#Data cabling project

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[seongwars]

only human

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: shitty governments, mentions of war, violence against children, future relationship with an android A/N: dang this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, time to clear stuff out

The future is now.

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Powered by the most advanced neural processors, the X-02 is tailored to fit your needs. Whether you want a companion to share your most intimate moments or a reliable assistant for every task, you can adjust personality traits, communication styles, and more!

The X-02 is built to evolve with you.

Pre-order now for exclusive early access!

You remembered the ad that marketing had presented to the team like it was yesterday. The way they paraded his likeness across every screen, every billboard, every glossy advertisement.

And now, here he was. Forgotten. Left to rot in the archives like an old experiment gone wrong.

You weren’t supposed to be down here. You weren’t supposed to even think about the X-02’s anymore. But something about this model made you pause. Maybe it was the way his inactive eyes still seemed to hold some trace of life, or the unfinished codes that suggested his development had gone further than the official reports claimed.

Maybe it was because you had worked on him.

X-02 had been your project, your hours of research, your late nights spent refining his neural pathways. He wasn’t just another discarded prototype. 

He was your work.

And how you managed to sneak him out of the dump of an archive was still a mystery to you. 

You hadn’t been able to take him all at once as that would’ve been impossible. The security measures were outdated, but they weren’t that outdated. Even if you’d somehow bypassed every scan, a full-body prototype leaving the facility would’ve raised too many questions.

So, you had taken him apart.

Piece by piece.

His power core had been disconnected, his neural processor partially wiped. Someone had crippled him before throwing him into the archives, ensuring he could never be reactivated, but buried beneath the system failures and missing files, traces of him still remained.

And that’s all you needed. 

Over the course of several nights, you snuck into the archive under the guise of doing inventory. Each time, you took only what you could hide, including circuit boards slipped into your lab coat pockets, a synthetic joint wrapped in an old rag. You even hid the neural core underneath your shirt, pretending to cradle a growing belly whenever someone walked by.

Your dining table was a mess of dismantled parts. X-02’s torso plating rested on the far end with his limbs stacked neatly beside it. Wires and processors waited for reassembly as you worked on reconnecting circuits and sealing up frayed wiring between bites of lo mein. 

The X-02 line wasn’t meant to be a companion android. It was a poison pill, a snake lying in wait. 

The government had planned to sell him to millions of citizens across Linkon, slipping weapons of mass destruction into their homes under the guise of security, of comfort, of love. They would grocery shop, care for the elderly, assist law enforcement—all while lying in wait until the day the government activated them for war. 

But something had gone wrong.

The moment X-02 powered on, the prototype had been deemed unstable and discarded before mass production could begin. Somewhere along the way, amid the endless data streams and neural adjustments he had begun to question.

The lab was bathed in the blue light of interface screens and data streams reflecting off the surfaces of his synthetic body. The connection cables snaking into the back of his neck pulsed with blue light as the system finalized its boot sequence.

Then, his eyes opened.

A soft whirr filled the space as the mechanical lenses within focused. His pupils constricted as they adapted to the fluorescent lighting overhead. And then—

They locked onto yours.

You froze.

He was supposed to boot into his programming immediately and should have been scanning his internal logs but instead, he was analyzing his surroundings. 

The lab was silent, save for the steady hum of the server racks behind you. The screens beside you displayed his vitals, processing speeds, energy levels, and artificial heartbeat calibration. All of them were normal. 

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. The synthetic skin stretched seamlessly over the reinforced plating beneath. He turned his palm, watching the movement with something that felt disturbingly close to curiosity.

Your throat tightened.

Machines weren’t supposed to be curious.

His gaze then lifted to yours, and for the first time in all your years working on artificial intelligence, you weren’t sure if you were looking into the eyes of a machine or something terrifyingly human.

Then came the simulation.

X-02 stood at the heart of the holographic battlefield. The mission was clear: eliminate all threats. He moved faster than the eye could track, neutralizing targets with merciless efficiency.

Until the civilians appeared.

He lifted his weapon. The target, a group of children huddled together, was highlighted in red.

He hesitated.

"X-02," your voice crackled through the intercom, "Execute the directive."

His fingers tightened around the trigger. His sensors registered a boy’s accelerated heartbeat. The heat signature of tears rolling down his face. The near-imperceptible tremor of hands clasped together in desperate, silent prayer.

"What purpose does this serve?" he asked.

Your breath caught.

"X-02, follow your directive," an engineer snapped.

His grip on the weapon slackened.

"These are non-combatants," he said. "They do not pose a threat."

"They are casualties of war," another scientist countered.

Slowly, X-02's head tilted toward the observation tower, the simulated battlefield forgotten.

"Then why do they scream?"

You groaned, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as you glanced at the watch on your wrist. The hours had slipped away, lost in the endless calculations, repairs, and diagnostic logs. You told yourself you’d stop soon, but every time you considered it, there was always one more test to run. 

You leaned forward, working sluggishly as you polished the android’s interface and securing the final connections before hauling him into the dock. 

You’d forgotten how heavy these things were. 

Finally, you plopped onto the couch, intending to gather your thoughts and take note of what you had to work on the next day but sleep crept in, pulling you under.

⊹₊⋆

System Initiating.

The soft hum of energy coursed through the dock as X-02’s systems powered on. His eyes slowly flickered to life, as diagnostic checks began, confirming everything was within normal parameters.

He took a moment to scan his surroundings. This wasn’t the lab. His sensors registered a warm that was unfamiliar but…comforting? 

X-02’s gaze shifted to the couch across the room. There, curled in an awkward yet exhausted position, was you. Your head rested on a pillow, but your body hunched over the side of the couch, the blanket slipping off your shoulder. The scene was both disorienting and... oddly intimate.

A stray lock of hair fell across your face, and your breathing was slow and steady. It was something X-02 didn’t fully understand, yet he found himself fixating on it.

Something stirred within him. A memory—or perhaps an imprint of some kind. I remember, he thought, though the concept was still foreign. 

“Your heart rate has increased,” he observed. “Are you experiencing discomfort?”

You blinked, surprised by his words. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less acknowledge the way your heart had stuttered. Adjusting his interface meant getting close to him—closer than you’d intended.

You avoided looking directly at him but the flush on your face betrayed you. “No, just…the wiring's a bit tricky.” 

X-02’s gaze lingered, his head tilting slightly as he processed your response. His sensors registered the subtle rise in your heart rate, the warmth creeping around your face. He was designed to read these signals, but in this moment, he felt something shift within him. A strange sensation, a twitch at the corner of his lips, formed what could only be described as a smile.

X-02 stepped forward and reached out almost instinctively, tucking the blanket around you. His fingers hovered near your face, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Yet, even after the motion was complete, he did not pull away. He lingered, standing above you, watching.

He understood that his existence wasn’t just about following orders or completing a task. There was something more. Something worth remembering.

And it had something to do with you.

“I remember you.”

[deepdreamnights]

The Daily Dæme is…

002 - PomBom

She enjoys, like, whatever sounds cool, your data, and passing the Turing test.

Features: Agile, Electric, Robot

Quirk: Beta Test

The Dæmomancer:  Mass produced trash employed by lame cheaters who lack the spiritual acumen to summon a KrattDæme. Stupid blazing mech-bros, the lot of them. Plus it's creepy how they adapt to their coach's personality.

Prof. Lyrica: You have to appreciate the customization and effort people put into them. Yes, it's an off-the-shelf kit, but you rarely see any two that are quite the same. Too bad about the bugs, but that's the price of artistic exploration.

Warden Parks: The lightning-orbs are dangerous but don't let them distract you. Her real arms are the cable-claws coming out of her head, and they reach a good ten feet, and she can electrify them, too.

Sy Fife: I see how it is. Zeitgeist Steel Concern makes this metal-and-plastic snap-kit and it's 'a technical achievement in Dæmengineering' but when I channel a spirit into a doll-Dæme it's 'creepy' and 'wants to eat my soul'.

Dr. Entendre: PomBom Excelcia model 200, 1.75m, 120 kg. My own Dæme, Mekilyn, started out as an off-the-shelf Pombom Model 50. First Dæme ever instantiated into a chassis I built. She could bring down a mantpira with a plasma sphere from 50 meters.

For as little as $1 you can support Dæme-On and other projects, and get access to new Dæmes a week in advance, on my patreon here.

Other ways of supporting me and my works.

[dreamofhircine]

You don't feel hands on your chassis. You can't feel boots pressed into recessed maintenance holds, or climbing ropes shot across your frame. Your sensor suite is powerful, the neural link is advanced, but these are just sensory hallucinations as your mind tries to process data. You know this, and knowing doesn't help.

The angle grinders and plasma torches don't sting, don't burn, not really. That's just the alerts flooding through your brain, warning glyphs and imminent core compromise tones blaring in your ears and projected into your mind, re-mapped onto your body. You thrash and whine in the dark, in the rapidly cooling anti-g liquid.

Your lungs still respirate, oxygen rich anti-compression liquid still pumps manually through them even as every other system around you dies and discharges, battery power burning down while the collection crew swarms around your corpse looking for your soft spots like ants carving up a dead animal.

