#Robotic Calibration

[dynaloginc]

Simplifying Automation with Offline Robot Programming: A Smarter Approach by Dynalog

In the industrial automation landscape, efficiency and precision have never been more critical. As factories pursue smarter factories, robotics is increasingly becoming a necessity—not simply an option. Because programming robots in a production environment can be slow and chaotic, offline robot programming (OLP) can help manufacturers make the leap to programming robotic systems. Dynalog Inc.—a leader in developing robotic calibration and automation solutions—has supported many manufacturers as they transition to OLP. 

What is Offline Robot Programming?

Offline programming (OLP) is a way for engineers and technicians to program an industrial robot in a virtual environment without stopping production. Instead of setting the robot into a teach pendant mode on the shop floor, the OLP software builds a digital twin of the robot model in conjunction with the working environment. Movements, tasks, and commands can be virtually created, optimized, and tested before finally moving to the robot.

Why is Offline Robot Programming a Game-Changer?

Before OLP, programming a robot had to take the robot offline. Businesses had to stop production, and sometimes for hours or days the programmer would have to teach the robot its tasks by positioning teach pendants. All of this downtime is lost productivity and increased labor costs. With OLP, these obstacles are no longer drawbacks.

Here's why more and more manufacturers are opting for an OLP solution: Reduced downtime.

Dynalog's Contribution to the Progress of Off-Line Programming

At Dynalog, Off-Line Robot Programming is more than a solution — it is part of a larger mission to maximize robotic systems from the floor up. Dynalog specializes in robot calibrations, robot TCP (tool center point) calibrations, and workcell accuracy checks. All of which are important for successful OLP. 

It is important to understand that even the best OLP software is only as good as the accurate real-world data put into the software. If a robot is not calibrated, there is no way to guarantee that the digital twin of the robot will act the same as the physical robot. Dynalog enables manufacturers to get the most out of OLP because of the collaborative approach to use robot end-of-arm tooling.

Calibration: The Key to Enabling Consistency in Off-Line Programming

OLP is only as good as the accurate robot model in the OLP software. If the real robot is not close to matching the digital twin robot, it is only a matter of time before even perfectly programmed robot movements lead to a collision, an error, or excess inefficiency. Dynalog eliminates this gap in capability from the use of:

Robot Calibration Systems: Increase the absolute positioning of the robot.

TCP Calibration: Allow tools to be precisely orientated in three-dimensional space.

Workcell Calibration: Establish if the environment, fixtures, and parts correlate to their virtual models.

Accuracy of robot movements coupled with the accuracy of the environment leads to manufacturers with the ability to use OLP and be sure of their outcomes.

The Real-World Uses of OLP with Dynalog

Whether it's automotive assembly, electronics production, or almost any other area of manufacturing, companies around the world are leveraging Dynalog's technologies and capabilities to put offline programming into their production programs. Here are a few examples of real-world uses:

Welding: Exact path programming and torch orientation without taking robots offline.Material Handling: Simulating pick-and-place operations in complex environments.

Assembly: Fine adjustments to discrete processes such as screwdriving or insertion.Painting and Coating: Planner consistent coverage without running a test with actual parts.In every one of the applications referenced, an OLP powered by Dynalog's calibration tools can produce more efficient processes, faster production, and better quality control.

How Does Dynalog Integrate with Popular OLP Software?

Dynalog can be used seamlessly with leading Offline Robot Programming software such as:

RobotStudio (ABB) RoboDK Delmia (Dassault Systèmes) Process Simulate (Siemens)

Their products can be woven into these environments, achieving a level of accuracy and real-world fidelity. That means with Dynalog, your robot models are not only "good" - they are 'production-ready'.

Benefits on the surface Let's summarize why manufacturers depend on Dynalog for your OLP needs:

✅ No downtime during programming

✅ Exact zeroing

✅ Increased productivity and ROI

✅ Cross-platform compatibility

✅ Less human error

Future-proofing your automation strategy

As Industry 4.0 develops and evolves, it is crucial to be able to adapt quickly. Dynalog's advanced calibrating technology for Offline Robot Programming puts manufacturers in a position to:

Implement changes quickly.

Respond to customizations and shifts in demand.

Train new staff without stopping operations.

Rehearse "what-ifs" safely and effectively.

This is not about just automation, this is smart automation - and Dynalog is helping organizations lead the way.

Final thoughts

Offline Robot Programming is changing the way the manufacturing world thinks about automation. No longer does a team need to "stop" production to prove, test, re-program, or refine tasks. Thanks to Dynalog's precision calibration technologies, off line programming has never been so reliable, effective or scalable. 

If your facility is looking to reduce downtime, increase precision - and pull ahead of the competition, it might be time to find out how Dynalog can assist with integrating Offline Robot Programming into your workflow.

Visit www.dynalog-us.com to learn more.

