#Signals Trading Bots | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevadancitizen · 1 year ago

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-> CH. 1: A SILENT DOG & STILL WATERS

synopsis: the soviet union has been producing robots for a long time based on a miracle compound: polymer. but that was invented in 1941. the current year is 2038, and, due to rising tensions in the arctic, americans aren't as kind to soviets as they once were. it's too bad you're a russki, and it's really too bad that you work in cybersecurity. and honestly, with the case fowler has put you on, you're at risk of losing your job. it doesn't help that you're stuck with lieutenant hank anderson and some new android apparently called connor.

word count: 2.6k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: based on an au i literally had a dream about. it's basically d:bh with elements of atomic heart :P this ch. is half exposition and half hank being an alcoholic lolololol

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The Soviet Union had always been very good at spying on and stealing American technology. They did so with the atomic bomb, the B-29 superfortress, and the space shuttle – with no lack of effort on America’s side of trying to keep them secret.

But one thing set the USSR above the rest: polymer. A miracle compound that formed the backbone for every technological evolution that came after. It mimics a human neuron, including its ability to interpret input signals. With tinkering from top Soviet scientists (and a whole lot of luck), a gigantic neural network was established, the maximum computing power of which was orders of magnitude higher than the power of a conventional network.

With polymer, the Soviets reigned supreme as the only real international superpower. The other countries could play at being powerful, but the USSR was top dog – and she wasn’t keen on letting the others forget.

But that was in the past. And the past is boring. That was in 1941, and something you learn about in history class. Polymer is now regularly sold and traded and built upon and shared. After the Cold War ended, it was expanded outwards and is no longer a precious commodity. It was even needed to build a modern technology – androids. Ones that could pass the Turing test, unlike the TER-A1 Tereshkova (which was a human-looking robot, sure, but one that had an unsettling, unmoving mask for a face).

And androids are simply better than Soviet bots. They’re versatile and able to be mass-produced without specialization development. They’re not big and clunky like the chimpanzee-esque MA-9 Belyash and can still accomplish the same installation, plumbing, and welding work. They can do the same agricultural work an ARU-31/6 Rotorobot can do without the risk of accidentally endangering humans while in use.

Again, they’re simply better. In the current year of 2038, American androids just trump similar Soviet tech in every way.

But that doesn’t mean that the Soviets aren’t still trying. They’ve invaded the Arctic with intent to claim the land, heavy with NA-T256 Natasha bots and the claim that the “heavy-duty ground-based loader bots can squeeze up to five liters of blood from a human body in under twenty seconds,” as a deterrent to American forces.

And this action has made your workplace a hell away from home.

Even though you immigrated from Chelomey, Russia to Detroit, Michigan in 2027, before all this business went down, people still eyed you warily – like you secretly enjoyed living under communism and the ever-watching eye of the Kremlin. Like you were just itching to get your grubby little paws on American secrets so you could report them to Comrade Molotov and a beautiful girl back home called Katya. Yeah, right.

These small, under-the-breath and glance-of-the-eye accusations weren’t helped by your current occupation: as a screen jockey for the Head of Cybersecurity of the Detroit Police. They acted like you hadn’t worked just as hard as everyone else for your position – for your polymer glove and the privileges that came with it.

Polymer gloves have come a long way from their prototype in 1955. They’re a single fingerless glove – one glove, as a person doesn’t need two – with an adjustable wrist strap. In the middle of the palm is a small silver star that can retract to expose prehensile, tentacle-like wires that can interface with terminals and other technology.

But it doesn’t stop there – with a single gesture (holding your hand out and making an “L” shape) the glove can scan the surroundings of the user. Paired with an artificial polymer retina, the user can have information about the environment that they otherwise wouldn’t have.

And, of course, you’re outfitted with the top versions of both – on the precinct’s credit card, obviously.

But, again, you’re just a screen jockey. One of the best, but still just a worker bee that reports to a higher-up. There’s little to no interaction with the other departments, as cybersecurity is mostly isolated without any related crimes. Maybe cyberterrorism, but cases of that are few and far between.

And you thought that’s all you’d ever be until you heard Fowler’s bellowing voice call your last name.

When you pop your head up from behind your terminal, you see him standing halfway through the glass door to his office. You swallow and trot over, a nervous idea tickling the back of your mind. Is he mad? Did you do something wrong? Shit… did you accidentally leak something?

You push open Fowler’s door and slowly shut it behind you. He’s sitting behind his desk, stark against the blue-grey backdrop of the wall behind him. His constantly furrowed brow and permanent frown lighten a little when he sees you.

You fold your hands behind your back politely. “Yes, sir?”

Fowler gestures to the seat in front of his desk. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. You definitely did something wrong.

