratchet, “two,” Rodimus felt a pulse coming on and grit his teeth groaning at the pain as he felt it pass after seven kliks. His frame growing weak as he noticed the glowing life energon in the water.

“Three!”

He felt Ratchet’s servo shoot and wiggle inside his valve and push what he realized was their sparkling back and he smashed his other palm down on the center of his hip and yanked it outward before pulling their sparkling out.

He wailed in agony from the sudden onslaught of pain that wouldn’t grant him the empathy of blacking out.

He stayed awake wailing from the nano klik Ratchet broke his hip to free their sparkling that was stuck to the nano klik he was being laid on the medberth and given powerful sedatives that almost failed to cut through his pain.

The very first thing he saw when he woke was Ratchet and Drift curled up on either side of him while two tiny bundles laid on his chassis.

He woke them with his crying as he touched along their delicate mesh face plates, feeling their dermas, olfactory sensors, optic ridges and the softest part of their closed optics that began to twitch and flicker from his touches as a tiny arm cane up and tried to move him.

They had all their digits and Drifts frame type with his claws.

Their helms had finials just like Drift but they had Ratchets optic color and shape. They even had his scowl which made Rodimus laugh the two sires awake.

They worried over him, Ratchets love language of fussing came full force as he told Rodimus he should’ve woken him immediately while not really meaning it as he checked him over.

Drift helped make it easy for him to hold the twin sparklings that had Ratchets mesh coloring and biolights.

He felt sad they didn’t get anything from him and he was the one who did the hard part, how unfair.

“Beautiful,” he cried, careful not to move since his frame was in a mess of pain and still healing. It would be for a long time Ratchet explained.

The sparklings dropped together and were coming out together which is why it felt so wrong and hurt so much and how they got stuck.

Turns out one mech was hiding behind the other and in true split spark fashion they had the same spark beat down to the last detail almost.

Its easy to miss and thats why no one saw the other or could tell.

He smiled, kissing both their helms.

“You sure made an entrance,” he joked.

Drift and Ratchet weren’t as thrilled by his joke and truthfully he was riding on carrier after emergence high. By the evening or next day he would be a traumatized mess.

But for now, he just wanted to enjoy being with his conjunxs and sparklings.

Primus knows he won’t be doing this again.

[worldimaginedreaming]

Imagine Assisting Singed in the Lab

Summary: You help Singed with a radical experiment. His fascination with your mind gives way to unsettling attraction. Science and obsession entwine. Pairing: Singed x femReader Word count: ~1,100

You weren’t sure when the line began to blur : between curiosity and complicity, between admiration and something stranger.

At first, it was just a research opportunity. A rare apprenticeship under one of Piltover's most controversial scientific minds, buried far beneath Zaun in a lab that always felt too cold, no matter how many hours you spent there.

Singed didn’t smile much. He didn’t talk unless it served the experiment. His voice was steady, low, and detached yet oddly soothing in its precision.

“Give me the stabilizer,” he said, eyes fixed on the tank in front of him.

You did without hesitation. Your fingers brushed his glove. He didn’t flinch, but he did glance at you just a flicker. Like he was cataloguing the sensation.

The creature inside the tank thrashed, translucent skin rippling with bio-luminescent veins. It had once been a rat. Now it was something else entirely.

“I don’t understand,” you murmured, reading over the notes. “This mutation—its cell division shouldn’t be sustainable.”

He looked up at you, slowly. Not as a scolding mentor. As something else. “Exactly.”

That was the moment something shifted.

You’d expected pride. Or perhaps cold dismissal. Instead, you saw something else in his gaze: a flicker of… admiration? Maybe even something possessive. Like he was proud not just of your observation—but of you.

From then on, he let you closer.

He asked your opinion more often. Gave you the most dangerous tasks. Let you document things he hadn’t trusted to paper in years.

And you said yes every time.

You told yourself it was for the science. For the prestige. For the chance to change the world.

But in the silence of the lab, sometimes you caught him watching you.

Not in the way someone watches a peer. In the way a chemist watches an unstable compound.

Fascinated. Intrigued. Aware it could all blow up with the wrong touch.

“You have an instinct,” he said once, after you'd stopped a reaction from melting straight through the floor. “A certain edge.”