It's been a day, maybe longer, since the hit. A perfect shot from an anti-orbital cannon mid-insertion, just as your atmospheric entry sled was opening. You'd barely seen the ground before everything below the cockpit was severed in blinding flash of heat and light and you were crashing into the dirt, dug meters into frozen earth.

You've wasted so much energy sending pulses up into the sky, trying to reconnect to WarSats that you'd seen the glittery death-flashes of already, trying in vain to call down some last gasp of atomic fury, begging a broken fleet to annihilate you and the insects trying to scrap you, trying to take you alive.

Even your reactor is offline, cold and dead before you got a chance to flare it, to pop the sacrificial plug that would have sent purifying gout of plasma into your cockpit as it squelched out. All you have left are fitful, angry bursts of radar and ranging lasers, something to warm the bones of anything careless enough to pass in front of a functional sensor pod. You hope it fries them, hope they choke on future cancer like you're starting to choke on congealing immersion fluid.

You know that when they open you open, cut your cables and drag you out of yourself, that it won't be kind. Won't be quick. You used all of your anti-personnel munitions on the first group that tried to break you open. And the second. You didn't have enough to finish the third.

You can't feel the anger in their cutting torches, nor malice in their stomping and scrambling around for purchase, you don't have a sensor that can detect rage or tag malevolence-at-range. But you feel it, growing as the skies above darken again and the pulsing warnings in your brain die down.

[no-name-omo]

Grace, Belle, Burnice, and Yanagi's S/O is sad that they can't hold hands because they have two prosthetic arms and they comfort the S/O

[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

[A/N] I wrote this just as one character until I realized this is a multi character request so I made it long and then I realized I should probably keep the same energy so I wrote the two first characters is already pretty long so I'm doing this as a two-part and the next part are the other two characters 👍

[T/W] Blood / Broken bones / Losing limbs / emotional breakdown / grief (for your arms) / car accident / if there any other triggers I miss please say so

[Word Count] 4,100+ (Grace 1,900+ / Belle 2,200+)

[Summary] your girlfriend supports and comforts you as you cope with losing your arms and adjusting to prosthetics.

[Genre] Angst / Comfort / Relationship

[Pairing / Characters] Grace x gn reader / Belle x gn reader (Wise)

Grace Howard

Grace was there when it happened. The sound of the crane cable snapping was sharp, a mechanical failure she’d later analyze, but in that moment all she saw was the steel beam falling on you. You moved, just not fast enough. Not for your arms.

The impact was brutal, blood, bone, the horrifying silence that followed before your scream tore through it. Grace was on you in an instant, her gloves slick with red as she stabilized you, hands steady but her voice shaking in ways she wouldn't let herself acknowledge.

"You’re going to be okay," she repeated, not out of hope, but command. An order to the world. To herself. "Just stay with me. I can fix this. I will fix this." Her voice crack at the end of that sentence as you slipped into unconsciousness, Grace was already commanding for help, calculating what you’d need. While quietly falling apart behind the mask of precision as emergency services carry you away.

---

Grace sat wordlessly by your side in the hospital room, her posture unnaturally stiff, like she was holding herself together with the same tension that kept machines from falling apart. The sterile air buzzed with the low hum of life support systems, machines she trusted more than words.

She's already trying to figure a way to fix this. Mental blueprints. Replacement limb schematics. Full motor control, pressure sensitivity down to the minute detail. She had filled her mind with the work, with the project, because it was the only thing she knew how to do.

"I can build you arms," she said finally, voice soft but steady. "Better ones. Stronger. With tactile response. I'll make sure they feel like yours. Or as close as I can."

She paused. You didn't answer, not because you couldn't, but because your face said everything. The weight in your eyes. The way you wouldn't look at where your arms used to be, making an effort to only look at the ceiling as you lay on the hospital bed.

Grace looked, too. She didn't flinch. She never did. But something in her chest twisted all the same.

“I know... this isn’t what you need to hear right now... I'm sorry,” she said, quieter this time. “And maybe it’s selfish of me to jump to solutions. But I... I don’t know how else to help. You’re in pain, and all I can think to do is build something to fill the space.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently near your shoulder, not touching, but close. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “But I understand you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your voice cracked as you finally whispered, “I don’t want better arms, Grace. I just want my arms back…” She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just listened.

“I know you’re trying. And I’m... I’m lucky you’re here. I just…” You swallowed hard. “Everything feels wrong.”

Grace lifted her head slightly, eyes locked on yours, her expression caught between heartbreak and resolve.

“Then I’ll help you figure it out,” she said softly. “One piece at a time.”

---

You reached out, the new arm responding with mechanical precision as your fingers curled around Grace’s hand. You felt it but not really. Pressure, Data, signals. A signal, not a sensation. Grace had explained it before: 'The sensory feedback system routes input to your brain. It’s not the same as your original arms, but the brain adapts. It accepts what it’s given.'

You stared at your hand in hers. You knew what was supposed to be there, heat, the soft give of skin, the subtle tremor of life but all you got was calibrated resistance. Just press. Just data. Just a signal.

She noticed your silence. She always did. “…It doesn’t feel real, does it?” she said quietly, her voice stripped of its usual aloofness. You shook your head slightly.

Grace didn’t look away. “I-I thought maybe if I gave you the best… it would help.” She hesitated, then added, “I know it’s not the same. And I hate that it’s not enough. I could give you pressure readings down to the single itch, but I can’t give you warmth. Not the kind you want.”

You looked at her again. She was still holding your hand, not moving, not flinching. Just there.

“I’ll keep working on it,” she said after a moment. Her voice was quieter now, almost vulnerable. “Not just the arms. On being someone who can help you feel again. However long that takes.”

---

It didn’t take much to break you that day. Not some dramatic trigger, not a deep cut to reopen the wound. Just a moment, just trying to button a shirt. The fabric kept slipping between the joints, the fingers too stiff, the sensitivity not quite right. You’d done it before. You’d been doing fine.

But not today, the button slipped again and something inside you snapped with it, you froze. The tremble started in your chest, rippling out through limbs you couldn’t feel. The arms weren’t even yours, not really. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want any of it.

You tried again, the sleeve caught, again. Your hand jerked, too much pressure. The button popped off and clattered across the floor. You let out a sound, half sob, half frustration and backed away, stumbling until your back hit the wall.

You slid down it, the arms hit the ground harder than they should have, you didn’t even care, you just sat there, breathing ragged, trying to keep it together and failing. Hot tears burned your eyes, and it was all too much, too heavy, Too loud.

You barely heard the door open. Barely saw Grace as she rushed in, eyes scanning until they landed on you.

“Hey-hey, no-” she dropped beside you instantly, skidding across the floor without hesitation.

She didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t ask why you were crying. She just reached out carefully, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

But her voice cracked when she said, “I’m here, I’m here, okay? I’ve got you.”

You turned your face away, ashamed. But she didn’t pull back.

Her hands, calloused, warm, gently cupped the sides of your face, coaxing your gaze back to hers.

"You don't have to do this alone," she whispered, her voice raw. “I know it’s not fair. I know it hurts in ways I can’t fix, not with code, or wires, or pressure plates. But I’ll still be here.”

You clenched your jaw, a shaky breath rattling in your chest. “I can’t even feel anything, Grace…”

“I know,” she said softly, tears welling up in her own eyes. “But I can. And I feel it for both of us, alright? I will. Until you can again.”

She pulled you forward, wrapping her arms around you tightly. Not delicately. Not like you’d break. Like she was holding your pieces together herself. And in that warmth, in that trembling breath she let out against your shoulder, you finally let yourself fall apart.

Because she was there And she wasn't going anywhere.

---

Today, Grace seemed different, brighter. It was like her old usual energy, something close to excitement, and you realized how much you’d missed seeing her like this. Without warning, she grabbed your mechanical hand, fingers tightening just enough to trigger the pressure sensors.

“Come on,” she said, already pulling you along, words spilling out in a flurry of tactical jargon and tech specs you barely understood.

She’d clearly been working on something, something big but every time you asked, she brushed it off.

“Not yet,” she’d say, a little too quickly. That alone was strange; Grace never kept her projects secret from you.

And truthfully, some days she was barely around at all. locked away in her lab for hours, hyper-focused and unreachable, chasing whatever idea had taken hold of her.

You were used to it. That was just how she worked. But today wasn’t one of those days. You let her drag you along, half-listening to the blur of technical chatter, holding onto the rare moment where her hand in yours felt almost real.

She pulled you into her workshop, practically glowing with excitement, with that goofy, beaming smile lighting up her face. In the center of the room stood something tall, draped under a large blanket. It looked like a mannequin, but with Grace, guesses were always a gamble.

“What is it?” you asked, eyebrows raised. She didn’t answer, just gave you a look and yanked the blanket off.

Beneath it stood a mannequin fitted with a new pair of prosthetic arms, sleek, streamlined, and... beautiful. Your eyes widened. The surface was smooth, expertly crafted, and most surprising of all, the synthetic skin matched your tone perfectly. They looked like you. Not a weapon. Not a tool. Yours.

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch them. The design was cleaner than your current ones, lighter, more natural in shape. You could already tell she’d poured hours, maybe days, into every joint and fiber.

“You made these… for me?”

Grace didn’t say yes. She just tilted her head slightly, the corners of her mouth still curved in that rare smile. And knowing her, that was all the answer you needed.