You walk over and sit in the chair. It screeches with a horrible sound.

You lean back in the chair and cross your arms. “What is this about, sir?”

Fowler leans back in his chair and drags a hand down his face. Immediately, the worst things pop into your head. You fight the urge to worry your bottom lip.

“You have experience with androids, yes?” Fowler asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question – rather, a statement.

“Yes, sir.” You nod.

“And you have experience with Lieutenant Hank Anderson?”

Your eyebrows furrow a little, but you still nod. “Yes, sir.”

Fowler turns to his terminal. “How do you feel about him?”

You bite your bottom lip as you think, then let it slip from your teeth. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s my friend. He is still a valuable member of the force, even if he has presented a few problems in the past couple of years.”

Fowler laughs. “A few?”

“Ah…” You smile, but it’s a bit forced. “More than a few. A lot. More problems than solutions, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s just how it goes sometimes.” He shrugs and sighs. “Do you know about the new case he’s been assigned?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “He won’t shut up about it.”

He hums and leans forward, resting his chin on folded hands. “Always one for discretion, that one.”

You duck your head, instead looking down at your lap. “Yeah. But I think he can do better – be the cop he was before.”

“An optimistic Soviet.” Fowler laughs lowly. “That’s a new one.”

You just clench your jaw and meet his eyes. “What is this about? If you’ve called me in just to poke fun at me and gossip about Hank, I’d like to go back to my desk. Uh, sir.”

“No, no.” He holds a hand up. “Tell me what you’ve heard about Hank’s case.”

You think for a second. “Deviant androids murdering their owners. It sounds like it would’ve been labeled self-defense if it was a human-on-human crime, but…” you shrug. “I’m not in Homicide. I’m in Cybersecurity.”

“Well, you’re getting some experience.” Fowler pulls a cord from his terminal, one you recognize as a port compatible with a polymer glove. “You’re on the case.”

“I’m on the case?!” You repeat in disbelief. “Sir, I – I don’t –”

He holds up a hand for the second time. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re the best screen jockey with the most field experience I can spare.”

He gestures with the cord still in his hand. “Now, c’mon. Jack in and download the files.”

You swallow your objections and outstretch your gloved left hand. The thin metal of the star retracts, and the prehensile wires extend towards the port, waving like blades of grass. The ends of all six find their homes in the port, still wiggling like black tapeworms.

Documents appear in the corner of your eye, one after another, like pop-up ads. You blink hard to dismiss them, then disconnect.

Fowler feeds the cord back into his terminal, then leans back in his chair.

He looks over at you. “What’s that one saying you Soviets say? Something about champagne.”

You look up at him, then down to your glove. The star retracts, then goes back to its original position, like it was winking at you. “He who doesn’t take risks won’t drink champagne.”

“Well, I hope you have a taste for harder liquor,” Fowler says. “Hank’s at having a drink somewhere nearby. Go find him.”

And Lord, did you know right where to find Hank.

On the door to Jimmy’s Bar is a firm warning, reading: NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED – OWNERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. You just hope that they don’t extend the same kindness to russkis.

When you open the door, everyone in the bar turns to look at you. You nod and, once they see who you are, turn back to their conversations or nursing their drinks.

You spot Hank at the bar with what looks like a Tennessee whiskey. You sidle up onto the barstool next to him, easing into the creaky seat. As you drape your rain-speckled coat on the back of the chair, you glance at the clock on the wall. It reads just before twenty past eleven.

“Bartender?” You call. Your thick accent immediately catches his attention, and so does the money you slide onto the bartop. “Vodka, please.”

The bartender, presumably Jimmy, picks up a bottle of Stolichnaya from the shelving behind him. “This good?”

You nod. “More than good.”

He pours vodka into a tumbler glass, then pushes it across the bar. You accept it readily, and the tiny sip you take gives your throat a nice burn on the way down.

“A Soviet and vodka,” Hank mumbles against the lip of his glass. “Like a moth to a flame.”

“It’s what my mother served with dinner,” you say. “I’m just glad Jimmy’s got enough sense not to keep us from his bar.”

Hank chuckles and raises his glass to that.

“Fowler’s gone beyond the pale.” You sip at your drink. “Have you heard?”

“Yup.” He sighs, setting his drink on the bartop harder than necessary. “Don’t know why a kid like you has business with an old timer like me.”

“Oh, believe me,” you say, your voice heavy with sarcasm. “It’s nice to visit, but it’s better to be home. I don’t know what he’s thinking. A Cybersecurity worker partnering up with someone in Homicide? Next, we’ll have androids doing our thinking and philosophy instead of our laundry and dishes.”

Hank snorts into his drink. “Hell, with all these runaways? They might as well be.”