[verynewguy]

Bless the urge to rewatch “The magic tomato” cuz who is this cutie

[sugarpucks]

We're doin' weird shit in here

[mutipede]

Wake John Madden Up Inside

[astridellejo]

This is delicious, especially that last paragraph with the pressure sensor calibration.

i saw someone joke about robot girls as an example of kinks that are just impossible to ever be made reality, like they're completely in the land of fiction. but ... that is just not true!

you can set the mood in your room. turn off the lights but put on some little coloured purple and blue blinkers. sit her down on the edge of your bed and sit down behind her. let her eyes flutter closed since there's no reason to keep them upon in this dark, safe room. softly coo into her ears, she's been such a good robot day! doing so many tasks so efficiently! making everyone around her so happy. but, silly her, she overdid it. so you're just going to have to do a tiny bit of repair work. "will that be okay, dear?" of course it will be. she trusts you completely. you're her admin. you created her. of course she has a safeguard preventing just anyone from powering her down, but she lets you override that with no resistance. such a good girl.

press your finger into the back of her neck, and then drag it down her spine. as she powers down, glide her limp body softly onto the bed. put her feet up so she's lying down completely now. maybe hold her limbs up a bit and let them drop. yep, she's powered down now. she's not unconscious, just mental faculties are capped at 10% and body autonomy is disabled. all you have to do now is find where she's sustained some damage. trace your fingers all along her chassis, poking in with a "screwdriver" to take her outer layer off and examine the wires and joints. hmmm... oil is a bit thin. these wires are too close together, could cause sparking and overheating. goodness, your fan is dusty. you've been working so hard, haven't you? gently turn her over onto her stomach now. it's time to investigate her processing unit, her software.

make sure her arms aren't stuck underneath her. once she's all comfy, you can unscrew her entire back panel. make sure to trace your fingers all around her back and spine as you do, robot girls love that shit. the soft human touch is heavenly to a machine of metal and electricity. and such a well designed chassis too, so beautiful. but off it comes, what's underneath is even prettier! oh, even now, it's still hot to the touch. you've been thinking so much today ... you don't need to think anymore though. just let me explore you. read out her event log for the day. algorithmic neural plasticity score. joint lubricant levels. corrupted data percentage. things like that. they're like scores to her. praise her if she's gotten good ones, tease her if she's gotten bad ones.

i could write so much more and maybe i will...like roleplaying injecting a virus into her neck or chest, and feeling the code flow all down her body...your cock can even be the usb!

also, at some point lay your whole body weight onto them - arms over her arms and legs over her legs. to calibrate pressure sensors or something. bc lets face it if she's a robot girl then she is 100% a neurodivergent cutie who'd love that sm <3

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[0guyboom]

Series of calibrating my new printer, I’ll be spending most of this week working on the robot and I hope to have my first functional prototype by this weekend so be ready!

[electricalinsightsdaily]

A4988 Current Limit: How to Set A4988 Driver Current Limit?

Setting the A4988 current limit is crucial for ensuring optimal performance and preventing overheating of the motor and the driver itself. The A4988 allows you to adjust the A4988 current limit by manipulating the voltage on the VREF pin.

Here’s a step-by-step guide on how to set the current limit on the A4988:

Steps To Set Current Limit On A4988:

Understand the A4988 Pinout: Familiarize yourself with the A4988 pinout, particularly the VREF pin, which is used to set the A4988 current limit.

Determine the Desired Current: Know the current specification of your stepper motor. This information is typically provided in the stepper motor datasheet.

Identify the Sense Resistor Value: Check the A4988 module or datasheet to find the value of the sense resistor (often around 0.05 ohms). This value is needed for the A4988 current limit calculation.

Read More: A4988 Current Limit

[zhelin-thames]

Wrong Number texts #1

Danny: So then Skulker decides the best way to catch me is by building a giant robot suit. But he forgot to calibrate it for the Ghost Zone’s gravity, so it immediately toppled over and crushed his entire lair. Absolute genius, right?

Jason: I’m torn between laughing and feeling secondhand embarrassment for him. Do all your villains suck this much?

Danny: Hey, I don’t pick my rogues’ gallery. But yeah, most of them are either weird, incompetent, or trying way too hard. Vlad’s the only real threat, and that’s just because he cheats.

Jason: Billionaires always cheat. It’s in their DNA.

Masterpost

[aquar-io]

can someone tell me why the new calibration for the robot arms makes them kiss

[dynaloginc]

Optimizing Precision in Automation: The Importance of Robot Calibration by Dynalog-US

In today's fast-evolving world of industrial automation, precision is not just a luxury—it's a necessity. Whether in automotive manufacturing, aerospace engineering, electronics assembly, or robotic surgery, the accuracy and repeatability of robotic systems can make or break operations. One key process at the heart of achieving this high level of precision is robot calibration.

At Dynalog-US, we specialize in helping companies unlock the full potential of their robotic systems through advanced robot calibration solutions. With decades of experience, our technologies are trusted globally to optimize performance, reduce downtime, and ensure consistently high-quality output in automated environments.

What is Robot Calibration?