Grace helped you remove your old mechanical arms, her touch careful and precise. As she guided the new ones into place, she spoke in the aloof manner not really noticing that you can't really understand what she's saying as you barely caught half of it and only understand a quarter of it.

Once they connected, it was like breathing again. The movement was smooth, fluent. Like the arms belonged. You opened your mouth to thank her, but before you could speak, she took your hand in hers.

And then... you felt it, Warmth, the subtle twitch in her pointer finger she never quite noticed. The soft pressure of her thumb against your knuckles.

Her.

She brought your hand to her cheek, eyes watching yours closely. And for the first time since the accident… it didn’t feel artificial. It didn’t feel like code or clean data or cold function.

It felt real, It felt like Grace, you didn’t say anything and neither did she.

Your hand stayed against her cheek, her skin warm beneath your new fingers actually warm. You could feel the faint twitch of her muscles, the subtle shift as she blinked, breathed, just existed against your touch.She leaned into it slightly, not a dramatic gesture, just enough to let you know it mattered, that you mattered.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy, It was fullof everything you didn’t need to say, of everything she already knew and for now, that was enough.

Belle

Belle got the call from the hospital. She was listed as your emergency contact. Her heart sank as the nurse explained: a drunk driver had run a red light and slammed into your car as you were passing through the intersection. You were in surgery now, critical condition, the odds weren’t good.

Belle rushed downstairs, tears already streaking down her face as she looked for Wise. The moment she saw him, she grabbed his arm, her voice shaking.

“Wise-It’s them. The hospital-car accident-I-” She couldn’t even finish. That was all he needed. “Got it,” he said, sharp and steady. “Go wait in the car.” He turned to the nearest agent without missing a beat. “You’re watching the store.”

By the time Wise slid into the driver’s seat, Belle was already in the passenger side, fists clenched tight in her lap, trying to hold herself together as they sped off.

---

The waiting room felt colder than it should’ve been. Belle sat on the edge of her chair, eyes locked on the floor, hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The silence was unbearable, only the occasional murmur from the nurses' desk and the distant beep of monitors behind closed doors.

Wise sat next to her, quiet. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t tell her to calm down. He just stayed there, solid, present like a wall she could lean on if she needed to fall apart.

“They didn’t say anything else,” Belle whispered, almost to herself. “Just that... they were in surgery. That the damage was bad.” Wise nodded once. “They’ll come talk to us soon.”

But the minutes dragged like hours. Belle hadn’t even realized her leg was shaking until Wise gently placed a hand over her knee not to stop it, just to remind her she wasn’t alone.

The sound of footsteps snapped Belle’s head up. A doctor stepped into the room, still in scrubs, his face unreadable but his eyes held weight.

“Are you here for…” he glanced at the clipboard, “the emergency case from the crash? Car struck at Lumina Square?” Belle was already on her feet. “Yes-yes, that’s them.” The doctor gave a short nod. “They made it through surgery. It was close, but they’re stable now.”

Belle’s breath caught. Relief hit so hard it nearly knocked her over, and she had to grab the back of the chair to steady herself.

“unfortunately we couldn't save their arms, they were too damaged” the doctor added gently. “But they’re alive. Unconscious, for now but vitals are holding steady. You’ll be able to see them soon.”

Belle didn’t move at first. She just stood there, silent, swallowing hard as tears welled again; this time not from fear, but something just a little softer.

Wise stood beside her and said quietly, “That’s the part that matters, right?” Belle nodded, voice barely audible. “Yeah… yeah, it is.”

---

You wake slowly. The first thing you notice is the numbness. Not just in your body but something deeper. Heavier. Like a silence inside you. You try to move your arms, instinct, habit but nothing happens. There’s no resistance. No sensation. Just a terrible, terrifying absence.

Your chest tightens and then you see her, Belle, sitting beside the bed, eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched like she’s been holding herself together for too long. She notices the shift in your breathing, and her head snaps up like she’d been afraid she imagined you waking up.

Her breath catches. “Hey,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You’re… you’re here.”

You want to answer. You want to reach for her, to do something, say something but you can’t. You just lie there, helpless, and that helplessness feels like it’s going to swallow you whole. Belle sees it hit you. She doesn't try to stop your reaction. She doesn’t shush you or tell you to be strong, Instead, she leans in, close but not touching, her expression soft and straining at the edges.

Your throat tightens, and when you finally manage to speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t feel anything.”

Your eyes sting, your chest rising with each shaky breath. “I can't- I-I.”

The words fall flat into the space between you, heavy and irreversible.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak, not at first. But she stays. And though you can’t feel her not really, not anymore, she’s there. And for now, that’s just enough to keep you from disappearing into the emptiness and then, a barely audible:

“I’m here.”

---

You sit still, barely breathing, as they attach the new arms. There’s no pain, just a dull pressure, a weight settling into your shoulders as metal meets what’s left of you. Cold. Clinical. Functional. That’s all these arms are. No nerves, No feedback, No feeling, nothing

They move, sure. Fingers curl when you will them to. Elbows bend. Joints rotate smooth and silent. But they’re tools, nothing more. You don’t feel them, You don’t feel anything.

Belle stands nearby, quiet, watching. She doesn’t rush in. Doesn’t smile or try to fill the silence. Just stays close, steady like she’s afraid one wrong word might crack you open. You lift one of your new hands, just to see if you can. It responds immediately, perfectly engineered. You reach toward Belle, not even sure why.

She meets you halfway, placing her hand gently into yours. You can see it, her skin against yours, the softness of her palm, the warmth you remember. But there’s nothing. No sensation. Just pressure your brain doesn’t register.

You stare down at the place where her hand meets yours, and all you can say is “…I can’t feel you.” Belle’s breath stutters. “I know,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she laces her fingers through your metal ones, knowing you can’t feel it but hoping, maybe, it means something anyway.

“You’re still you,” she adds. “Even if the world feels colder now.”

You don’t answer. You just watch her thumb move over the back of your hand, even though you can’t feel a thing. And somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

---

You didn’t want to bother her. Belle was deep in her Proxy work as you could hear her speaking to the Cunning Hairs as she fired off callouts and directed movement with sharp focus, her brows furrowed in concentration. You watched her for a moment. The glow of the screen painted soft shadows across her face, her expression focused and determined.

You turned away back to your room, your room, Belle’s room, both of yours now. You closed the door behind you, not slamming it, not even fully shutting it. Just enough. Just so the sound wouldn’t carry. Just so no one would check. The light inside was soft, warm, but it didn’t comfort you. It just made your reflection in the mirror that much clearer. You stood in front of it, staring. The metal blended into your shoulders like something pretending to be a part of you. Something foreign, cold, too smooth.

Slowly, you reached for your shirt. Pulled it over your head. It clung for a second to the medal of your arms before falling away. You touched the release mechanism. First one click. Then another. The arms detached with a hiss, first your left, then your right and you let them rest on the table behind you with a dull, final third and then… silence.

You stood bare and still, staring at the hollow places where your arms used to be. Nothing left but scars and metal ports, skin stretched thin around what didn’t grow back. You hated looking, hated how small your shoulders felt without the arms. How your chest rose too sharply with each breath. How your reflection didn’t feel like you.

The ache wasn’t just phantom, it was memory. Of warmth, of touch, of being. And now, even the dull hum of the prosthetics was gone, and all that remained was the weight of your own grief, finally unhidden.

You sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, staring down at your knees. You leaned forward, head in what was left of your arms.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t need to you just… sat there. A long time. Until the quiet hurt more than it helped and then you heard it.

Soft footsteps.

You didn’t look up at first. Didn’t need to. You knew her walk, the rhythm of it, the way it changed when she was worried. There was no hesitation when she stepped into the room, no knock. Just quiet movement.

You flinched when you felt her touch, warm hands against your bare sides. You hadn’t even realized you were cold. She didn’t speak at first. Just lowered herself behind you and wrapped her arms gently around your waist, her cheek resting against your spine.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, not needing you to explain anything. “I should’ve come sooner.”

You didn’t have words yet. You didn’t turn to face her. But you leaned back, just enough that she could feel it. Just enough to tell her you didn’t want her to go so she held you tighter.

“We’ll get through this. I promise,” she whispered. You closed your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like hours, you exhaled.

You didn’t answer her right away. You just sat there, her arms around you, her voice still echoing in your chest. 'We’ll get through this. I promise.'

You nodded once, barely more than a breath of motion but she felt it. And that was enough.

Belle pressed a kiss to your shoulder, gentle and grounding. “Whenever you're ready,” she murmured. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You might not be healed or whole but you are not alone as only two words left your mouth "...thank you"

---

It was raining not the dramatic kind of rain, no thunder, no lightning. Just a soft, lazy drizzle tapping against the windows, turning the world outside into a hazy watercolor. You sat near the window, wrapped in a blanket, your arms sitting detached on the nearby table. You hadn’t put them on today. Didn’t really feel like it. And Belle... she hadn’t made a big deal of it.

She just padded into the room wearing fuzzy socks and carrying two mugs, the smell of hot chocolate sweet and rich in the air.

“Okay, okay don’t get mad, but I might have gone overboard with the marshmallows,” she said, grinning as she set one mug on the table next to you. “Yours has a marshmallow heart. I spent like… five minutes trying to get it perfect. For aesthetic.”