“I mean, I can see his line of thinking.” You swirl the vodka in your glass, watching the way it catches and reflects the low light of the bar. “Cybersecurity, androids… makes sense, but me? A russki? With all that’s happening in the Arctic? If we don’t do well, my job is on the line.”

Hank sips his whiskey. “It really sounds like Fowler’s settin’ you up to fail.”

“Setting us both up to fail.” You correct and mirror him, sipping at your vodka.

The sound of the door opening and the rain outside cuts into your conversation. Nothing you’d usually take a glance at, but what puts you off is the sudden silence of the bar. Bars shouldn’t be silent – especially not Jimmy’s.

You look over your left shoulder and see a nice looking man that’s just walked through the door. He looks a bit dorky, sure, and a bit like a lost puppy dog, but that could look nice on certain guys. And the asymmetrical tuft of loose hair that’s escaped his hair gel looks –

There’s a blue triangle just above where his left breast pocket would be. On the other side of his blazer reads RK800 in even, white text. He’s an android, not a man. He meets your gaze and you inhale sharply.

Your eyes return to your drink, and so does Hank’s. This isn’t what you want to deal with right now – or ever, actually. It’s Jimmy’s establishment, so it’s Jimmy’s problem.

But still, as soon as the android saw you, he started making a beeline for you. His footsteps are quick, measured, and even.

“Excuse me,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder. He addresses you by your title, and your gut clenches.

“No.” You try to wave him off. “No English. Sorry.”

“Officer, you passed each of your TestEaFL’s with flying colors,” he says, narrowing his eyes a little. “You can speak English perfectly fine.”

You cringe a little, but then a thought strikes you – how would this android have access to the scores of your Test of English as a Foreign Language? But before you can ask, he’s turned to Hank and started speaking.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson.” He moves so that he’s standing beside Hank. “Just the other person I was looking for.”

He glances between the two of you. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. Captain Fowler said that you were both having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”

You snort and your eyebrows shoot up. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that there was a hint of… something other than monotone indifference in his voice.

“What do you want?” Hank grinds out.

“You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android.” Connor glances at you, like he’s reminding you that you were also assigned this case. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

“Well, I don’t need any assistance.” Hank jabs a thumb at you. “I’ve got all the unwanted assistance I need right here, and I don’t need any more. ‘Specially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil’ robot and get the fuck outta here.”

“He’s right,” you chime. “And it doesn’t really look good to have androids investigating androids. What if you snap, too?”

“I will not.” Connor meets your eyes, and you can almost see the switch flick in that little android brain. Great, now it’s your turn to be grilled.

He circles so that he’s standing beside you and leans down a little, putting his hand on the bartop. You keep your eyes down, firmly on your drink.

“I’m sorry, Officer, Lieutenant, but I must insist,” he says. “My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany both of you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Hank chimes in with a throaty laugh.

You glance over at Connor, who looks thoroughly confused. You smile and bring the glass to your lips.

“No,” Connor says. “Where?”

Your throat seizes around the sip of vodka you were trying to take, causing you to cough it out as you try to suppress your laughter. You slam down the glass (effectively spilling most of it) and bring a hand to your chest, trying to ride it out as Hank pats your back.

“чёрт возьми!” You wheeze, your voice hoarse. Your chest burns. “Oh, fuck.”

You wipe your eyes as the burn dulls, still coughing slightly. Connor purses his lips before coming to a conclusion.

“You know what?” He offers. “I’ll buy you both one for the road.”

“You better,” you say. “You made me spill mine.”

“Bartender!” Connor calls, and slips money onto the bartop. “The same again, please.”

“See that, Jim?” Hank says. “Wonders of technology. Make it a double.”

Jimmy pours a healthy amount of Jack Daniels into Hank’s glass, and starts to pour Stolichnaya into yours. You cut him halfway with a raised hand and a “Someone’s gotta drive us home safe.”

You knock back your drink, then let out a low whistle at the nice burn. Hank follows soon after and sighs heavily.

He leans back and looks over at Connor. “Did you say homicide?”

#riptide writes 🌊#head of false security #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you #connor rk800

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ferrocyan · 2 months ago

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lit fuse

after a good while of trading blows, the brute bomber stops their back-and forth momentum by making his way towards the ropes. undeterred by the fires coating the ring perimeter, he reaches over the ropes and picks up something. a canned drink, by the looks of it, though it must be much larger than normal to be visible held within the soulshifter's massive palm.

"don't mind me, throat's a bit parched!" the brute bomber cackles. he saunters back to the ring center, cracks the top of the can open and chugs its contents down in one go.

before tart can respond, a refereebot makes its way in. "banned compound detected. combatant disqualified," it states to the fighter.