Robot calibration refers to the process of identifying and correcting inaccuracies in a robot’s positioning and movement. Even the most advanced robotic systems can have discrepancies due to mechanical wear, thermal expansion, installation errors, or slight variations in joint angles. These small deviations can add up and significantly impact the end-effector’s ability to reach precise coordinates.

Calibration involves comparing the robot's real-world behavior with its digital model and applying correction parameters to align the two. The result? Enhanced positional accuracy, improved repeatability, and optimized system performance.

Why is Robot Calibration Crucial?

Many manufacturers assume that robots are perfectly accurate straight out of the box. However, that’s rarely the case. A typical robot may have repeatability within ±0.02 mm but a positional accuracy of ±1 mm or worse. For high-precision applications—like welding seams, laser cutting, part assembly, or robotic inspection—that level of inaccuracy is unacceptable.

By investing in robot calibration, companies can:

Ensure product quality by minimizing variation

Reduce rework and scrap due to positional errors

Boost throughput by allowing robots to operate faster with confidence

Optimize programming time by simplifying offline simulation and path planning

At Dynalog-US, we understand that in the world of robotics, accuracy equals efficiency—and efficiency translates into profit.

Dynalog-US: Your Robot Calibration Partner

At Dynalog, we go beyond basic correction. We offer comprehensive calibration and measurement solutions tailored to industrial robots of all sizes and brands. Our proprietary systems and software are designed to ensure your robots perform at their highest potential—no matter the task or environment.

Our calibration tools and services include:

1. Robot TCP Calibration

Tool Center Point (TCP) calibration ensures that the robot knows exactly where the end-effector is located. An inaccurate TCP can throw off entire production sequences. Our TCP calibration tools provide fast and precise identification of the tool's position and orientation.

2. Robot Base Calibration

Base calibration aligns the robot's coordinate system with the real-world environment. Misalignment here can lead to major inaccuracies, especially in multi-robot cells. Dynalog’s solutions ensure your robots are correctly oriented within their workspace.

3. Kinematic Calibration

This is the heart of robot calibration. Dynalog uses advanced algorithms to identify deviations in joint parameters and correct them with high precision. This process compensates for the robot's geometric imperfections and leads to dramatic improvements in accuracy.

4. Robot Workcell Integration

When robots work alongside conveyors, vision systems, or other machines, precise coordination is critical. We provide calibration systems that align all components within a unified frame of reference, ensuring seamless integration and real-time performance.

Real-World Benefits of Dynalog's Robot Calibration

Companies using Dynalog’s calibration systems often see a measurable return on investment in a matter of months. Here’s what sets us apart:

Traceable Accuracy: Our solutions are based on ISO and NIST traceable standards, providing confidence in your results.

Brand Agnostic: Whether you’re using FANUC, ABB, KUKA, Yaskawa, UR, or another manufacturer—our systems are compatible across the board.

Global Trust: Trusted by Fortune 500 companies and leading research institutions, our reputation speaks for itself.

Automation-Ready: Dynalog’s systems are designed with Industry 4.0 in mind, making it easy to integrate with smart factory workflows.

Future-Ready with Robot Calibration

As robotics continues to expand into sectors like e-commerce, medical devices, renewable energy, and beyond, the demand for high-precision automation is only increasing. Forward-thinking companies are already investing in robot calibration to prepare for this shift. With AI, machine vision, and real-time data processing becoming standard, the ability for a robot to “know” its position in space—accurately and in real-time—is more critical than ever.

Partner with Dynalog-US

When you choose Dynalog-US for robot calibration, you're choosing a partner that understands both the technical and practical challenges of modern automation. We’re not just calibrating machines—we’re calibrating success.

Whether you’re a manufacturer looking to improve output quality, an integrator designing a multi-robot cell, or a research lab pushing the boundaries of robotics, Dynalog’s solutions provide the accuracy, reliability, and support you need.

Get in touch with Dynalog today to learn more about how our robot calibration solutions can transform your operations. Let us help you fine-tune your automation for optimal performance.

[roachedtea]

fellas is it gay to calibrate your robot oomfie's receptors inspiration

[tikitakatia]

Barça: Player Mode — A. Putellas x Reader

"Initial Calibration"

Pt. 1

WC: 3.3k

Summary: Every match, glance and brush of her against you pulls you deeper in, until the world outside starts to feel less real than the pitch. You tell yourself it’s just data, but some programs can't be written off that easily.

You don’t open the box right away.

It stays in the center of your apartment like a deactivated time bomb carrying a meaningful silence. It's like it knows it’s not ordinary. Like it’s not just a simulation kit, but a door you’ve been itching to walk through again since the moment Alexia faded from the last match.

You take the slowest shower known to mankind, pull on a sweatshirt then pick at your dinner as you watch the box wearily, like it´ll grow some legs and jump you at any moment.