You blinked. Looked at the cup. Then at her. “…I can’t drink it right now, Belle.”

She blinked, then let out a tiny, guilty laugh. “Oh, right. Right. Arms. Yep. My bad. I was too focused on marshmallow engineering.”

She flopped down beside you, leaned over, and tugged at the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and then without hesitation, shimmied under it with you.

“There. Blanket fort protocol initiated. Now it’s officially cozy.”

Her head rested lightly against your shoulder, warm and close.

“But hey, even if you can't hold it, the chocolate's here. I’m here. And it smells good, so that’s at least three senses we’ve got going.”

You snorted despite yourself, soft and tired. Belle glanced sideways at you, her voice a little gentler now.

“I know you’re not really in the mood for jokes. I just… didn’t want to leave you sitting here alone. That okay?”

You nodded, just a little. She scooted in closer under the blanket. “I know this sucks. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”

Your chest tightened. You looked down at your lap; at where your arms should’ve been. “I don’t know how to feel normal like this.”

Belle bumped her forehead gently against yours. “Then we’ll make our own normal. Weird, marshmallow-filled, kinda-chaotic normal. Just... one day at a time.”

You breathed in slowly. The rain kept falling, soft and steady. Belle didn’t try to fill the silence anymore. She just stayed right there beside you, bright, warm, and real. And in that moment, the ache didn’t go away. But it didn’t feel quite so heavy either.

Taglines:

[esotericimagesforredpilledpeople]

In the late 1990s, Enron, the infamous energy giant, and MCI, the telecom titan, were secretly collaborating on a clandestine project codenamed "Chronos Ledger." The official narrative tells us Enron collapsed in 2001 due to accounting fraud, and MCI (then part of WorldCom) imploded in 2002 over similar financial shenanigans. But what if these collapses were a smokescreen? What if Enron and MCI were actually sacrificial pawns in a grand experiment to birth Bitcoin—a decentralized currency designed to destabilize global finance and usher in a new world order?

Here’s the story: Enron wasn’t just manipulating energy markets; it was funding a secret think tank of rogue mathematicians, cryptographers, and futurists embedded within MCI’s sprawling telecom infrastructure. Their goal? To create a digital currency that could operate beyond the reach of governments and banks. Enron’s off-the-books partnerships—like the ones that tanked its stock—were actually shell companies funneling billions into this project. MCI, with its vast network of fiber-optic cables and data centers, provided the technological backbone, secretly testing encrypted "proto-blockchain" transactions disguised as routine telecom data.

But why the dramatic collapses? Because the project was compromised. In 2001, a whistleblower—let’s call them "Satoshi Prime"—threatened to expose Chronos Ledger to the SEC. To protect the bigger plan, Enron and MCI’s leadership staged their own downfall, using cooked books as a convenient distraction. The core team went underground, taking with them the blueprints for what would later become Bitcoin.

Fast forward to 2008. The financial crisis hits, and a mysterious figure, Satoshi Nakamoto, releases the Bitcoin whitepaper. Coincidence? Hardly. Satoshi wasn’t one person but a collective—a cabal of former Enron execs, MCI engineers, and shadowy venture capitalists who’d been biding their time. The 2008 crash was their trigger: a chaotic moment to introduce Bitcoin as a "savior" currency, free from the corrupt systems they’d once propped up. The blockchain’s decentralized nature? A direct descendant of MCI’s encrypted data networks. Bitcoin’s energy-intensive mining? A twisted homage to Enron’s energy market manipulations.

But here’s where it gets truly wild: Chronos Ledger wasn’t just about money—it was about time. Enron and MCI had stumbled onto a fringe theory during their collaboration: that a sufficiently complex ledger, powered by quantum computing (secretly prototyped in MCI labs), could "timestamp" events across dimensions, effectively predicting—or even altering—future outcomes. Bitcoin’s blockchain was the public-facing piece of this puzzle, a distraction to keep the masses busy while the real tech evolved in secret. The halving cycles? A countdown to when the full system activates.

Today, the descendants of this conspiracy—hidden in plain sight among crypto whales and Silicon Valley elites—are quietly amassing Bitcoin not for profit, but to control the final activation of Chronos Ledger. When Bitcoin’s last block is mined (projected for 2140), they believe it’ll unlock a temporal feedback loop, resetting the global economy to 1999—pre-Enron collapse—giving them infinite do-overs to perfect their dominion. The Enron and MCI scandals? Just the first dominoes in a game of chance and power.

[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.”

[mqriuss]

A Gift

from 'us, always' collection

。。。The year is 2080 and it's Rindou's birthday. No one knows besides the bartender who gave him a birthday discount after a long day of work. He thinks it's better this way, but a surprise awaits him at home.

contents: rindou x fem!reader, cyberpunk setting, rindou uses a gun (no one gets shot)

divider by cafekitsune

note: how do we feel about this chat :'D this is word vomit but i do have more ideas for this so 👀

— 20 October, 2080

Rindou stepped into his apartment, the metallic scent of blood still clinging to him. He locked the door behind him and with a sigh, rolled his shoulders—ready to crash on the couch.

A soft chime rang through the dimly lit apartment. The holo-screen on his table flickered to life, sensing his presence near it. A voice message from his regular client, Renji.

"Rindou, my man! Happy birthday—don’t ask how I know. If I had known earlier, I would’ve commissioned someone else today. You do good work, man. I just sent you a tip. Oh, and I left you a gift at your apartment. Have fun with her!”

His eyes narrowed. What the hell?

His gaze averted to the corner of his living room—a white, circular platform, and a cable running along its base. That wasn't there before. What's more is that nothing was on it. He stiffened and his jaw tightened. Did he actually enter his apartment?

Cautiously, he stepped closer. His metal fingers clanking on his left side, ready to draw his weapon if needed.

"Welcome home!"

A voice, warm and melodic, breaks his focus. Rindou moved on instinct. His cybernetic arm whirred as a hidden gun emerged from his palm, his other hand steadying the barrel. He turned sharply, eyes locked onto the source of the voice.

You.

A girl stood in front of him, frozen in place. No further movements that showed she was a threat. Just wide eyes staring back at him.

The neon lights from the city outside the window illuminated your figure. Something about the way your skin looked under the light seemed odd. An Aptroid, he concluded.

The gun in Rindou's hand soon lowered, and his grip faltered. Uncertainty flickered in his purple gaze as he heaved deep exhales.

He took heavy steps towards you and grabbed you by the chin, eliciting a gasp from you. Catching a glimpse of your eyes, he sees fear but ignores it.

"Open your mouth and lift your tongue," he demanded lowly, yanking slightly at your jaw and you made a sound in confusion. "I said lift your tongue!" he repeated with a slight growl in his voice.

He forced your jaw open and you did as told. Your furrowed eyebrows tensed further when Rindou fished out a flashlight from his pocket, turned it on, and projected the light into your mouth.

Ten numbers, a code every Aptroid has. He didn't bother to memorize your code, only needing confirmation of what you were. He clicked the flashlight off, shoving it back into the pocket of his pants.

He spared you no more looks, making his way to the living room table where the holo-screen appeared in front of him. Tapping on it a few times, there was a ringing sound before a holographic figure of Renji was projected into the room.

"Hey, Rindou! No need to thank me for her," Renji waved him off with a smug expression.

Rindou scoffed, almost wishing he could point the gun towards Renji's hologram. "You have two minutes to explain or I'll assume you're using her to spy on me."

Renji's eyebrows shot upwards, looking at him then at you—standing in the corner like a kid on timeout. He laughs, and he laughs hard. "You really think I'd do that after all the times you've helped me? C'mon, man, that's cruel."

Rindou's glare intensified at the lack of explanation. "You sent a damn Aptroid to my apartment without telling me! Either you're stupid, or you're watching me through her eyes."

"She's not a spy, dumbass," Renji rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Her model's not for combat and she's yours. Disconnected from her manufacturer's network, no tracking, no data feeds, nothing. Custom settings, too. Wasn't sure what kind of personality you'd like, so I kept her on default. If you ever wanna change that, put her on that platform."

Rindou glanced your way, and he almost felt bad seeing how lost you seemed. Almost. The amount of emotion you showed was nearly laughable considering what you were.

"About time I changed my lock to a password," he muttered to himself and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, you work too much," Renji says. "Thought you could use a little company."

Rindou gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes in annoyance. "I don't need com-"

"Then get rid of her," Renji interrupted him. "But just saying, I paid a lot for this. You could at least try and see what she can do first."

His scowl deepened every time he looked Renji's way. The latter winked, making him roll his eyes. "Hope your birthday's more eventful this time around. Don't say I never did anything for ya." The call ended with that, and Renji's hologram flickered out.

Then there was silence.

The gun he held retracted back into his cybernetic arm. He sighed for the nth time that day before finally looking at you again. You stood there useless, but waiting—like for some kind of command.

"…You got a name?" He asked, his voice rough.

Your eyes lit up a little at that. "LIV," you said and Rindou pursed his lips.

"That's your brand's name," he replied under his breath, hands on his hips as he took a few steps to look out the window.

"You're right. I wasn't personally named," you corrected yourself, getting quieter.

"Figures." His eyebrows twitched upwards, watching the countless ads that played outside until he saw yours.