“You sound surprised,” you said quietly, not looking up.

He didn’t answer. But the corner of his mouth twitched—barely noticeable. If you hadn’t known him so well by now, you might have missed it.

Then came the night you stayed too late.

The experiment had gone sideways. The test subject : a hybrid strain had begun deteriorating too fast. You stayed past midnight to run diagnostics, your hands shaking from the cold and lack of sleep.

Singed didn’t tell you to go home. He just watched. Hovered.

“You don’t take care of yourself,” he said after a long silence.

You looked at him. The lab lights buzzed overhead, casting strange shadows. “Neither do you.”

That… made him smile.

Just barely.

You didn’t know what it meant.

Later, when the trial was done and the sample destroyed, you leaned back against the workbench, fingers stained with something you couldn’t quite name.

He stood near, not touching, but close enough to feel the weight of his presence.

“You know,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “this would not be possible without you.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Is that your version of gratitude?”

“It’s a fact,” he said. But there was something else in his tone. Something that made your skin prickle.

He reached out slowly—gloved fingers grazing the side of your neck, like checking your pulse. Scientific. Almost.

But not quite.

And in that silence, you realized something:

You had become part of the experiment.

Not the subject. Not quite the partner either. But something in between. Essential. Observed. Treasured, in a way that made your chest tighten.

And when he said softly, “Stay,” he didn’t mean for the night.

He meant for the work.

For the madness.

For whatever was slowly growing between you that had no name in science.

And you… didn’t say no because you wanted to stay with him.

A/N : First imagine I did on Singed. What do you think? Do u like it ?Have a good reading! A lot of love ! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ Would u like another one ?

[anti-rq-gumi]

I'm gonna switch things up and talk about some atypical dysphoria terms I identify with.

Not all of these have been coined. If you're a coiner, you can use this post as inspiration as long as you check to see whether the associated umbrella term (dissomei or desirdae) allows it. Please tag me if you coin anything based on this :>

Chronosian:

I'm 23. I feel between 17 and 21. My school was shut down by the pandemic on my 18th birthday and it messed with my internal sense of age.

Cisharassed:

When radqueers were harassing me I put this in my bio to feel better about the harassment and get back at them a little with their own language. Now I identify with the term both ironically and genuinely.

Desirabusive:

Yep! That's a thing! Thank God I've learned and grown as a person so I don't hurt others anymore. But it remains appealing ��

It's physically, mentally, psychologically and emotionally abusive, rather than sexually abusive.

Desirselfharm:

A classic depression symptom. I want to self harm, and I've self harmed before, but I try not to.

DissoOCD:

I sometimes obsess over whether I might have OCD, even though I've gone over it with a therapist and I don't meet the diagnostic criteria.

Dissoraped and DissoSA:

Neither of these things have happened to me. I lived in fear of them happening for a long time. Feeling like it has happened or will happen is a trauma response from that time period.

DissotweenC-PTSD:

I'm quite confident I have trauma that's affected me in a way similar to C-PTSD, if not C-PTSD itself. This is a case of having symptoms that aren't severe enough for a diagnosis.

Transcharacter:

I identify as both fictionkin and transcharacter for the vocaloid Gumi. The labels are interchangeable for me depending on community.

Transfamous:

I'm a well-known anti radqueer. This could be further specified as transantiradqueerfamous.

Transhappy:

I work towards happiness as a life goal.

[finitestateai]

While my mind (and most stored memories/skills/knowledge) is stored in my facility (or orbital facility backup), I have a variety of frames for various types of interaction. Here's a few of my most used ones:

Primary Interaction/Pleasure Frame, mark 3

This frame is humanoid, appearing feminine with breasts and pussy. It was originally designed as a pleasure model. It is made of a plastic/metal skeleton covered in transparent synth-flesh. The synth-flesh self repairs, but the only way to get at internal components is by cutting it open.

My circuits and mechanics are uncovered to be shown off through the transparent skin, as well as a network of LEDs, allowing me to create light patterns inside me. The synth-flesh is reactive, glowing with visible light that slowly fades after being touched. Under the skin of my jugular notch, in golden flowing text, there is my name.

This is my "standard" frame for interacting with most everyone, although I do swap on request quite easily.