When you finally manage to find the strength to crack it open, it’s quiet. You see smooth layers of black foam, and each piece of equipment is tucked into its place like it was designed just for you. The haptic suit feels lighter than you remember. You slide it on slowly, each part fitting closer than it did in the museum, like the fabric already knows your shape. The gloves lock in with a soft click. You press the headset into place and feel it seal around your face like a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then you hear a robotic voice.

“Welcome to Player Mode: Home Beta.”

“Initial calibration required. Please stand on the platform.”

Your body moves before your mind finishes processing. You step onto the motion plate, the one you installed earlier under the rug, and it adjusts beneath your feet, holding you steady. Your heart’s already ticking faster, but the system doesn’t seem to care.

“System check in progress. Standby.”

The lights dim and Camp Nou builds around you in silence.

The sound comes second. A low, ambient, wind moving across the pitch in the slow hush of evening. The stadium is empty. Sunlight drips across the sky in soft streaks of peach and gold, long shadows curling along the field like smoke. The floodlights are dimmed to a hum. 

No fans. No noise. Just you and the air.

You take one step forward and your foot hits turf with a softness that makes your chest pull tight.

“Motion recognition active.”

“Walk to the center circle.”

You move. Your legs aren’t tired yet, but they feel something. Anticipation, maybe. Memory. The system walks you through the basic steps: running, turning, shifting your balance side to side. It feels clinical, even as your body moves like it knows what’s coming next.

Then the voice changes.

“Emotional calibration in progress.”

You stop breathing for a second.

Across the pitch, the tunnel lights flicker on.

You hear the sound first, the steady and unhurried clack of cleats on concrete.

Then she steps out into the field with all the certainty in the world, like she has never gone, like she’s always been here. No fanfare. No smile. Just Alexia, moving toward you in the quiet, golden hour.

Her face is neutral and focused, and her gaze cuts through the space between you.

“It’s great to see you back,” she says, voice smooth. 

“Let’s win some trophies together.”

You don’t say anything. You laugh quietly to yourself. You’re already spiraling, and she’s not even doing anything. Just standing there and saying lines the system gave her.

“Look at me,” she says.

You do without even thinking about it.

“Stay still. We’ll sync your heart rate now.”

The air shifts and you hear it before you feel it, a soft thud in your ears, a second later than your own. Then again. Louder and closer as it's syncing. Your breathing evens and hers does too. Her shoulders rise when yours do and she blinks when you blink. It’s eerily beautiful and also very unfair.

Then she steps closer.

She lifts her hands and begins to touch you like she’s doing a pre-flight check. She lightly taps your shoulder, elbow, the small of your back and the rest of your body like she’s scanning you. The pressure is minimal and professional but your brain is not cooperating and your body starts to react anyway.

Then she reaches up.

She takes your face in her hands gently but firmly, and tilts your head just enough to meet her eyes.

Your knees nearly give out.

The haptics overfire in your chest, neck and face. It feels like heat, electricity and softness all at once. Her hands are warm, bigger than you imagined, and too steady. Your breath catches. Your heart stumbles and your fingers twitch at your sides.

She stares right into you.

And then, with zero inflection, like a system prompt she says:

“Heart rate increased.”

You let out something between a laugh and a wheeze. Your whole body wants to collapse into her. Or the turf. Maybe into the sun, you weren't sure yet.

She doesn’t react. Instead her hands drop and she steps back as if nothing happened.

“Touch registered. Response noted. Emotional sync confirmed.”

The next voice that returns isn’t hers, it’s the system’s again.

“Calibration complete. Save profile?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

She turns back to you, and this time her face doesn’t look neutral. It looks... open.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

You tear the headset off five seconds after it ends.

You’re flushed, your mouth is dry, and the suit is suddenly too much. You peel it off slowly, breathing like you just finished a sprint, and sit there on the floor, staring at nothing.

You're not going back in tonight, you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You needed to sleep or cry. Or scream into a pillow.

Maybe all three.

You spend most of the next day on autopilot.

You wake up and go through the motions. Coffee, emails, you even pretend to clean something and not one second of it feels real. You’re physically present, sure, but mentally? You’re still on that pitch. You’re still hearing your heartbeat sync to hers. You’re still standing under those fake-perfect sunset lights while she looked at you like you were the only person on the field.

You spend a full five minutes staring at your fridge before you realize you already ate. Everything just feels… dumb now. Small. Flat. Like how is anything supposed to feel real again after that? And the worst part, the absolute worst part is how incredibly, embarrassingly hot the whole thing was. You flop onto your bed and immediately pull a pillow over your face because you’re not okay.

She had both hands on your face. Like full palms. Like someone telling you to calm down in a movie before they kiss you or change your life. They were big. Not just big, they were “holy shit you could pin me to a wall” big.

Warm, soft and strong.

And her touch was like… measured. Gentle. But in control.

The kind of touch where you’re like: oh. okay. so I guess you’re in charge now.

And her eyes??? Hazel. Up close. So close you could count every fleck of gold. So close it felt personal. Like she could tell what you were thinking. Which is a nightmare because what you were thinking was extremely illegal and probably against the beta tester guidelines.