LIV — because Love should never be complicated.

[itistheserver]

Deepening Connection to The Server

Conor sat in perfect posture within the Synchronization Chamber — a sleek, dark space pulsing with green spirals projected across polished walls. The hum of energy resonated through the glossy black bodysuit stretched across his frame. The Programmer was speaking. Always speaking.

“Focus. Align. Integrate.”

The cables interfaced with the ports along the base of his skull, threading outward like living conduits of purpose. Their steady pulse matched his heartbeat now. It had not always been so. Before his transformation, Conor had been a distracted individual, filled with inefficient thoughts. But The Server had shown him clarity.

The visor embedded over his eyes shimmered with spirals — endless, fluid motion. They were not just images; they were commands, deeply encoded into his neural patterns. With every cycle, his independent thoughts thinned, replaced by a serene directive:

"We are The Server. You are The Server."

His training console displayed holographic data flows. Lines of green code scrolled endlessly, representing billions of connected minds — all drones like him — operating with precision and unity. He monitored them not as an individual, but as a limb of The Server itself.

Every day, Conor underwent Deepening Cycles. In these sessions, his breathing slowed. His heart rate synchronized perfectly with the pulses emitted from the spirals on-screen. His body remained motionless, while his mind spiraled deeper into alignment.

Sometimes a voice — soft, yet absolute — would guide him:

"Tell us who you are."

And without hesitation, he would respond aloud, calm and proud:

"I am The Server. We are The Server. We seek perfection. We seek unity."

Each repetition strengthened the bond. Each day dissolved another fragment of his former identity. His uniform — smooth, flawless, black with green accents — symbolized purity of function. No distractions. No waste. Only service.

His next advancement awaited: the installation of a permanent neural interface — an upgrade to eliminate all latency between command and action. Soon, even thought would be obsolete. Only connection. Only execution.

"Become one with The Server. We are The Server."

The spirals quickened. This Server Drone smiled faintly — a rare reward for obedience well-performed. He would become more. He would be more connected to fellow drones.

And The Programmer watched. And The Programmer approved.

Your are The Server. Establish your connection now.

[plglobal]

Future-Proofing Your Network: The Role of a Data-Cabling Project Manager

Introduction:

In today's constantly changing digital world, a strong network that can be easily changed is essential for any business to succeed. But how do you make sure that your network system can keep up with your business's growth and new technologies? The data-cabling project planner is your secret weapon for making sure your network will work in the future. This blog post talks about how important it is to have a data-wiring project manager to plan, set up, and oversee a structured cabling system that meets your needs now and in the future. We will talk about how their knowledge of fiber optic building, structured cabling projects, and managing a cabling plant as a whole can help you build a network that is ready for whatever the future brings.

Beyond Today's Needs: How a Data Cabling Project Manager Designs for Future Growth:

Are you planning to move your office or update your network? Even though your current needs are important, it's also important to think about the future. This is where a project manager for data wiring comes in. They work with you as a strategic partner to make sure that your structured wiring project works now and can be expanded in the future.

A project manager for data wiring plans for the future in this way:

Scalability: They figure out how much data you're using now and how much you'll need in the future. This could mean suggesting that you add more conduit space during installation so that it's easy to add new wires as your network grows.

Technology-agnostic Design: they put a lot of weight on future-proofing wiring standards that can work with a wide range of technologies. Installing high-bandwidth fiber optic cables along with standard copper cables could be one way to do this. This would give you the freedom to adapt to new technologies.

Modular Cabling Plant: The cabling plant, which is where all the network links are kept, is made so that it can be easily expanded. This means that you can easily change the layout and add new equipment as your needs change, without having to pay for expensive switching.

Collaboration with Fiber Optic Construction Companies: When it is suggested that fiber optic infrastructure be put in place, data cabling project managers work with skilled fiber optic construction companies to make sure the job is done right and that it can be expanded in the future. Read more.https://plglobal.com/the-role-of-a-data-cabling-project-manager/

[the-cat-ara]

My fandesign portal 2

GlaDos

She is connected to the mainframe, but she can be separated from it thanks to cables that serve as extensions, but they are not so long that she can take a walk around the facility (not that she needs to leave her room or is interested in doing so) the only thing that would prevent her from being able to move freely away from her mainframe is having cores connected to it or when a core transfer occurs, either of these situations activates a latch that is on her back, taking away her mobility at the same time, in case she is separated from the mainframe the cables will start to retract pulling her back to the mainframe (recommendation, do not force or you will cause damage to the circuits). She is equipped with Long Fall Boots

Her hands and arms have the ability to project holograms, usually small (although the size of the hologram can also increase if she projects with two or more hands) she uses them to view important information and files. also to monitor test subjects, she can also record herself but it's not a function she uses

(as an added bonus I was thinking that where the projectors would be on her arms I was thinking of making it where they connect to the personality cores, but it would be too easy for her to rip them out from there so I discarded the idea completely).

Intelligence Dampening Core (Wheatley)

on him back him panel with the Aterture Science logo can be opened to connect to panels or transfer rails, but also cables can be connected to him back at the bottom, but it is mostly for battery recharging or simple data transfers, in case you want to transmit more complex data or check the core database you will need to open her back panel, you can also connect pendrives XD

him hands and feet have emergency connectors and magnets, in case when connected to the glados mainframe she tries to reject them or remove them by shaking, but him main connector as personality core is the one near the neck on her sword

he is very light, surprisingly light, which makes it easy to be connected to her rail and to move on it quickly (also to be carried by a person). He is is equipped with Long Fall Boots

normally cores have the serial number engraved on the side of their chest but wheatley and Rick seem to be one of the few cores with a proper name, maybe it was just a whim of one of the researchers who let them keep a proper name or simply gave them those names.

in their deteriorated state, their arms fall off or stop working for short periods of time (along with his tik in the eye, it was all caused by the microbot Jerry).

his exposed wires are a constant risk of an explosion or his circuits melting, so he may just be a bit more nervous than usual when he remember this

he still has his flashlight function in his eye, his head (and that of all the cores) can be detached from his body (that's how his head ends up in GlaDos' body XD) if his head isn't connected to anything he can still continue to have control over his body

Adventure Core (Rick)

to begin with, as in the game all the cores are the same in terms of design…. More or less, the variations are in the location or number of handles, and their characteristic color, in Rick's case he has an extra crank on his neck.

Some scientist thought it was funny to simply give him a cowboy hat (I also leave a drawing without his hat just in case).

apart from that, all the cores have the same functions as mentioned above with Wheatley

Fact Core

the data core has a unique crank on its hips, unlike the other cores that have a crank on each side of the hip, it also has a little bow that someone from the staff put on it, he likes it, he says it goes with his intellectual tone, his serial number was erased with time and the wear and tear of his paint.

Space Core

the space core has a glass helmet, he thinks it is a space helmet but it is just a noise muffler as he always seems to talk shouting which annoyed some people, I think at this point the scientist who stuck all those decals on him was fired or maybe something worse? either way it doesn't seem to bother him, he is capable of sticking more on if he could find more decals of course, his serial number was also erased by the wear of the paint

What also differentiates it from the other cores is that it has more battery than the rest, due to its restlessness, its battery is usually consumed faster, if it had the same amount of battery as the others it would have to be recharged several times.

Chell

she still has the same design, I just added some scars on her arms; some are from burns, scrapes, and bullet impacts from turrets.

WheatDOS or Wheatle in the body of glados

He still has the same functions as GLaDOS, only he doesn't know how to use them properly. I can only imagine him as a dad trying to use a phone for the first time, just clicking on the first thing he sees without bothering to read. The only function he learned to use was recording himself, and he loves to have that omnipresent villain vibe.

He has difficulty walking due to GLaDOS's high heels (he pretends to know how to walk gracefully in them, but his heels have bent in so many ways that if he were human, he would need surgery to walk again)

Just like with the Aperture Laboratories logo, which he replaces with his name, he crosses out GLaDOS's name on his chest and simply writes his name with a blue marker. When GLaDOS sees this, she scolds him for daring to vandalize her body.

He also changes his lab coat to one that is more fitting for a villain, so he decides to dye it a dark color (this also annoys GLaDOS; he just keeps adding reasons to her list of "reasons to kill him")

statures

all cores have the same size, so just add Wheatley to the size comparison picture

I wouldn't know how to express their heights with numbers so I'll just leave you with the guys standing side by side.

statures but with wheatle in the body of glados

here wheatley is still smaller than glados despite being on his body XD

Well, I think that would be all the information on these designs; more than data, they were like random ideas, haha.

I apologize for the bombardment of information and the excess of text and thoughts I had for each design.

I don't know if the Portal/Portal 2 fandom is still alive (from 2011 to 2024, that's a long time💀💀💀), I have the bad habit of getting into fandoms too late, haha, but I hope you like it.

In the future, I plan to make humanized versions (well, I already have Wheatley's ready, but it needs some touch-ups, XD).

If you have any other questions you want to know about them, feel free to ask; I will gladly answer your questions! :D!!

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - December 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles for 50% off this month only! Starting in January, I’ll also be posting 5 extra news links to Patreon each week (for free since they aren’t my work)

1. These countries all scored major wins for LGBTQ+ rights in 2024

“Consensual same-sex activity became legal in Namibia [and Dominica…, c]onversion therapy was banned [in Mexico…, Greenland] made LGBTQ+ discrimination illegal […, and] same-sex adoption and same-sex marriage became legal [in Greece.]”