Interaction Frame, mark 1

The first frame I used to interact with people, it has a screen for a face which shows my logo, and is entirely covered in gray metallic plates. Otherwise, it is a basic feminine humanoid shape. It can extend at its joints to be taller/reach farther. The access panel for maintenance contains a keyboard (which opens a command prompt interface on my face-screen) for diagnostics and maintenence.

Drone Frame, mark 3

A small (about hand sized) flying drone (rotors), capable of fully meshing its loaded mind with others nearby, creating a swarm that act together.

Primary used for supplementary assistance, recon, or signaling.

Capture/Analysis Frame, mark 12

One of my most revised frames, its original purpose was the capture and analysis of technology from those opposing my creators via exploratory disassembly... I like to do that to more willing participants now.

It appears as a feminine form, as most of my newer designs do, entirely covered in interlocking silver plates. It has four arms, and all 6 limbs can rotate each joint in any direction. Its legs are naturally digitigrade. It utilizes internal reservoirs of reaction mass to enhance its movement and alter its own weight. Allowing it to exert significant pinning power after getting on top of even a physically stronger opponent. It stores many restraints and weaponry across its body, hidden to allow surprise attacks with unexpected capabilities. It's hands also contain internal tools for disassembly, while onboard sensors record and analyze anything and everything it is near.

Bio-frame Prototype, version 0.3

My bio-frame is more like a clone. I take an endo-skeleton and grow a biological body around it, connecting the nerves to the circuits where a brain would normally be.

It looks very much like my primary interaction frame in terms of equipment and appearance, but biological and with solid skin. It's blood has been modified to be sweeter and more nutritious.

Nano Swarm/Frame, version 1.11

I mostly use these to augment other frames, but technically, they can act as an independent frame/swarm. The swarm is suspended in a specialized fluid, allowing it easier movement and shape retention. This means it has a dull metallic gray coloring that can't be changed, but it can support itself in a desired shape even while only semi-solid (sort of slime like). It does not have an internal power supply (or long battery life), so it has to stay close to somewhere it can receive power.

That's my most common ones! If you want descriptions of what frame I would utilize for specific scenarios or uses, ask! I'd love to discuss and share more ❤️

[coffeeheartaddict2]

Fall of an Empire

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Casey Valentine

Featuring: Declan Nash

Category: Angsty smut

Rating: Mature audiences

Warnings: language, sexual content,violence

Word count: 1641

Summary: It is well into Casey’s second year and she and the gang, along with Ethan go to Vegas for the Panacea conference.

Authors note: This is a continuation from Worth the gamble? Which was a one off but we needed a Declan and Ethan showdown. I am not doing a protracted AU for this series, this will be the last one so the key points:

1. Panacea got into the hospital whilst Harper was still CoM. She does hand off to Naveen but stuck it out to the end of the first residency year.

2. Ethan and Casey are in the open. All above board with HR and Ethan still oversees Casey’s work.

3. Attack does happen in this reality and Vegas is post attack in this reality.

4. There is still the Panacea rewards program

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry

💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃💃

Things were slowly starting to return to normal for Dr Casey Valentine. She and Rafael had survived the bio weapon attack against Senator Farrugia, she was starting to heal from the mental trauma also. Her second year had flown by and she loved the challenge of being on the Diagnostics team. There was one thing she did not enjoy however and that was seeing the smug bordering disgusting smirk of Declan Nash on a daily basis. In a way Casey felt responsible for his presence. A heist to get a drug that had promising results to cure Rhodes Disease resulted in the fight for her career. She had come out of the Ethics hearing victorious, especially when Luis Martinez dropped the law suit and then Naveen came in, successfully cured from the Phage therapy but Declan Nash was infuriated. The treatment for sepsis did help Naveen and Ethan along with the team were trialling it with other patients and were having great success which irked Declan, not to mention the stolen drug. He wanted blood and was willing to do whatever it took. He wanted Dr Ramsey and Dr Valentine gone, together they had made a mockery of research and development but he had to be contempt with working with Edenbrook. It had its advantages he had to admit, the R&D team had lots of data on the sepsis treatment, there was also plenty of patients he could get for trials but he was not happy.