"shut up!" yells the brute bomber. he punches the bot and sends it flying. "no more distractions!" his voice is accompanied by cackling from the maw on his chest.

it's going towards the stands. without a second thought, tart dashes after it and leaps on top of the ropes to intercept. the bot collides against his arms with a loud bang!, though he holds fast to it without issue. the enlarged scale of the arena makes it easy to keep an even footing.

the noise calls all eyes in the stadium to souleater. he pays them no mind for the moment, because the bot in his hands blinks in green plus signs at him. tart then turns towards the brute bomber, and finds just what he's looking for.

his lips stretch into a grin. so that's how it is. the draught his opponent consumed has intensified his aetherflow, thus increasing his power. not by much, though—that he finds curious. so he asks, "what are you up to?"

"whaddya think?" the brute bomber throws his arms wide. "just gonna squash ya real quick, don't worry your little head about it!" his laugh is an uproar with two mouths.

"not the one worried, am i?" tart shoots back. he lets the refbot go then, and it floats safely out of the audience's sight. "so the champion of the arcadion needs more enhancements to beat a mere human, is that right?"

the brute bomber guffaws. "yeah, scared?! we don't play games here, outsider! i'm gonna crush you!!"

tart bursts out laughing at his words. his tail has to lash out forward to maintain balance atop the rope. the brute bomber commits an act of doping, but the match isn't stopped, and there was only a token show of reprimand from the management. in fact it's quite obvious from the bot's signal that the act is approved. and besides, this is more theatrics than outright cheating. so what in the seven hells could this match be if not playing a game of pretend?

"now, big brute," tart cries out in a drawl, "why don't i make this more fun for you?" he strides across the rope, on the way clicking off the fasteners and belts of his coat. he arrives at the corner pole and jumps on top of it, then takes off the coat and belt covering his stomach. he makes a show of dropping them down on the outer corner of the ring, out of reach from brute bomber's flames, then turns back to face his opponent.

the brute bomber's grin is fading into a grimace, then furious growl. tart watches it with glee. "just to help you out, i've doffed some. getting a bit warm in here, isn't it?" he taunts. too bad they can't see me wink, too.

his lower half is still clad in armored trousers and steel-toed boots, but all that remains on his upper half are a cropped sleeveless shirt and the helmet. "not this one, though," he taps the visor, "keen on the look of it, y'see."

"oh, i see, alright," the brute bomber cracks his knuckles, settles into a grappler stance. "i see tear lines for me to rip you in half!!"

tart blinks. "what?" the brute bomber points at his stomach—oh! his scars: the one across his stomach, and two along his back, all together make a near-continuous line dividing his midsection. tear lines?! "what?!" tart screeches and breaks into more hysterical laughter. "no one's ever told me that before!"

his leap back into the ring lands shakily, and the brute bomber wastes no time to rush him. still snickering to himself, tart evades his blows by the skin of his teeth. ferocity takes in the bomb king's heat, and tart purrs in anticipation. alright, maybe playing pretend's more fun than he thought!

#tart the wol #my writing #just remembered this one!! hello please enjoy my cringe ass catboy having his moment at m3

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signalcli · 24 hours ago

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SignalCLI Under the Hood: Magic, Math, and Some Very Busy Bots

“Transparency!” That’s the buzzword that’s gotten quite popular around our SignalCLI office lately. And trust me — we absolutely get how important it is. But for our management, transparency seems to mean, “Hey guys, can you quickly explain all our internal mechanics?” And for us, it translates to taking years of hard work and condensing it into just one or two articles. Sounds fun, right? Well, let’s dive in!

The Magic (Minus the Magic)

So here’s how it actually works (spoiler: it’s not what you’re thinking). When our trade bot needs a signal, it reaches out via API to our crystal ball, which is vigorously shaken by Sophie, our marketing director. The crystal ball then responds, typically starting from “please stop shaking me” to “here’s your signal.” Inside the crystal ball, there are tiny gnomes (like dwarves, but a whole lot smaller) who continuously shake fairies, asking them to predict the future…

That’s the scenario you expected, right?

Well, sorry to disappoint — but we don’t actually have a crystal ball. What we do have is our IT director, who tends to operate a bit like a crystal ball himself. However, shaking him doesn’t end well (trust me, I’ve tried). If you need something from him, an email usually does the trick. If it’s urgent, a text might be better. And if it’s “omg-extra urgent,” a cold beer is your safest bet. He’s quite responsive to gentle bribery. Now, on a more serious note, here’s what’s actually powering our platform:

Familiar (and Not-So-Familiar) Indicators: MACD, RSI, Bollinger Bands — the same old stuff you’ve probably glanced at and then promptly ignored. Well, guess what? We didn’t ignore them — we actually put them to work. And those aren’t the only ones, either. Our platform incorporates a wide range of indicators, from popular tools like the Fear and Greed Index to indicators so obscure even I, a reasonably experienced trader, hadn’t heard of them. But yes, they exist, and yes, they really work. And credit where it’s due — our brilliant architect (a.k.a. our IT director) along with his talented IT team made it all happen.