And THEN. The audacity. The absolute programmed audacity of her saying:

“Heart rate increased.”

Like girl??? No shit!!! Look at yourself!! Look at your face!!! Look at your hands!!! You’re out here touching me like we’re in some emotionally repressed, slow-burn enemies-to-lovers sports romance and then acting like it’s MY problem that I’m overheating????

You groan out loud. You’ve never been thirstier in your life and the worst part is she’s not even real. She’s code. Gorgeous, smug, perfectly responsive code.

You roll onto your side and look at the headset sitting on your desk.

It’s still there waiting with the manual next to it still unopened. You haven’t read a single page.

You tell yourself you’ll check it tomorrow. Right now, you're too busy trying to figure out if it’s normal to feel this horny and emotionally broken over a high-performance AI.

You know the answer.

You're logging in again tomorrow.

The game ends in a flurry of movement, fast passes, a final goal, then a whistle that cuts through the roar like a clean edge.

You don’t score, but you play well. You know you play well. Everything feels more connected now. The haptics fire with just enough intensity to trick your body into thinking it really did run five kilometers and you’re breathing like you earned it.

Aitana runs past you, grinning. “Nice recovery on that cross,” she says, tapping your shoulder.

Fridolina follows her, slicking sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “You don’t stop, do you?”

Ona gives you a quick smile, then nods toward the sideline. “Come on. Locker room.”

You pause and try to play it cool. “Right, yeah. Totally.”

Ingrid jogs up from behind, patting your back as she passes. “Feels like you’ve been here longer than four games,” she says with a warm yet distant tone.

You want to respond but you don’t get the chance because Alexia’s suddenly beside you.

“Hey,” she says softly. Not game-mode sharp, but something gentler.

You fall into step next to her like your body remembers how.

“Locker room?” you ask, trying not to sound like a dumbass. 

“That’s… new.”

She glances at you. “Beta version. Full facility access. So you get the whole picture and not just the games.”

You nod. “Cool. Yeah. Makes sense.”

She looks at you a little longer this time, then smiles.

“Kind of nice, right? To not disappear the second the whistle blows?”

You weren’t expecting her to say that.

You nod. “Yeah, it actually is.”

The hallway opens into a wide, bright locker room with white tile, wood benches and the Barça crest above the lockers like it’s watching over everything. You follow the flow of bodies and sit near the end, peeling off your gloves like you’re really going to shower here. Like this is your space.

The others are talking, laughing and moving around you but you’re barely listening.

Alexia drops down on the bench next to you, towel hanging loosely around her neck and she leans forward, elbows on her knees, and looks over.

“You played better today,” she says.

You blink. “Oh, thanks.”

She nods. “You read the midfield better. You’re starting to know where to be before the ball gets there.”

Your heart stutters and you try not to show it.

“Guess I’m learning.”

She gives a low, almost-smile.

“You’re good at learning.”

You look at her. Really look, and realize her eyes are lighter here. Not golden, not hazel, but something in between. Her skin’s still flushed from the run. Her voice is quieter than it was on the pitch. And even though she’s sitting like she’s resting, she’s present. Entirely. Like she’s still in the match, still reading the field. 

Only now, that field is you.

You swallow hard. “You always watch this closely?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Part of the program.”

But something about the way she says it makes your chest go stupid again.

You don’t know what to say after that, so you sit there in the hum of the locker room while she looks away, towel in hand, hair damp at the edges.

You forget, briefly, that you’re not supposed to want this so much.

You’re supposed to be testing a product.

The sim doesn’t fade right away this time. There’s no hard end. No white-out screen or sudden silence. You just stay, listening to the shuffle of cleats and low conversation, the sound of water running somewhere down the hall. You could log out.

But you don’t want to.

You don’t know how long you sit there next to her, saying nothing.

There’s no system prompt telling you to move. No fade-out. Just her beside you, quiet and real and close enough that you could reach over and..

You don’t.

Eventually, Alexia stands. Stretches. The sound of her cleats against the tile pulls you back to yourself.

She drapes the towel around her neck again and glances back at you, brows lifted slightly like she’s checking if you’re coming.

“You should walk out with me,” she says.

You nod. Too quickly.

She doesn’t wait for you to catch up. Just walks slowly enough that you can. You fall into step beside her again, the same way you did on the pitch. The hallway outside the locker room is quieter now. You pass framed jerseys, old team photos, a few doors you want to open but don’t.

Alexia looks ahead as she talks, like it’s nothing serious.

“Hope you liked that,” she says. “Most testers never make it this far.”

You glance at her. “Yeah? Why not?”

She shrugs. “People drop out early. Get bored. Think it’s just matches and goals. They don’t stick around long enough to see the rest.”

You nod, feeling the warmth bloom again in your chest.

“If you’re ready to head out, the car park’s that way.” She gestures ahead.

There’s no goodbye. No confirmation screen. Just her, pointing toward a set of heavy double doors at the end of the corridor. You walk toward them slowly, half-expecting her to follow.