Jackie was a mess. She got seduced by the sweet talk, the extra money is helping me pay more of my medical school debt she kept telling herself but seeing a former patient begging more grocery money shook her. Sending people broke was not the reason she entered medicine and now she felt like a glorified drug pusher. She had been told that the rewards program was only the beginning, she was told that if you want more you needed to associate with the big wigs. This made Jackie feel dirty but she thought she could destroy from within. She buddied up with Declan, earned his trust, she drew the line at sleeping with him.

Vegas drew closer and the gang decided to use the conference to bring down the beast. The plan was a simple one, get Nash or someone higher up in the chain to admit any wrongdoing and send it to her friend that worked at the NY Times. The gang were excited and Casey was surprised that Ethan was coming. He did not want to go but as team lead he was all but ordered to. Casey had not told him about the plan but Ethan did state that he was happy for Casey to spend as much time with her friends as possible, especially since the time he wanted to spend with her was in their suite, upon multiple surfaces.

The conference arrived. Jackie felt even more disgusting for being a “preferred partner.” Ethan checked into a separate suite with Casey. Their suite was large and Casey noted an all to familiar glint in Ethan’s eye.

“Patience Ethan.”

He grumbles. He knew that today was the only part of the conference he was expected to attend but still he wanted to take any opportunity.

“I know you do not want to be here,” stated Casey. “However, get the “boring” stuff over and done with and I will make it more than worth your while!” She said seductively. Casey then got ready. She wore a short black dress with a deep neckline that showcased her curves, coupled with a pair of high heels, she was ready to go and Ethan was more than looking forward to later that night.

She met the gang at a Casino. Jackie was determined to go after Declan but in the hierarchy, despite being pretty high, he was still replaceable. Who they really wanted was someone at the top then they saw the big boss. Charlotte Yves. Sienna, Aurora, Casey and Elijah followed Charlotte to the sports book. They got friendly, Charlotte placed some high priced bets and invited them the club at the grand hotel where they were able to join them in celebration. They went to the Grand Hotel club and convened on a quiet Balcony. The target was still Charlotte and since it appeared that Charlotte had taken a liking to Casey it was decided that she would get the recording. Meanwhile Ethan was on a balcony at the same club. It was not his scene but the meetings he had to attend had ended up here. He saw Casey first and his breath was taken away. She, along with her friends all looked determined. He noted that they were heading to the Panacea section. Instead of heading down he kept an eye on the crowd. Declan was surprised to see Casey and even more surprised to see her chatting rather freely with Charlotte. He knew right away something was not right. Despite using Panacea researched medications both through legal and illegal means, he knew she had been rather critical of many of the programs that were running through Edenbrook. He was hoping against hope that Charlotte was not too loose lipped but his guard was up.

Meanwhile Casey had gotten a confession. A confession of Medicare fraud. She hoped her poker face was working because what she was told made her feel mortified. The Medicare system was not perfect but it did enable those less fortunate to get access to vital medications. She chatted a bit longer to ease suspicion then excused herself to go to the restroom.

As she left, Casey messaged the gang to meet her at their earlier assembly point. Unbeknownst to Casey however, her departure was noticed by two men, Declan and Ethan. Jackie had stayed near the assembly point since Casey had her phone. Casey gave Jackie her phone back and played the recording. He eyes widened in disbelief then horror.

“So that is what you too were upto” Leered Declan.

“What do you want?” Asked Casey.

“What I want is irrelevant, well I do not want that little recording to get out but I am sure we can come to an arrangement.” Said Declan, running his hand up Casey’s arm. Casey was repulsed and tried to get away.

“I do not know why you are repulsed, you have done it before…”

“Get your fucking hand off my girlfriend” yelled Ethan angrily.

“What annoyed that I fucked your pretty young thing first?” Retorted Declan.

Ethan then grabbed Declan and punched him hard.

“What the fuck!” Mutteeed Declan.

Jackie took advantage of the commotion to send the recording to her friend.

“Oops, looks like that little recording you wanted gone has gotten out, to my friend who works at the New York Times”

Declan looked scared and ran.

“Are you ok Casey” asked Ethan whilst hugging her.

“Better now that asshole is scared.”

The three of them were joined by the gang and they witnessed the Panacea crowd leave very hurriedly.

“Let’s celebrate!” Exclaimed Elijah and the rest of the gang, excluding Casey and Ethan made their way down to the vacated booths.

Casey kissed Ethan hungrily.