Public Data: Order books, market feeds — the kind of information anyone can access if they have enough patience (and enjoy watching paint dry). We do actively use it — quite extensively, actually. Our data collection spans everything from rapid-fire 1-second charts (they exist, though they’re not exactly easy to grab) up to long-term 1-year charts (surprisingly interesting, and yes, those exist too).

Secret Math Sauce: Alright, this part is strictly ours — custom-built analytical modules, conceived by math geniuses and brought to life by IT wizards (that’s how I’d describe them anyway). It’s all internal, proprietary, and tangled up in about a billion licenses and NDAs. Honestly, just mentioning these modules seems to require signing a mountain of paperwork — and rumor has it, some signatures even involve blood. Hey, don’t look at me; I’m just sharing the rumors!

AI That Never Sleeps: Imagine having a relentlessly productive intern who crunches data non-stop, learns incredibly fast, never gets tired, and (best of all) never asks for a raise. That’s our AI — continuously analyzing and refining signals in real-time. He’s easily one of our organization’s favorite team members, and for good reason: all he ever asks for is a bit of electricity and some TLC. Practically human — minus the sleep, of course!

Throw all those ingredients together, give it a good mix, and voilà — you’ve got the core formula powering SignalCLI. Easy enough, right?

Modes for Different Folks

We’ve got several trading modes, and they’re not just cleverly named to sound cool (though, admittedly, they do sound pretty cool). Each one uses a unique mix of indicators and AI modules designed to suit various trading styles. And of course, each has its own carefully tuned configuration:

Classic Mode: Think of this as your trusty old car — reliable, consistent, but admittedly slow. Rumor has it this mode might soon head into retirement, so maybe give it one last spin if you’re feeling nostalgic.

Full Guard Mode: Your overly cautious friend. Always double-checks everything, trading only when absolutely sure. Perfect if you’re someone who likes to think things through carefully before jumping in.

Quickfire Mode: The caffeinated decision-maker — fast, sharp, and perfect for those who can’t stand waiting (let’s be honest, that’s most of us).

Reckless Mode: A bit nuts, like skydiving without a parachute and hoping for a trampoline at the bottom. Extremely high-risk, incredibly high-reward, and thrillingly accurate more often than you’d expect.

The Bots That Never Blink

Every trading mode is powered by its own dedicated bot, tirelessly working around the clock. They don’t sleep, eat, or complain — in fact, they’re our employees of the month, every month. These bots continuously place trades, monitor wins and losses, and diligently keep score.

Curious about where to find these scores?

Homepage: Real-time live feeds and summary statistics, available to everyone dropping by.

CLI Dashboard: VIP treatment for our paid subscribers, showcasing detailed, zone-specific hit rates and comprehensive performance insights. Pretty neat, right?

Now, on a more serious note: How exactly do we achieve what we do?

Jokes aside, here’s a simple breakdown:

Indicators: A wide variety of indicators form the core of our platform. Each has been thoroughly validated by traders and mathematicians to ensure accuracy and reliability. Each indicator also has extensive configuration options for fine-tuning. How many indicators do we use in total? Honestly, I stopped counting after the 25th — and even then, I’d barely scratched the surface.

Proprietary Analytics Modules: Our custom-built analytics modules analyze market charts, detect patterns, cross-reference those patterns with our indicators, and then determine a clear trading direction.

Custom-Built AI: Our AI system takes the results from analytics modules and indicators, evaluates them against historical data, and calculates the most probable market direction based on current conditions and configurations.

Remember how I mentioned in one of my previous articles that a key reason we focus on short-term trades is because the human brain just can’t process this volume of data quickly enough to yield accurate, immediate results — unless, of course, you’re some sort of genius? That’s precisely why many expert traders and signal providers often settle for long-term predictions.

Now you can see why. Frankly, I doubt many people — if anyone at all — could handle this amount of data processing manually. Thankfully, we’re living in an era where this heavy lifting can (and absolutely should) be handed off to machines. SignalCLI is living proof of this idea in action. And hey, just wait until quantum computing enters mainstream use — that’s when the real fun will truly begin! On a side note, this is me rooting for AI-based signal platforms in general. Of course, I consider SignalCLI to be the first — and in my opinion, the best — platform of its kind, but more broadly, I’m a strong advocate of this entire movement. Think about it: in today’s exchange markets, you’re essentially competing against powerful algorithms backed by enormous processing capabilities. Wouldn’t it be somewhat naive to dive into this battle without having your own powerful assistant by your side?