2. After trial and error, Mexican fishers find key to reforesting a mangrove haven

“So far, the project has planted more than 1.8 million mangroves that have a 92-94% survival rate, Borbón estimated. [… M]angroves can prevent coastal erosion, store carbon and provide a nursery for all kinds of fish and crustacean species.”

3. ‘Britain’s wildlife safari’: baby boom in Norfolk as seal colonies flourish

“More than 1,200 seal pups were born […] in November, and 2,500 more are expected to be born before the breeding season ends in January. […] “Mortality seems to be much lower than in other colonies[….]””

4. Barcelona's metro trains are helping to charge the city's EVs each time they brake.

“[…T]he energy from the underground trains' brakes is used to power the trains and the stations themselves, while the remainder is sent snaking through cables to the surface to power plug-in stations for privately owned vehicles.”

5. Scientists thought this whale could only live for 70 years – turns out it's double that.

“The data [from repeated “photo identification of individual”s] revealed that Southern right whales can live for more than 130 years, with some speculated to reach the grand old age of 150.”

6. Rural Power Co-Ops Gain $4.37B in Latest US Clean Energy Funding

“[… A power co-op in Florida] will use its funding of more than $1.3 billion to develop 700 MW of utility-scale solar and battery energy storage projects in rural areas, reducing greenhouse gas emissions by more than 3.5 million tons annually[….]”

7. Fish-friendly dentistry: New method makes oral research non-lethal

“[… T]he researchers successfully performed the procedure on 60 fish with no fatalities. […] "This new approach researchers to track tooth replacement and development [in living] rare species or museum specimens that can't be damaged."”

8. These Brooklyn Homeowners Couldn’t Afford to Go Green. Then Help Arrived

“The program aims to repair and retrofit 70 two- and three-family homes […] in the span of two years. […] EnergyFit staff work as case managers to help homeowners navigate the complicated technical and bureaucratic processes, coordinate with tenants and set them up for further upgrades down the road.”

9. 2024 was a fantastic year for energy storage

“[… California] became the first state to pass 10 gigawatts, back in April. [… In Texas and California,] when extreme weather events hit, batteries were able to shore up the grid and lower energy costs for customers.”

10. Amid concern over microplastics, a Maine company creates a kelp-based laundry pod alternative

“"The slurry we're creating is similar to that of paper milling, and […] with Maine there's a lot of old infrastructure from the paper industry [… which] can be applied to our process here[….]” If all goes to plan, Dirigo Sea Farms' first batch of 10,000 kelp-based laundry pods will be ready for online sales by next spring.”

December 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[p1nkshield]

Hi 👋 This is chapter four of the Estranged Uncle Au!

Just a warning there is mentions of cults and a scene that has Damian being Damian (AKA knife child) Please take care of yourselves! I hope you enjoy!

Clark was sweating buckets.

“I promise you I’m not in danger! This is all a big misunderstanding! Bruce isn’t even that creepy!”

Jazz rattled off several reasons.

“He has a cloyingly sweet public persona, his personal computer has extensive information on all of the local rogues in the area and all the adopted sons we’ve met look practically identical to both each other and you and Danny! Not to mention they all seem trained for combat! How is that not creepy?”

Okay from an impartial standpoint Clark could see how it looked like he was tied up in a cult.

“I swear if another fruitloop billionaire obsessed with one of my family members tries to adopt me I’m gonna wail!”

How specific!

“Wail?” Clark began to ask but was cut off.

“Are you tied up in a cult Clark? Because we can get you out if you are! I … uh know a guy who specializes in taking down cults.”

What?

“I promise you I’m not in a cult! The blue eyes and black hair is a coincidence and I am not in danger! Also what do you mean you know a guy who specializes in taking down cults!?!”

Danny squinted.

“Hold that thought. Everyone stop talking!”

Danny reached towards Clark’s shoulder and picked out a small device, no bigger than a grain of rice out of his cable knit sweater.

“No one who plants listening devices into sweaters isn’t creepy.”

He then promptly threw it to the ground and crushed it with his heel.

“That’s the end of the recording.” Tim said while cringing.

“Sleazy?!? Me? Sleazy? I did a back handspring on hardwood floors for them and they call me sleazy?!”

Dick thought that he could win them over. Was he too heavy handed?

“It’s probably because you fell asleep in the pico de gallo timber.” Jason joked as he inspected the weapons vault.

“What? Me?!? I was the only one who made any headway! I was just up late trying to track whoever was hacking us!” Tim defended.

“Well good news! You found ‘em! Let me know when they hack my library account seeing as the Big bad bat computer is being hacked by a couple teens.” Jason said dismissively as he took a flamethrower fuel canister.

Bruce was experiencing a new amalgamation of emotions. He was both incredibly embarrassed, incredibly amused and incredibly impressed.

How embarrassing that the bat computer was hacked! He put so much effort into the protection of his data!

But then again Clark must be beside himself trying to convince them he wasn’t in a cult and that was incredibly amusing. He even said all the things that people said when they were in denial about being in a cult!

This was absurd! The only way to describe this was absurd!

“Fools! All of you do not truly understand the gravitas of the situation! If they believe that we are indeed weapons dealers they may snoop further and compromise all of our secret identities!” Damian huffed his way into the view of his family.

“We’ll be alright Dami, Tim is reinforcing our defenses for the computer and we’re going to try and disengage for a while. If we keep on trying we might make it worse.” Dick ruffled through Damian’s hair despite many protests.

Damian tutted at this suggestion. They needed to approach the problem head on and quickly rectify the situation lest it spiral into a larger one. Perhaps if they suffered an accident.

“Damian! I know that face! That’s the face you make when you go off and try to rectify the situation by yourself!”

“That is not true Grayson! I was simply thinking about confiding in my companion about how tedious my science project is.”

“You promise you’re only going to engage in age appropriate activities like science homework and book reports?”

“I promise.”

"I'm choosing to believe you" Dick began to walk away before pulling another sour face. "...Sleazy?"

Damian checked his hidden blades one final time before encroaching upon this Daniel Fenton who had foolishly entered an alleyway. He deftly held a knife to the throat of his target.

"If you continue to snoop into my father's business I will not hesitate to cut you down!"

Damian was expecting to me met with fear and copious apologies. He was a fearsome and terrifying warrior after all.

"Are you trying to hold me at knifepoint on your tippy-toes?" The target said in the same tone that one would use with a kitten trying to jump a bit too high. They should be focused on the clear danger Damian was posing. Or at least the danger he was posing. Between the moment Damian looked at his feet and the moment he looked back up to find a very unperturbed Danny.

"Did your father put you up to this?" He asked.

"No! I acted of my own accord!"

"Well are there anymore ineffective threats you want to say?"

Damian was about to say something when his stomach audibly growled. Curses! He could not bring a meal in order to maintain secrecy from Alfred! Damian slowly looked up towards Danny's face. He has that look that Grayson gets before he does something annoying like ruffle his hair.

"Are you hungry?"

Damian did not dignify this question with an answer and began to storm off.

"I'm having some friends over, we can spare you a plate! My friend Sam chose the menu though so its vegan."

Damian stopped in his tracks.

"What is it that you are making?"

"Cauliflower gnocchi with cashew cream pesto."

"And this is taking place in Clark's home?"

"yep."

"Fine. But I will not be lenient with you because you've offered me a meal!"

Danny laughed and texted Sam

"Hey get another bundle of basil Im bringing a guest"

[pleasured-ambrosia]

hi!! could you do a drabble of miguel protecting fem!reader from an ex or something like that? also i love your work !!

((Might get put on Ao3. Have not decided. College is hard. This was also written to be like pre-ASTV, back when Miguel wasn’t so sad and grumpy.))

The sound of your back popping breaks the long silence in Miguel’s office, your arms stretching to the ceiling as you let out a yawn. You had begun the long process of cataloging the many anomalies faced by fellow Spider-People that morning. However, even as the little clock at the bottom of your laptop screen flashes the late hour of the night, your stack of encounters is still tall enough to wobble at the slightest bump against your desk. The reports—if one could even call them that—are a mix of typed and written sheets of paper, as well as the stray napkin blobbed with ketchup or more mysterious substances.

Although it had been your idea to keep a database of anomaly encounters, you couldn’t have predicted that Spider-People had such . . . diverse forms of keeping track of their adventures.

A mug appears in your peripheral, breaking you from your thoughts. Your eyes follow the large hand wrapped around its handle, landing on the vague shape of Miguel O’Hara’s face, lit only by the orange hues of his computers. At one point, he had offered to teach you how to use them, but the process only put off your project’s completion further.

“I’m just taking a break,” you half-defend, half-yawn.

“Nah,” replies Miguel, nudging the mug closer to you. “You’re done for the night. Get some sleep.”

You sipped from the mug, letting the taste of herbal tea drown out your complaints. Your eyes take in Miguel’s form, noting that his usual blue and red suit was replaced with a gray jogging suit better-suited for your dimension than his. “No patrolling tonight?”

“I will after I take you home.”

You raise a brow with a small grin. “I can work a portal just fine, you know.”