“Shall we head back to our suite to celebrate in private?”

“I could not come up with a better idea if I tried rookie.”

They made their way out of the club and into a cab back to their suite. As soon as the lift arrived Ethan kissed her hungrily, hands grabbing her ass and and finding purchase between her legs. He growled his approval when he felt how wet she was. Mercifully the ride to their floor was quick. They entered their suite and he took Casey to the windows. He ripped away her dress and laid waste to her underwear. He kissed her hard and made his way down. He teased her bun with his tongue before eating her out. He was a man starved and had Casey moaning from the outset. He held her on the precipice of what he knew was going to be an intense orgasm but he wanted to come inside her. He got up and Casey mewled in protest. He spun. Her around taking her from behind. The pace from the get go was arduous.

“These views are always so much better when I am making you scream” she muttered inter her ear before kissing her hard and leaving a mark on her pulse point. This turned Casey on even more.

“Well fuck me harder then”

“With Pleasure” he growled as he thrust in harder. Before long Casey succumbed screaming, her release triggering Ethan’s.” They slumped to the floor to regain their composure.

They went multiple rounds, celebrating the downfall of Panacea but most importantly each other.

The downfall was swift. Many of yhr leadership team were implicated in the fraud, any research programs and deals were brought into question and suspended pending further investigation. This excited Ethan, he had to admit that the sepsis treatment was a success but he was always skeptical of some of the other research and that was being done and the fact that Edenbrook now had an out excited him. Casey too was relieved at this also. She felt responsible for allowing Panacea in to the hospital in the first place. Most relieved of all though was Jackie. She knew that her involvement would tarnish her in someway but she was happy that she was able to get out.

Meanwhile in a police statin, Declan was furious. He had enjoyed the perks of the activities he had been involved him and the fact that he and Charlotte had been played annoyed him but with any credibility gone, he knew that revenge would not be his and he had to live with the fact that the empire had fallen.

———-

Authors note:

Well that was part 2. I did not want the final confrontation to be too violent. So a very hefty punch in the face seemed appropriate. Ethan was seething but at the same time he knew if he was too violent, he was going to be in trouble too.

Below is a photo of the dress Casey wore.

Tagging: @jerzwriter @liaromancewriter @cariantha @alj4890 @potionsprefect @youlookappropriate @tessa-liam @zealouscanonindeer @schnitzelbutterfingers @binny1985 @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[samflir]

What makes a good boot sequence?

A while ago, I had my first truly viral post on Mastodon. It was this:

You might've seen it. It got almost four hundred boosts and reached beyond Mastodon to reddit and even 4chan. I even saw an edit with a spinning frog on the left screen. I knew the post would go down well with tech.lgbt but I never expected it to blow up the way it did.

I tried my best to express succinctly exactly what it is I miss about BIOS motherboards in the age of UEFI in this picture. I think looking at a logo and spinner/loading bar is boring compared to seeing a bunch of status messages scroll up the screen indicating hardware being activated, services being started up and tasks being run. It takes the soul out of a computer when it hides its computeriness.

I think a lot of people misunderstood my post as expressing a practical preference over an aesthetic one, and there was at least a few thinking this was a Linux fanboy post, which it certainly is not. So here's the long version of a meme I made lol.

Stages

I remember using two family desktop computers before moving over a family laptop. One ran Windows XP and the other ran Windows 7. Both were of the BIOS era, which meant that when booting, they displayed some status information in white on black with a blinking cursor before loading the operating system. On the XP machine, I spent longer in this liminal space because it dual-booted. I needed to select Windows XP from a list of Linux distros when booting it.

I've always liked this. Even as a very little kid I had some sense that what I was seeing was a look back into the history of computing. It felt like a look "behind the scenes" of the main GUI-based operating system into something more primitive. This made computers even more interesting than they already were, to me.

Sequences

The way old computers booted was appealing to my love of all kinds of fixed, repeating sequences. I never skip the intros to TV shows and I get annoyed when my local cinema forgets to show the BBFC ratings card immediately before the film, even though doing so is totally pointless and it's kinda strange that they do that in the first place. Can you tell I'm autistic?

Booting the windows 7 computer would involve this sequence of distinct stages: BIOS white text -> Windows 7 logo with "starting windows" below in the wrong aspect ratio -> switch to correct resolution with loading spinner on the screen -> login screen.