If you still prefer going it alone — great! After all, exchanges are exactly that: a place where funds flow between participating users. That just means traders like us, who do use sophisticated signal platforms, get to profit from those who don’t.

At the end of the day, it’s all about using every tool available to navigate these heavily algorithm-driven markets. In Conclusion:

So, to answer everyone who’s asked, “Do you guys just flip a coin to predict trades?” — Nope. In fact, flipping a coin rarely gives a perfect 50/50 outcome; realistically, it’s closer to a 52/48 split due to subtle biases and natural variations. And while we’re on the topic, here’s another interesting fact: If 1,000 people each flip a coin 10 times, eliminating anyone who flips “tails,” there’s about a 97–98% chance you’ll end up with exactly one person standing — someone who flipped “heads” ten times consecutively. This statistical anomaly becomes noticeable at around the 1,000-person mark, illustrating just how powerful (and sometimes surprisingly counterintuitive) statistics can truly be!

But back to our platform: Could our approach be seen as magic? To some, definitely. Even with my technical background, it sometimes feels magical to me too. In reality, though, it’s simply advanced mathematics executed at lightning speed, continually cross-referenced against historical data. And the result? Clearly displayed on your screen: “ENTER NOW, DIRECTION: UP.”

Sometimes, the most complex processes produce the simplest, clearest outcomes.

May the profits be with you! Enjoying the content? Awesome! If you’d like to support me, you can send USDT (BEP20) to the wallet below: 0x7241275b9D37CcF0621480fD408CFf401762c485 Your support keeps content free and accessible to everyone — thanks!

#crypto #cryptocurrency #futures trading #finance

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dearestscript · 2 months ago

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petitelepus · 1 year ago

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TFA Jazz x non binary bot reader fluff please and thank you

I know you are sick my friend so I wrote this to cheer you up! Remember guys, I'm currently taking only Demon Slayer Requests!

You were humming happily this human song that played on your inner radio. You were a small little car that was brought to life with this piece of thing called AllSpark. You were cute as a button and had a sweet personality to match it. When you were found by Autobots they had offered you a place amongst them and it honestly sounded like a deal too good to pass.

So you were just minding your business and enjoying the breeze of wind against your windshield when your radio suddenly buzzed, signaling that someone from the base tried to reach you.

"Hello?" Came Optimus' voice and you smiled, "Hi there Boss!"

"Where are you at?"

"Just enjoying some fresh air. Why?" You asked and you could almost hear Optimus frowning on the other side of the line, "I need you to come back to base. We have visitors."

"I'll be there in 5 or 10 minutes!" You replied as you took a turn and made your way to the Autobot headquarters. Once there, you transformed and walked in, only to find that your team leader Optimus was almost face to face with this dark blue bot who you didn't know.

If you had to describe what was happening you would say that it looked like Optimus and this other bot were about to trade kisses with their fists, but the only reason stopping them was standing between them. A white Autobot with a blue visor, this one was also a new one to you.

"Whoa, what's happening in here?" You asked as you walked over to your teammates and the dark blue bot scowled at you, "This is the new member of your crew? Taking in a bot created by these organics…!" The bot looked disgusted for some reason, "That is so your style Optimus."

"Sentinel, you should know that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It matters what they do with their life." Optimus defended you and you almost saw hearts. Someone had been watching your movies!

"Hi there, so you are Sentinel?" You greeted the rude bot and he nodded but decided to not waste his words on you. Okay then, it was his lost. You turned to look at the white mech and you introduced yourself.

"That's a sweet name." He smiled as he offered his hand to you, "My name is Jazz."

"That's a groovy name you got!" You smiled as you shook hands with him. Once you were all introduced to each other, Optimus explained that Sentinel and Jazz had come to Earth to take reports about Decepticon activity and would leave in a couple of days.

You nodded, "Okay! How can I help?"

"Just keep an eye out for any suspicious activity and report back to us if you see or hear anything." Optimus said and you nodded as you saluted him, "Yes sir!"

So you kept your eyes open for any suspicious behavior, all the way to early nighttime. You were enjoying some oil in the abandoned factory's yard that served as the base for Autobots when suddenly someone whistled. You looked over your shoulder and saw Jazz approaching you with a can of oil of his own.

"Hi there! Hopefully, I'm not intruding or anything?" He asked and you shook your helm.

"None at all!" You smiled as you patted the spot next to you, "Have a seat!"

"Thank you." He smiled as he took a seat next to you and sipped his oil.

"You must be tired after tonight." The white bot suddenly said, but you only smiled and shook your helm, "Nope! I'm full of energy!"