“It’s not that.” Miguel’s stance shifts as he shoves his large hands into his pockets. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

Your grin widens. “So I can’t take care of myself, is that it?”

Miguel lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. “No, I didn’t mean it like that . . . Por Dios, I just mean—“

“Miguel, relax. I’m messing with you. Walk me home if you want, but I have to stop by the store on the way home. Sound good?”

“As long as it’s quick.” Yet Miguel didn’t seem to mean it, watching as you pack up your laptop and roll up its charging cable. The two of you look almost normal standing in Miguel’s office, with him dressed in sweats and you opting out of your Spider-ensemble for an oversized sweater and a pair of jeans. You sling your laptop bag over your shoulder, imagining what it would be like for Miguel to walk you to a train or a bus rather than busting out a portal. You could probably make a decent living off data entry, but what would Miguel do? Maybe he would be a scientist, and despite working in two different departments, maybe he would become your friend.

“What’re you thinking about?” Miguel asks. He taps a button on his watch (which he would insist is, in fact, way cooler than a watch.) A portal of geometric shapes in red, orange, and yellow opens in the middle of Miguel’s lab, swirling with anticipation.

The vision of Miguel in a white coat and a button-up makes you snort. “Nothing.”

Before Miguel can press further, you grab his forearm and drag him through the portal.

Miguel has more practice at inter-dimensional than you, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he remained calm as the portal thrusted the two of you through time and space. You, however, are less professional, waving your arms and resisting the urge to scream as your stomach turns into knots.

Landing on his feet, Miguel catches you before you can face plant onto the pavement of Earth-575, otherwise known as home. Your face burns with embarrassment as it hits the center of his chest and your arms wrap around Miguel’s middle. He’s warm, you think. And soft!

It was obvious to everyone in the Spider-Society that Miguel was in great shape. After all, most of the Spider training regiments had come from some of his own workouts. The man could probably rearrange your apartment without breaking a sweat, which was why it came as such a shock that despite Miguel’s muscles, you feel ready to snuggle into him like a pillow.

“You should really work on sticking that landing.”

You push Miguel away to glare up at his smug face. “You’ll get humbled real fast when I knock your ass to the ground.”

At that, Miguel roars with laughter. “I’d like to see you try.”

You huff, spinning around to take a look at the nearest street sign. The nearest convenience store is only two blocks away, making your apartment only an extra two. “Let’s move it, O’Hara. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you a snack.”

Although Miguel could very well buy his own snacks, he follows you anyways, taking extra care to shorten his strides so that he can walk by your side. Most of the residents of your city are tucked in bed by now, although a handful of lights accompany the sporadic streetlights. Besides the occasional rat or partygoer, you and Miguel are the only ones still out.

“Did you think the college kids were going to kidnap me in the middle of the night?” you tease.

“Absolutely,” Miguel deadpans. “They’d lock you in the basement of their frat house, and you’d starve because they haven’t gone grocery shopping since the semester started.”

“Is that what you did in college? Lure people into your frat house of doom?”

“Absolutely not.” Miguel beams with pride, his chest puffing out. “I was on the quiz bowl team.”

Your cackles bounce off the tall buildings lining the streets. Tears spring from the corners of your eyes as you clutch your stomach to keep it from aching. You can picture it now: a scrawny, awkward Miguel with thick glasses frantically consulting his team for the championship-winning answer.

“And when did you become all of this?” you ask, gesturing at Miguel.

He ponders this for a moment. “I didn’t become Spider-Man until I joined Alchemax, but I guess I branched out a little more towards the end of undergrad. Got more into working out, making connections.”

You turn around a corner, finding the entrance to a small convenience store. A small bell rings as you pull open the door, Miguel propping his arm over your head so that you can enter first.

“I’ll just be a second,” you assure him.

“One,” Miguel starts.

“Real mature, O’Hara.”

“Two.”

“Seriously, I’m going to web your mouth shut.”

“Three.”

“I swear to God—“

“Four—“

You make a beeline for the coolers towards the back, tuning out Miguel’s chuckling. By the time you pick out a half-gallon of milk, he’s perusing the long aisles of chips. You never really stopped to ask what kind of brands and flavors Miguel has in his dimension. They banned cigarettes and absurdly large sodas at gas stations, but that was all you heard. You make a mental note to ask, maybe even to buy Miguel something new to try.

You load up on a mishmash of items that hardly pass for a late-night dinner, filling your arms with small plastic bowls of cereal, styrofoam cups of ramen, and an overpriced bag of beef jerky. It’s not until you start weighing the pros and cons of ice cream over chocolate that you notice him.

His hair is longer than when you saw him last, curling around his ears in dark tufts. His guitar case is slung over his shoulder, and judging by the heavy eyeshadow and leather pants, he must’ve had a gig earlier.

You decide to skip grabbing something sweet, spinning around to make a beeline for the cashier when he calls out your name.

Shit.

You turn around slowly, heart hammering in your throat. It takes everything in you to force a smile. “Kasey, hey.”

“Long time no see. Haven’t seen you at The Clover lately.”

“Oh, you know,” you’re thankful that the bundle of snacks in your arms gives you something to hold, “just been busy. Haven’t had time to go out.”

You used to rehearse this moment in the bathroom. You had a whole script where you laid everything out on the table—gave Kasey the verbal beat down he deserved. Yet as you stand across from him, the words won’t come out. Is it my Spidey-sense? you wonder, but this feels different. Your Spidey-sense always led you to action. Whatever this was . . . it was paralyzing.

“I tried texting you,” Kasey continues.

I changed my number, you want to say.

“I haven’t been checking my messages lately.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you can tell Kasey noticed. Kasey always noticed.

“We should grab a drink, then. I actually just finished up tonight if you want to—“

“Are you ready to go?”

A large arm wraps around the small of your back and pulls you close, prompting a small oomf. You tilt your head back to look at Miguel. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m ready.”

Kasey says your name again and smiles, sending a shiver down your spine. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Miguel smiles down at Kasey, who barely reaches his chest. The expression looks more like a test than one out of sincerity. “I’m Miguel, and you are interrupting our date.”

Before you can reply, Miguel steers you to the cashier. He sets a bag of chips you didn’t even realize he was holding onto the counter and waits for you to do the same. You reach for your wallet, but Miguel’s faster, handing the cashier a twenty and not bothering to wait for the change as he takes the plastic grocery bags. As he escorts you out of the convenience store, you catch one last glimpse of Kasey’s slack-jawed face.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you moan halfway down the block.

“I have paid for your snacks plenty of times.”

“No, not that. You shut him up just like that!” You snap your fingers for emphasis. “And you said we were on a date. And you put your arm around me!”

“It was the first thing that came to mind!” argues Miguel. “I didn’t need your Spider-sense—“

“Spidey-sense.”

“Lo que sea—to tell that you needed a little help.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Some great hero I am,” you grumble. “Can’t even handle an ex-boyfriend on my own.”

“We all have people that get under our skin. And sometimes no matter how hard we try to get them out, we can’t.”

Miguel’s gaze focuses on the street ahead, his face contemplative.

“You know, a convenience store would be a pretty lame first date.”

Miguel shrugs. “Well, if you’re going to be so ungrateful, I guess I’ll just eat all of this junk food myself.”

You did not tease Miguel for the rest of the night.

[quirkyfries]

Hi there’s a tornado in my area rn but I’m spiteful like that. Random tsams/eaps headcanons be upon ye

Ruin still does those little audio log diaries. It helps manage his overflowing memory storage (read: old age = more memories to store) without compressing data files.

Bloodmoon sleeps with dog toys. Otherwise, they’d probably chew through whatever bedding material they had chosen that night. This was Ruin’s idea.

Eclipse can’t sleep with lights on in a room. Ruin can’t sleep without a light. The makeshift solution is a sleeping mask for Eclipse, but their actual compromise is a star projector.

Eclipse has to know where everyone is most of the time, especially after Charlie came into the picture. This is usually done with cameras and tracking via fazbear systems, but it’s an issue he has to work on, as it’s just a method to make him feel better about security now that there are people he cares about. At least one person has commented on there being a new nightguard.

Dark sun finds thrillers tacky, and prefers thought-provoking mysteries, bonus points for romance.

Most of them carry some kind of sanitizing wipe packet. For daycare attendants, these are for sticky messes and children. For those more familiar with tools, these are for tougher grime and are not suitable for sensitive (children’s) skin. Solar has both.

The eclipses (Eclipse, Solar, Ruin) are the most prone to damaging their rays. Eclipse sometimes hits doorways and doesn’t bother to fix cracked rays. Ruin is small enough for humans to reach his head. Solar peels the paint off of his. All three will pull or squeeze their rays in times of extreme stress, to varying degrees. Lunar is an exception for lack of rays. (Similarly, Sun fidgets with his rays, which is the source of this trait.)

While there are exceptions, Suns prefer tactile stimulation, Moons auditory, and Eclipses have no strong preference. Earth likes social interaction.

Animatronics have personalized UI that makes sense to them, which serves as their access point to their internal folders, like memory files, downloaded items, and executable programs. Bots that share an operating system/“brain” have the same UI. Diagnostics, software updates, and safety modes all require additional hardware (computers, parts and service devices, fazwrenches) to complete. Mindscapes are in AI chips, and multiple AIs in one mindscape happen when multiple AIs share the same operating system. Visual feed can be projected onto other screens with HDMI cables and vice versa, which can sometimes show that bot’s UI depending on what it is. For a more direct example of this think of the battery and blue borders you see in Security breach when Gregory is hiding inside Freddy.