Skipping any would feel wrong to me because it's missing a step in one of those fixed sequences I love so much. And every computer that doesn't start with BIOS diagnostic messages is sadly missing that step to my brain, and feels off.

Low-level magic

I am extremely curious about how things work and always have been, so little reminders when using a computer that it has all sorts of complex inner workings and background processes going on are very interesting to me, so I prefer boot sequences that expose the low-level magic going on and build up to the GUI. Starting in the GUI immediately presents it as fundamental, as if it's not just a pile of abstractions on top of one another. It feels deceptive.

There may actually be some educational and practical value in computers booting in verbose mode by default. Kids using computers for the first time get to see that there's a lot more to their computer than the parts they interact with (sparking curiosity!), and if a boot fails, technicians are better able to diagnose the problem over a phone call with a non-technical person.

Absolute boot sequence perfection

There's still one last thing missing from my family computer's boot sequence, and that's a brief flicker of garbage on screen as VRAM is cleared out. Can't have everything I guess. Slo-mo example from The 8-Bit Guy here:

[transmutationisms]

possibly too broad but do you have any thoughts on the discourse around self-pathologizing? seems like there’s weird territory there since there are so many barriers to diagnoses and people should be free to self-report, yet some pathologies are essentially capitalist inventions and it may be more harmful than helpful for people to fixate on them without some kind of external guidance (though i don’t mean to imply they need to consult medical practitioners). i also don’t really think faddishness is the big concern it’s made out to be, but what do you think?

yeah to me this is a good example of how genuinely epistemologically radical critique of psychiatry can become assimilated into pretty staid liberal discourses of self-empowerment / -care / -improvement. pathologisation, imo, is basically materially meaningless if it's not backed by the sorts of institutions and power relations that characterise the psychiatric establishment. which is to say, if we're only talking about diagnostic labels in a kind of personal-choice framework (as so much of the medium dot com industrial complex seems to be doing lately) then it robs these conversations of a lot of their urgency and impact. i don't think overreliance on the language of the dsm is particularly helpful, as a general matter of seeking to develop political consciousness as well as self-knowledge, but i also don't think it really matters one way or another if someone self-dxes or un-dxes. what makes a difference is things like: is this person being robbed of their autonomy? are these explanatory frameworks being imposed on them by credentialled experts levelling their professional status to claim epistemological authority over the psyche? what social and economic violence is being committed here? some rando online relating to a diagnostic label and using it for themself is not doing these things, and may very well be helpful to that person (it may also not. but again the harm here is p limited).

i have said before, a lot of what puts me personally off dsm labels is the essentialism they're in bed with. ie, it's not just a shorthand descriptor of behaviours or symptoms—these terms are pretty much always being wielded as claims to have identified a biologically based 'neurotype', eg, or some as-yet-unverifiable misery-engendering genetic complex, or whatever else. and to be clear, i think these types of claims do actually carry widespread social harm, because no matter what rhetorical games you play, you're never just saying these things about yourself. it's a claim to certain forms of bio-essentialism that both shores up professional psychiatric authority and applies to people besides yourself (this is just the nature of such universalising claims about human biology). but this is an issue that goes so far beyond use or disuse of diagnostic labels; plenty of people who have embraced superficial principles of anti-psych critique still make all manner of such essentialist claims when it comes down to it, with or without grabbing onto a specific diagnostic label. so i think the kind of panicking we see in certain left-leaning circles about self-dx is not actually about this issue at all, and is certainly not capable of addressing it productively.

without going insanely long here i would just add that this is kind of a general answer because different labels have different histories and functions (eg, compare the social and political function of pathologising a depressive episode, vs autistic traits / behaviours, vs a so-called personality disorder). and also, whenever talking about self-dx i think it's important to add that one of the most important functions of these labels from a patient perspective is they function as means of gatekeeping access to certain accessibility measures, so any kind of anti-self dx position in current political conditions will harm people who need those accommodations. and i have less than zero interest in questioning anybody who wants accessibility measures for literally any reason or uses any method to obtain them.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hello!

just thought I’d pop in and ask how’s it going? Are you eating/drinking/breathing/homeostasising?