"Are you sure you’re not tired? Because you’ve been driving through my mind all day." Jazz suddenly said with a smile of his own and you blinked as the flirt sank to your mind and your optics widened as you smiled, "Aww, that was really smooth! You're living up to your name!"

"Thank you, you are too nice." Jazz nodded, "I also wanted to apologize on behalf of Sentinel. He can be a gearstick in the aft."

"Now who is being too nice?" You chuckled and he laughed, "Hey, I know I'm leaving in a couple of days… But would you like to take me out? Sentinel may not like organics but I am curious about everything."

"That sounds like a ton of fun!" You smiled excitedly as you finished your oil and got up on your pedes, "I have to show you the music your name is referred to!"

"Jazz is music here?" He asked and you nodded eagerly, "Yeah, and it's very good! Just like you are!"

"Now who is flirting?" Jazz chuckled as he put his oil down and got up, "Show me the way?"

"Follow my example!" You laughed as you transformed and Jazz copied you before the two of you took off, driving in to enjoy Detroit's nightlife.

#cybertronianbunny #transformers #reader #reader insert #transformers animated #tfa #optimus #optimus prime #jazz #sentinel #sentinel prime #Short and cute #ENJOY!#writing #my writing #story #my story

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planet-of-the-machines · 6 months ago

Note

I will say that bit of history does shed some light on things.

About three years ago, when our fine outpost was actually at it lowest point, under thorough assault from a disassembly team that actually took the firepower our outpost defenses held as a challenge, we actually had to put the base under lock down.

I had set up a killbox in one of the entrances. Plastic Explosive, Nuclear sludge, and some plasma cells brainstorm had fashioned into what could generously described as Claymore mines. Everything had been sent to vent the blast out of the doors. Problem at the last moment, they'd deployed signal jammers, presumably to prevent communications, but it disabled the remote triggers. They would have to be triggered manually, from inside the killzone. I didn't like the idea of sacrificing anyone, but my assistant Spike had already gotten down there, locked the entry, and was halfway through jury rigging a dead-bots switch just In case the Murder drones were quicker on the draw by the time anyone realized he wasn't in the command center with us. I was yelling for him to come up with a trigger that wouldn't need him to be in the room over the intercom (which was busted, but I thought he was just ignoring me) when Hardhead noticed that the drones were now pinned down outside the killbox.

That Gladiator and his crew managed to take out the drone that was tearing into the front door, and the rest retreated under heavy fire.

After talking down Spike, we let Megatron and the drones with him in.

I won't go to into the ethics and details of our discussion, but I gave the go-ahead for repairs for Megatron's group, some surplus ammunition and supplies, a list of known Jcjenson locations, and other still standing outposts (trade routes and salvage locations) and allowed him to give a recruitment pitch to the whole outpost population.

About thirty drones, worker and heavy, chose to go with him out of our population of 350.

Considering what else you've said, I've been thinking about why he didn't attempt a hostile takeover. Maybe the have their own base already, maybe the fact that we actually had fought back hard enough against the dissasemblers, maybe some other reason. Either way, we still get some messages sent back from the ones who left without their families.

As for an actual question, for the class; if there was no issues of personal safety or travel limitations in the way, where on earth would you want to visit?

-From the Director of operations of outpost 15

Galen Cerebros

P.S. Apologies if my ramblings cause any emotional distress.

What places are even left? When Boulder's dad, Scavenger, surveyed the frozen swampland that's become of DC, he found orders in an underground military databank from the president during the Flash to send at least one N2 mine toward every city with over 500,000 residents on the planet. This, in addition to the carpet-nuking (for lack of a better term) of North America, Europe, the Soviets, and East Asia I think hard-head outlined shortly before the breach.

-Heatwave

True. But if you're talking about places that aren't cities, I'd like to visit whatever's become of Niagara Falls. Even if it's frozen over, I'm certain there's a spectacular ice structure where the waterfall was.

-Boulder

#anon ask #tfrb heatwave #tfrb boulder

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coinruleofficial · 6 months ago

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monetarifund · 2 years ago

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Copy Trading with Monetarico’s Expertise

In today’s fast-paced and ever-evolving financial landscape, achieving financial success can seem like an elusive goal for many. However, with the advent of copy trading, a revolutionary concept that allows individuals to replicate the trades of successful investors, this dream is becoming more attainable than ever before. Copy trading harnesses the power of social investing by connecting traders from around the world and enabling them to share their strategies and insights.

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jessicaalltick · 4 months ago

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blade-liger-4ever · 2 years ago

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RWBY X Transformers Partnerships 1: Qrow Branwen and Wheeljack - Death from Above

"I gotta warn ya, pal. I'm a bad luck charm."

"Bad luck charm, huh? Let's see if we can put that to use."

"...Pardon?"