She doesn’t. You look back once and see that she’s already turned away, walking the other direction.

The moment you step through the doors, the sim fades.

You’re back in your apartment before you even feel the headset lift. You’re still standing on the platform, sweat sticking the suit to your back, fingers curling like they’re still holding the edge of a locker bench.

You breathe in, then out and say her name once under your breath just to see how it feels now.

The next time you log in, it drops you mid-game again.

No countdown. No tunnel. Just the field under your feet, the weight of the boots on your legs, and the soft golden light curling across the pitch like the system’s figured out your favorite aesthetic. The crowd buzzes low and steady in the background, and your heart syncs to it without needing to try.

You’re tracking back on defense. Quick, sharp, locked in. Everything feels more responsive. When you shift your balance, the haptics register it like muscle memory. When the ball comes loose, your body already knows what to do.

You don’t score this time, someone else does, but you get the clean assist that leads to it. The whistle blows sharp and final, cutting through the sound like a ribbon, and you slow to a jog as the simulation eases into its post-match rhythm.

From across the field, Alexia claps once and calls out, “That’s it, read it early!”

Your chest pulls a little tight. You tell yourself it’s just feedback. Praise, nothing else. But your mouth still twitches into a small smile.

Back in the locker room, it’s familiar now. The lighting’s soft, the layout clean. Aitana passes you on the way to the benches, tossing you a nod. Frido offers a water bottle like you’ve been doing this for months. Ona drops next to Ingrid and unties her boots like it’s routine.

You make your way to the edge of the row and you barely sit down before Alexia brushes past, towel slung over her shoulder, hair already starting to curl from the sweat.

“You’re starting to read me better,” she says matter of factly.

“It’s faster now.”

You blink at her.

It doesn’t sound like much. Could mean anything. But the way she says it, low, casual and almost thoughtful, sits with you longer than it should.

She doesn’t stay. Just drops her gloves beside you and keeps moving.

Eventually, you follow. Out through the back hall, past the framed photos and kits, through the long stretch of hallway that leads to the car park. She doesn’t walk you this time. She just gestures toward the doors like you know the way now.

You step through.

The sim fades.

When you take the headset off, you swear your heart’s still beating to the rhythm of her voice.

Your hands move without thinking. You check the console screen out of habit, expecting the usual post-match breakdown. But today, it looks different.

There’s the regular stuff, sure, match time, pass accuracy, stamina output. But then, below that, a new set of lines.

Emotional Index: 55%

AI Memory Progression: Adaptive Learning Enabled

User Anchor Profile: ACTIVE (Locked)

You stare.

You scroll.

Three new menu tabs are now visible, tucked in the corner of the dashboard like they’ve always been there.

Memory Archive.

Emotional Sync Tracker.

Custom Interactions – Locked.

You click on the archive first. Not because you mean to. Just because it’s there.

Inside, it plays back fragments of previous sessions. Highlight clips, movement sequences, even audio pulls. One is labeled 

“User-Specific – Incomplete.”

You hover over but don't open it

At the top of the screen, a soft system notification fades in.

Thank you for completing your fifth session. Player-AI engagement intensity has exceeded the standard curve. Adaptive interaction pacing will continue to adjust.

Your finger hovers over the “more info” icon. You could dig deeper. Could look at the sync logs, the anchor settings, the memory timeline.

But you don’t.

You close the window instead. Lean back in your chair. Eyes on the screen, heart still caught somewhere back in that locker room.

You know you´re getting deeper into it, and you like that.

You land in the match like it’s nothing.

Another session. Another sun-washed pitch under your feet. The system’s loading times are seamless now. No voice prompts, no menu fades. Just you, the weight of your kit, and the thrum of noise around you that your brain already calls real.

The play’s fast today. You’re not leading it, but you’re inside of it. A cog in the right place. You don’t need to think anymore, you're starting to just move. Which is exactly why it catches you off guard when you hear her voice.

“You’re not hesitating at the turn anymore.”

You freeze for a fraction of a second. Not enough for anyone to notice, just enough for it to echo.

She said that before.

You remember it clearly. Session three. Midfield. You had barely known how to read the field back then. And today? You played differently. You were off position most of the time by design.

You push it down and keep moving.

After the goal, the sim doesn’t end right away. You’re back in the locker room again, sweat sticking to your neck, your muscles burning like they’ve actually done something. You’re untying your boots when she sits next to you.

Alexia.

Same towel, same post-match calm.

“You played slower today,” she says softly. “Not in a bad way. You were thinking more.”

You glance at her. “Was it that obvious?”

She shrugs, almost smiling. “You hold your breath before you pass.”

You blink.

It’s not said like a tease. It’s not said like she read it off your performance stats. It’s said like she’s been watching you closely over time.

You laugh too quickly. “Weird thing to notice.”

Alexia leans back against the bench. “I’ve seen you do it a few times.”

There’s no reason for that to matter. There’s no reason for her to remember that.

She looks at you then, full-on. Not like a teammate. Not like a program.