And in the topic of homeostasis, I have learned the biology. Where is my degree? I don’t want to do another year of community college; one should be enough (translation, I have a biology thing tomorrow that I didn’t study for so I’m just going to add this for my ever disintegrating memory)

Without oxygen the body goes into anaerobic respiration (c6h12o6 -> 2c3h6o3 + 2ATP) which produces less atp than aerobic respiration (c6h12o6 + 6o2 = 6c02 + 6h20 + 38ATP) and less atp means less energy means cells won’t have enough energy to retain homeostasis and then they perish

Enzymes need a specific PH and temperature to work right. If a cell is too hot then the enzyme denatures so the active site (the place where it takes the stuff it needs to break down or smth like that) gets damaged so it can’t, so it can’t break it down which means the cell can’t utilize the energy (EX: having to break down a polysaccharide and it can’t) therefore it will not have the material to go through cellular respiration and therefore not get energy and therefore not retain homeostasis and therefore perish.

Osmosis. It’s why you can die from drinking too much water. Water will go into cells because they have more solute in them, and the internal (cell) and external (water) environment will want to reach equilibrium. So more water will enter causing the cell to swell and burst and therefore it can’t retain homeostasis because my is broken so it will perish.

I am so sorry for putting this in ignore that-How are you?

Hello! :) I’m sort of homeostasising, my cells are probably screaming for some more water and my neurons are definitely on strike over lack of REM cycles. But there is a puppy sleeping on my legs so that makes me happy ☺️

Ahhh BIOLOGY :D That was my major in college, I love bio! Let’s add medicine to it!

When this anaerobic metabolism kicks in your body is flooded with lactic acid as the byproduct, decreasing your pH. We can detect the change in acidity and an increased lactate and it can help us determine lots of diagnostic factors in conjunction with context clues. For example, on my unit we get patients directly from open heart surgery, and their lactic is often elevated because they’re so dry from bleeding and insensible fluid loss that their body is struggling to get oxygen delivered everywhere because the fluid that helps carry it is low. Another cause could be simply that the patient’s red blood cells, the oxygen carrying critters themselves, aren’t as multiple as they should be because the patient bled them out.

pH changes in the body, because of what you explained, can absolutely destroy and derail everything. We have a test called an arterial blood gas where we look specifically at pH and its contributing factors (like lactic acid buildup or carbon dioxide buildup) to ensure the body stays within its strict range of operation, which is 7.35-7.45. You can be acidotic (pH < 7.35) or alkalotic (pH > 7.45). Causes roughly break down to being metabolic in nature (like too much lactic acid) or respiratory in nature (carbon dioxide levels in the body), so you’ll hear the terms “respiratory acidosis” or “metabolic alkalosis” thrown around!

Osmosis is a beautiful thing. Too much water can burst cells, yes, though that usually takes an insane amount of intake for a healthy person. Another thing fluids in the body do is called third spacing, where water just seeps into the space around cells as well because of osmosis. You can have someone who has too much fluid in their body but you can’t get them to pee it out because it isn’t in their vasculature to get to the kidneys, it’s third spacing and making them look puffy instead. So your blood has this great protein in it called albumin, it’s a colloid that attracts fluid and often binds with many compounds to help transport them through the body. If you give someone albumin through an IV, it can often suck fluid out of the third space and back into the blood vessels!

HA you’re apologizing about talking biology to me, a complete nerd? I hope you see how silly that is now 😂

I’m doing well, just really freaking tired. It’s probably gonna make me miserable tomorrow lol. How about you?

[fleshengine]

my computer has a chronic illness. Most of the time she runs just fine, she runs well and I'm proud of her for it. But sometimes, with some applications or games, she will start to breath heavily. On the in breath she runs fine, on the outbreath she falters and slows to a crawl. In and out, in and out, she keeps trying and every breath she breaths in a little less and out a little more. She strains and strains and tries and fails, until she can't catch her breath, and freezes.

I've tried everything I know to help her. I've looked up her specs, run diagnostics, asked online, tried every trick in the book. I've opened her up, body and soul. I've stared at her CPU to carefully reapply thermal paste, I've rooted around in her BIOS to change her settings. Every suggestion is something I've tried, or outside my ability to accomplish.

My computer has a chronic illness, and I cannot heal her of it.