"Scientifically speaking, your little power would work on everything EXCEPT for where you're standing, right? So, if you were to just sit on my shoulder, or ride along in my chest compartment, and we go behind enemy lines..."

*a lightbulb clearly turning on in Qrow's brain* "I like the way you think, Sports Car."

Shortly after the portal shenanigans, I think Wheeljack would find himself in Vale. Once he wakes up, he'd transform and try to contact the others, staying in V-mode while he scans his surroundings. Somehow, he picks up on a signal that has both a similarity and a dissimilarity to energon, and needing to keep himself functioning, Wheeljack would investigate and find a shipment of Dust in the dockyards. Confused but unable to resist that scientific urge to know how these weird rocks work, Wheeljack rips open a cargo container and lets some refined Dust fall into his hand. After he's scanned it and found that they're (relatively) safe to ingest, he'd shrug and down the mouthful.

The catch? It was Lightning Dust. And he just ate like thirty of these suckers.

Cue Wheeljack now hyperactive and doing all manner of scans on the shipments of Dust, quickly figuring out that Dust shares many of its compounds with energon and that, while obviously having side effects on Cybertronians, it won't kill them in the long or short term. However, Wheeljack's transformation and rapid running between different cargo containers has alerted the authorities to his presence, and after a mild confrontation, the Wrecker scientist takes off at a much higher speed than normal.

He's driven about thirty miles before the lightning aspect of his meal wears off, and as he finds a place to recover and figure out what to do, a crow flies into him just as he transforms. Looking down, Wheeljack's surprised to see the bird turn into a human male, not to mention radiating a strange energy. Knowing protocol for human-Cybertronian meetings is likely a lost cause here, Wheeljack bends down and picks up the man to make sure he hasn't suffered a concussion - then badgers him about how he transformed and is perpetually generating a weird energy.

After a few minutes of snarking, questioning, and legitimate conversation, Wheeljack learns this human is named Qrow (with a Q, the man stressed), and is a Huntsman trying to learn what's still going on at the remains of Beacon Academy. Figuring he can help and knowing he needs a guide if he's to find the 'Bots, Wheeljack convinces Qrow to let him drive the Huntsman there. On the drive, Qrow casually explains about Grimm, Aura, Semblances, and the level of technology they have, listening with interest as the Wrecker explains about Cybertronians, their planet, the war, the factions, as well as the Wreckers themselves.

Though they don't usually bond easily with people, Qrow and Wheeljack find they have similar mindsets, and a friendship quickly forms as they scout the remains of Beacon. Blasting and slashing some Grimm on the way in and out, Qrow decides to take Wheeljack back to Patch with him to figure out how to find his friends - and get him Dust without breaking over fifty international laws.

When together, Qrow and Wheeljack tend to be the resident snarkers, always managing to annoy the strictest of people while endearing themselves to the kids, especially the likes of Ruby and, to an extent, Mercury and Neptune. They trade banter as if they were old friends, watching each other's back from the ground and sky respectively, and work together on weapons' projects. Wheeljack can't help but be impressed by Qrow's weapon, Harbinger, praising the ingenuity of it and lightly ribbing him about how his daughter inherited his brains.

Coincidentally, this would probably be the moment Ruby discovers her true heritage, and since Wheeljack got a scan of their DNA, there's no going back from the Wrecker's slip. This is the first time their friendship is strained, but more surprising is that Wheeljack finds that he's the one who has to make someone face the truth. He picks up Qrow before the man can go for the bottle, and after a short argument, Wheeljack points out that Qrow's been throwing his life away and letting his own daughter live a lie. Sure, it doesn't matter if it's him, but what happens to the one who looks up to him if he dies?

"Fact is, Sunshine, Ruby's been following in your footsteps since she could waddle. You can mourn, you can drink, but you'd better be ready to right things between you, 'cause otherwise one of you is gonna lose the other, and whoever's left is gonna be kicking themselves until they find a way to join you in the next life."

This manages to get through to Qrow, but he points out that Wheeljack was oddly specific in that dressing down. Wheeljack has to admit that Smokescreen had been following him around for a few weeks one time, and after one mission nearly got them both killed, he realized just how much he had to clean up his own act. After this moment of bonding, the two become like brothers, spending time with Ruby and Smokescreen while still kicking Decepticon tailpipe and fighting off Salem's forces - aided greatly by Wheeljack's alt-mode and Qrow's bad luck power, something that never ceases to wow their two charges.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And there's our first partnership, people! Much like the team attack names, each partnership will get a nickname. I chose "Death from Above" because of how TFP Wheeljack tends to drop down on his enemies, and because of Qrow's super-move with Harbinger. Dunno when I'll get to the next match up, but I've got a lot of possibilities right now, so we'll see who comes after these two troublemakers.

Until next time, folks!

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