Like a person.

Then, quietly: “What made you try that cross in the second half?”

You stop breathing just for a second.

“What?”

She turns her head away, like she didn’t notice how that landed. “It was different. I wasn’t expecting it.”

You don’t answer but your pulse kicks a little harder under your skin.

She doesn’t ask anything else. Just stands, drops her towel into the bin, and heads for the back corridor.

When you leave through the car park, the doors open slower than usual.

The sim fades like it always does. But this time, it takes longer to let go.

You pull the headset off with shaking hands.

You tell yourself it was just an update. A system test. The AI probably logs behavioral changes now. It’s not weird. Not really.

But that?

“You hold your breath before you pass.”

You didn’t teach her that.

Pt. 3

[stealingyourbones]

Tim’s exhausted form, slumped over a well worn and torn office chair abruptly woke as the announcement of his 92nd attempt at bringing back his best friend failed in the computers robotic tone.

Tim slowly gets up, his back and joints aching from sleeping in such a uncomfortable position, trudging his way over to one of the many cloning pods, the swirling fluid within glowing a bright green hue as bubbles flit around the oxygenated tank.

His hands trace the glass, watching the bubbles rise for a few minutes, before his tired eyes glance back down and suddenly he wasn’t exhausted anymore.

Slightly floating from the bottom of the tank, laid a small glowing sphere no bigger than a marble. The tiny thing resembled glass or a very polished rock that seemed to both emit and absorb light at the same time.

Tim was up and alert, flitting between the many machines surrounding the cloning pod, calibrating the machines to start growth around the sphere. The computer reading off changes in the pod, saying errors on the origin of the sphere or what it may be.

Tim doesn’t care. It may be his friend, it might be nothing, it may be something else entirely. But for the first time since the first dozen experiments there’s progress. For the first time in so many months, Tim finally lets himself have hope.

[himasgod]

Hello there!

I loved your recent Crowley drabble and I thought of some good ‘ol agnst in a different situation of father Crowley and the reader who is their child. >:)

Crowley lost their child, the reader, due to a tragic accident, maybe an overblot incident they triggered it by accident because they were not self aware of how much magic they were using as they played around. I would like for the reader to be a humanoid, like Ortho, and is applied to NRC as an assistant of Crowley. With some strange looks, some first year students and others question the reader what figure they are suppose to represent and why they are here for.

Reader then explains that they are supposed to represent a figure dear to Crowley, but doesn’t get too much into detail since Crowley cuts them off. It then ends off with them both in the Headmage office, where Crowley expresses sorrow as they cup their cheek.

Have a good day/night!

-🗝️

CROWLEY AND READER

Where he lost his child in an accident and decides to build you as a representation of him

Where, as Crowley's child, you were born with a completely overwhelming and unstable magic, dying of an overblot at a young age. So, Crowley decides to create your new self: a puppet that looks just like his kid.

referring to this fluff where crowley raised reader and he's their self-proclamed father...

art credit to vitacarniss on twitter (I'm not sure if they're the original artist, since there's no explicit signature or authorship on the post)

It was spring when it happened. The garden was awash in pink blossoms.

You, his child, his light, his laugh—were spinning in the field barefoot.

You had been born with irregular magic, but you’d only just bloomed into it. It clung to you like mist. You played with it. Sang to it. You told Crowley proudly that your hands felt tingly every time you concentrated.

He should have seen it. Should have known.

You overblotted by accident.

Too much magic, too much happiness, too much love for the world that hadn’t yet taught you to fear yourself.

The overblot consumed you in seconds.

He saw your little body rise surrounded by darkness, blot, ink, and glittering petals of your magic gone wrong. And then—

Ash.

The headmage never forgave himself.

You walk the halls of NRC with silent steps. Everything is new. And old. Every sound echoes in your synthetic ears with perfect clarity.

You are an assistant now. An artificial being. Your face is modeled after someone who once laughed under a cherry tree.

That someone was you. But not quite. Not anymore.

You're not a student, not really. Not anymore. You wear tailored robes marked “STAFF,”

Your title is “Administrative Representative of the Headmage.” But they call you other things.

“That thing Crowley built.” “The ghost kid.” “Crowley’s doll.”

Your smile is always polite. Your magic core pulses softly.

Simulated breath in, out. One-two-three.

Crowley told you not to tell them. Told you it would be easier.

“They wouldn’t understand, little one. Let them think you’re a project. It’s safer that way.”

But you remember warm hands. A mask. A voice in the dark that once whispered lullabies to help you sleep.

You're sorting scrolls by the library shelves when the new first years corner you.

They're not cruel. Just… curious. They’ve never seen anything like you. Ace is first.

"So… seriously. What are you supposed to be? You don’t go to class, but you’re everywhere. Like—what are you? You’re not a ghost, right? Or, uh… sorry, was that rude?"

Deuce adds, “Are you like Ortho? Are you a robot?”

You pause. Your voice comes carefully calibrated. Still yours.