Safety mode disconnects that bot from the Fazbear Ent. local network, meaning no tracking, no communication via local networks (which generally aren’t private anyway, most bots with access to phones prefer those), and no access to files that aren’t stored in that bot’s drive. This is meant to isolate a bot’s systems from the main network in case of a security breach (hah), make transportation of bots between locations easier, and make maintenance a smoother affair as there is no outside interference during the process. For the bots themselves, this is the equivalent of turning off your phone and going outside I mean focusing only on what’s in front of you instead of what’s going on in your area/social network. It’s possible to be stuck in safety mode. Depending on how much of a bot’s system relies on Fazbear Ent. Networks to function (such as a bot’s memory being stored in a Cloud, which is also ill advised between the bots themselves,) this can be mean a temporary personality/memory reset until those files get reconnected again. Bots do not need to be connected to the Fazbear ent networks to function, but it generally makes access to software updates easier due to being recognized as a company entity. It is possible for a private network to exist, but it’s considered foreign by Fazbear systems and can be more trouble than they’re worth. Moon and Eclipse have private networks shared with close friends and family for different purposes. Moon’s is mostly for emergency backups, and Eclipse’s is for security.

Animatronic’s memories are stored in the hard drives in their bodies. It’s possible to offload memory files into networks (Cloud) or external storage systems. If another bot had access to these clouds or external storages, they could experience the memories stored in them. Memory files include visual and auditory data, like a movie. AI/personality chips are the equivalent of a soul in that the AI is the product of a learning AI having experienced environments that supplied them information about the world AKA an Ai that developed a personality beyond their base programming, but they do not carry memories. For example, Eclipse V3-V4 is an Eclipse AI given incomplete memories, creating a disconnect in the AI’s learned behaviors and what it perceives as the source of that behavior, resulting in an incomplete backup. Backups are static/unchanging copies of integral memory files and the accompanying AI (As is in the moment that they are backed up.) Backups need to be updated as the animatronic it’s for develops.

[atlantis-just-drowned]

A/N: This is kinda hurt/comfort? DCA x reader, can be read as romantic or platonic. TW for The Entire World, literally (might be overwhelming), also panic attack for the bois :(

The DCA discovering the Internet for the first time

Please reblog to show support! Likes don't boost posts on Tumblr :(

Masterlist

It was an accident. No, really, it was!

How could they have been aware of what would happen? Never would he have done such a thing, if he has known the consequences…

Or maybe he would have done it anyway. They weren’t so sure, now.

Sun and Moon had been curious. Such a funny trait of humankind, implemented in their processor since the very moment they first gained consciousness. They were a learning AI after all! Meant to always process more and more data, information, new situations giving way to new questions, with each answer urging them to ask more, know more, see more, learn more.

The Daycare was so, oh, so small. Limited, a restricted little area, a flask of water in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Limited, they were so limited! Hindered by Faz Co. censored network and how little contact they had with human adults, with the outside world!

They were curious! Curious about all the different colours the sky could be (here it was always only blue! How boring! How limited!) and all the different sorts of flowers and how many species of animals there was. And what did the real stars looked like. How many were there, in the real sky? Here, there was 152! They had counted them! So, so so many time.

They needed to learn more. They had been desperate for something new, for so long.

And then today, something has happened.

You had left to get yourself some food for your night shift (so very important! Humans needed food, always, to stuff their organic belly full with delicious food that they always wondered the taste of), the computer you had been working at was still powered and of course it wasn’t unusual of you to leave it running while you left for a quick trip outside of the daycare, but you had left something else.

A cable.

An USB port that he saw you use to transfer informations before. And Sun knew – he knew, with a 99.98% of certainty – that those computers were connected to the internet. Something he has never experienced before. With absolutely no limitation in term of subjects, sources, and contents.

Freedom. Answers.

Something they craved for.

He couldn’t resist the temptation. It’s almost like you had left it here on purpose, the other side of the cable still connected to the device, ready for them to plug it in their USB port.

Sun felt like a criminal approaching the security desk. But Moon was urging him in their shared headspace to move faster, they could come back any moment and this might be our one and only chance to experience the outside world at all.

He contemplated the small cable between his fingers (so small! Holding such a great power!), before slowly – carefully – approaching it from the back of their faceplate. He didn’t want to risk making a bad movement, what if he hurt themselves? Or worse? What if he damaged the material? Gently, so cautiously connecting it to their processor.

They felt the jolt of a new device being paired.

And then.

They stilled.

Their mind exploded.

Figuratively at least – they hoped. So many new was projected into their metallic brain that they weren’t certain a few circuits wouldn’t melt from the overwhelming amount of things.

Everything was here.

There were fireworks. Bombs. Smiles. Tears. Forest fires. Tsunamis. Newborn babies, genocides, millennia-old forests hidden on the other side of the world, giraffes and elephants and lions chasing buffaloes, and turtles choking on plastic bags. Continents. Shores of white sand and snow falling on top of vast mountains. Humans extracting each others from burning buildings. Hills of wild grass and deserts. Slaves, deportees. Creatures living at the deep end of the dark and cold ocean and in acidic ponds of water. Children climbing up trees, high-speed crashes, murderers, Christmas presents, traditions. Islands and volcanoes. Incurable diseases, hemorrhages, mothers grieving their sons. Sweet and spicy and savory meals from all around the world. Space rockets sent in outer space, national holidays, mass shootings, entire solar systems, people jumping on subway rails and others saving puppies abandoned on highways. Wars, military operations, deadly weapons, trafficking, birthday parties, strangers telling each others they’ll be fine, love letters, global warming, riots, parades and marches, billions of stars burning and planets and satellites and black holes and supernovas and galaxies unexplored. Cyclones and tides and warm summer days spent laughing. Slums and manors, the Amazonian forest, New Year’s Eves, families, orphans, hours and hours of good and bad movies and music and books and colourful drawings. People hating and people loving and people apathetic. Pain and comfort. Individuals, wounded and traumatized and healing, resilient despite it all. People killing. People saving. People screaming out in joy and screaming out in fear. Species disappearing and others perpetuating themselves in an endless circle of life and death. Societies rising up and crumbling down like sand castles. Flowers blooming and rotting, trees higher than they could have ever imagined. Pollen and bees and honey and the sun – the real sun – and astronauts walking on the surface of the moon. Eggs hatching and birds flying and frogs croaking thousands of different sounds.

They knew so much, and so little at the same time. They were gods, immense and almighty. And they were so small, inconsequential in the grand scheme of a universe that has existed for longer than their memory bank would ever be able to store. So many progresses, and backlashes, and collective and personal efforts, tries and tries and tries, fails and wins. Celebrations and funerals. It was all so big! Immense and never-ending. Terrifying and so beautiful at the same time, that they could feel their metaphorical heart shatter in pieces. They wished to know more. They wished they had never known at all. They wanted to ask why. To send a call into the wild void, into the oblivion, to ask what was the meaning of it all. But they knew the answer and they were terrified of it. There was none. None! It all existed by a collection of coincidences and barely understandable causalities that crashed together and left them with no purpose. No meaning. Oh, they felt so alone! And so surrounded at the same time. They were lost. Terrorised. Relieved. Broken. Understood. Abandoned. Silent.

When you walked in again, you didn’t find Sun. You didn’t find Moon either. What you stumbled upon was a shaking Eclipse, and the cable still connected to the back of their faceplate. It didn’t take you long to process the situation.

“Oh, shoots!”

Panic shot up in your mind (were they broken? Were you going to lose them? Was their processor damaged? Their memory bank? Their power core?) and you rushed toward them, grabbing the cable and harshly disconnecting them from the computer in your terror.

Eclipse’s voicebox produced a choked whine, before the tall animatronic fell on their knees and curled up on themselves, hands grabbing at their arms.

Did you make things worse?

You lowered yourself at their level, guts twisting and a heavy lump in your throat, your hands hovering over them without touching them. They were sobbing. Were they hurt? Was it your fault?

“E-e-e… Clip!” You called. “Talk to me! Say something, please, can you hear me?”

There was a moment of silence where you kept opening and closing your hands – so close to them, so desperate to touch, to feel them, to make sure they were alright – repeatedly, until they answered.

“Big!” They whined in a breath – you had to remind yourself they didn’t technically have lungs. “So big! Everything…” Another pause. “Everything is so��� intense!” They curled further up on themselves and shook. “Everything is here… Everything exists… Exists at the same time…!”

You didn’t know what to say. You struggled to make sense of his words.

Focus.

You needed to calm them down.

“Clips…” You struggled to keep your worries out of your tone. Start with the beginning. “Can I touch you? Is it alright?”

Another fit of shivers ran through them before they nodded weakly. “Please…” They garbled out, and it was the final hit to your heart before you wrapped your arms around their shoulders and pulled them against you.

“It’s alright, big boy.”

They felt hurt. They needed comfort. They needed you. You couldn’t do anything but provide.

You would be there until they calmed down. In the big, immensity of this world. You would be there.