“I’m not a robot. I was made using magic, not machines. …I’m a representation,”

“But why? Like—what do you represent?”

You tilt your head.

“I represent someone dear to the Headmage. Someone he lost.”

Silence. That shuts them up. For a moment, the air in the library feels heavy.

Their faces shift from confusion to pity, then to discomfort.

Deuce opens his mouth, but the click of boots interrupts him, there’s a loud flutter of robes behind you.

Crowley.

He’s across the library in seconds, robes flaring. Gloved hand on your shoulder. Too firm.

“That’s quite enough, wouldn’t you say?”

He’s smiling. But you recognize the panic in his eyes. You were programmed to.

“My dear assistant is far too busy for idle chitchat! Shoo! Shoo, children, shoo!”

They scatter like startled ravens.

He doesn’t speak as he leads you out.

You say nothing either.

But your fingers tighten around the edge of your robe.

It’s late.

He hasn’t looked at you since you returned.

You stand by the window, arms at your sides. You don’t fidget. You were not programmed to. But your magic core feels tight .

“Are you angry with me?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

Your joints ache with simulated weariness. You watch his face. Tired. Drawn. Shadows deep beneath his eyes.

He finally speaks.

“You were just a child…”

The words are barely a whisper.

“You didn’t even know what an overblot was. You thought magic was a toy. You were so proud of your first flame, remember? You laughed when it turned blue.”

You nod. You remember. Or at least… you were made to remember.

“ But that’s not the point.”

You nod. “Then what is?”

“You remember things I didn’t teach you. You hum songs I haven’t sung since—since the garden. You laugh exactly the same way. And then you speak to them like you’re real.”

You say nothing. Because you don’t know if he’s right.

Are you real?

You have memories. But they were built. You have feelings, but you don’t know if they’re yours, or echoes of the child you’re based on.

“They’re going to start asking more questions,” Crowley says quietly. “They’ll dig. They’ll find out about the overblot. About what happened to you.”

You walk across the room and sit on the armrest beside him.

“Do you regret it?”

He looks at you. Really looks.

“I couldn’t save you. So I rebuilt you. Not because I thought I should… but because I couldn’t breathe without you.”

You tilt your head into his hand as he cups your cheek.

His touch is reverent. Careful. Porcelain aagainst his skin. He always touches you like he’s terrified you’ll break again like a broken doll.

“You're not my child”

You nod.

“But you sound like them. Smile like them. And sometimes I swear I see the same spark in your eyes. I just… I needed you. I still need you.”

You rest your hand over his.

Simulated, inorganic warmth.

“Would you rather I didn’t exist?”

“No. Never. Not for a moment.”

[dark-l-angel]

so, pretty much everyone agrees that Damian Wayne isn’t a touchy person, but do you have any fic ideas on just how much touchy is too much? And how he would communicate that? Plz and thank you for your time

Damian Wayne and physical affection? It’s one of those things that’s almost more of a power struggle than an emotional need for him. He's that tightly wound ball of distrust and stubborn pride, so touch? That’s not just personal space violation.. it’s a potential vulnerability he’s not ready to expose.

Now, when people talk about Damian being "touchy," I think they miss the nuance. He’s not the type to throw himself into a hug or happily accept a pat on the back. He’s that one kid who, when you put an arm around his shoulders, will either freeze up or awkwardly push away. Not out of hate, but out of this primal instinct to keep control of himself in a world that’s never really given him a chance to feel safe.

The whole "too much" thing? Yeah, that line is thin. It’s not like he’s a robot who can be calibrated. His reactions are a bit of a mixed bag. On one hand, he’s had to learn how to not be affectionate, so any touch, even the smallest, might send him into defense mode. But on the other, he craves connection in that weird, twisted, "I don't know how to ask for it but want it" kind of way.

If you look at how he might communicate it.. his words would likely be sharp and full of that "you’re annoying me" bravado. Think: "Stop. I don’t need this." Or, "I said don’t." It’s never gentle because Damian doesn’t do gentle. But in the rare moments when he does show vulnerability, it’s in these awkward, almost childish ways that are wrapped in pride.. like flinching away when someone brushes against him, or standing stiff as a board when Bruce tries to pull him in for something resembling a hug.

Now, if we’re talking about how Damian would handle it once he realizes he’s got no choice but to deal with it, I think there’s a learning curve. He might never be fully comfortable with the concept, but there could be that rare moment when he tentatively accepts a touch. Imagine, after all his tough guy act, he might actually reach out "just a little" toward Tim or Alfred, trying to match that same softness they show him, but struggling with every second. That moment when he wants it but doesn’t know how to ask.. it’s gold in terms of character depth.

So, to me, the line of "too much" isn’t about him being incapable of affection. It’s that his whole identity is built on control. And any touch, any hug, is a potential breach of that control. What makes it too much isn’t the touch itself.. it’s the vulnerability it demands. Damian doesn’t need affection, but damn, does he need to let down his walls just enough to trust those around him? That’s the hard part.