#machine learning program for corporates

[subrage]

Truth speaking on the corporate obsession with AI

Hilarious. Something tells me this person's on the hellsite(affectionate)

[vayamsblog]

Companies are now turning to AI for smarter and more effective online/offline corporate training programs. Traditional training methods often struggle to meet the needs of different learners who are often in a single team. 

AI and ML are redefining corporate training into something smarter and better – in every way possible. Companies are moving away from one-size-fits-all training. In this blog, we explore how AI and ML are reshaping corporate training. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Reverse engineers bust sleazy gig work platform

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/23/hack-the-class-war/#robo-boss

A COMPUTER CAN NEVER BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE

THEREFORE A COMPUTER MUST NEVER MAKE A MANAGEMENT DECISION

Supposedly, these lines were included in a 1979 internal presentation at IBM; screenshots of them routinely go viral:

https://twitter.com/SwiftOnSecurity/status/1385565737167724545?lang=en

The reason for their newfound popularity is obvious: the rise and rise of algorithmic management tools, in which your boss is an app. That IBM slide is right: turning an app into your boss allows your actual boss to create an "accountability sink" in which there is no obvious way to blame a human or even a company for your maltreatment:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

App-based management-by-bossware treats the bug identified by the unknown author of that IBM slide into a feature. When an app is your boss, it can force you to scab:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

Or it can steal your wages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But tech giveth and tech taketh away. Digital technology is infinitely flexible: the program that spies on you can be defeated by another program that defeats spying. Every time your algorithmic boss hacks you, you can hack your boss back:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

Technologists and labor organizers need one another. Even the most precarious and abused workers can team up with hackers to disenshittify their robo-bosses:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

For every abuse technology brings to the workplace, there is a liberating use of technology that workers unleash by seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/13/solidarity-forever/#tech-unions

One tech-savvy group on the cutting edge of dismantling the Torment Nexus is Algorithms Exposed, a tiny, scrappy group of EU hacker/academics who recruit volunteers to reverse engineer and modify the algorithms that rule our lives as workers and as customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Algorithms Exposed have an admirable supply of seemingly boundless energy. Every time I check in with them, I learn that they've spun out yet another special-purpose subgroup. Today, I learned about Reversing Works, a hacking team that reverse engineers gig work apps, revealing corporate wrongdoing that leads to multimillion euro fines for especially sleazy companies.

One such company is Foodinho, an Italian subsidiary of the Spanish food delivery company Glovo. Foodinho/Glovo has been in the crosshairs of Italian labor enforcers since before the pandemic, racking up millions in fines – first for failing to file the proper privacy paperwork disclosing the nature of the data processing in the app that Foodinho riders use to book jobs. Then, after the Italian data commission investigated Foodinho, the company attracted new, much larger fines for its out-of-control surveillance conduct.

As all of this was underway, Reversing Works was conducting its own research into Glovo/Foodinho's app, running it on a simulated Android handset inside a PC so they could peer into app's data collection and processing. They discovered a nightmarish world of pervasive, illegal worker surveillance, and published their findings a year ago in November, 2023:

https://www.etui.org/sites/default/files/2023-10/Exercising%20workers%20rights%20in%20algorithmic%20management%20systems_Lessons%20learned%20from%20the%20Glovo-Foodinho%20digital%20labour%20platform%20case_2023.pdf

That report reveals all kinds of extremely illegal behavior. Glovo/Foodinho makes its riders' data accessible across national borders, so Glovo managers outside of Italy can access fine-grained surveillance information and sensitive personal information – a major data protection no-no.

Worse, Glovo's app embeds trackers from a huge number of other tech platforms (for chat, analytics, and more), making it impossible for the company to account for all the ways that its riders' data is collected – again, a requirement under Italian and EU data protection law.

All this data collection continues even when riders have clocked out for the day – its as though your boss followed you home after quitting time and spied on you.

The research also revealed evidence of a secretive worker scoring system that ranked workers based on undisclosed criteria and reserved the best jobs for workers with high scores. This kind of thing is pervasive in algorithmic management, from gig work to Youtube and Tiktok, where performers' videos are routinely suppressed because they crossed some undisclosed line. When an app is your boss, your every paycheck is docked because you violated a policy you're not allowed to know about, because if you knew why your boss was giving you shitty jobs, or refusing to show the video you spent thousands of dollars making to the subscribers who asked to see it, then maybe you could figure out how to keep your boss from detecting your rulebreaking next time.

All this data-collection and processing is bad enough, but what makes it all a thousand times worse is Glovo's data retention policy – they're storing this data on their workers for four years after the worker leaves their employ. That means that mountains of sensitive, potentially ruinous data on gig workers is just lying around, waiting to be stolen by the next hacker that breaks into the company's servers.

Reversing Works's report made quite a splash. A year after its publication, the Italian data protection agency fined Glovo another 5 million euros and ordered them to cut this shit out:

https://reversing.works/posts/2024/11/press-release-reversing.works-investigation-exposes-glovos-data-privacy-violations-marking-a-milestone-for-worker-rights-and-technology-accountability/

As the report points out, Italy is extremely well set up to defend workers' rights from this kind of bossware abuse. Not only do Italian enforcers have all the privacy tools created by the GDPR, the EU's flagship privacy regulation – they also have the benefit of Italy's 1970 Workers' Statute. The Workers Statute is a visionary piece of legislation that protects workers from automated management practices. Combined with later privacy regulation, it gave Italy's data regulators sweeping powers to defend Italian workers, like Glovo's riders.

Italy is also a leader in recognizing gig workers as de facto employees, despite the tissue-thin pretense that adding an app to your employment means that you aren't entitled to any labor protections. In the case of Glovo, the fine-grained surveillance and reputation scoring were deemed proof that Glovo was employer to its riders.

Reversing Works' report is a fascinating read, especially the sections detailing how the researchers recruited a Glovo rider who allowed them to log in to Glovo's platform on their account.

As Reversing Works points out, this bottom-up approach – where apps are subjected to technical analysis – has real potential for labor organizations seeking to protect workers. Their report established multiple grounds on which a union could seek to hold an abusive employer to account.

But this bottom-up approach also holds out the potential for developing direct-action tools that let workers flex their power, by modifying apps, or coordinating their actions to wring concessions out of their bosses.

After all, the whole reason for the gig economy is to slash wage-bills, by transforming workers into contractors, and by eliminating managers in favor of algorithms. This leaves companies extremely vulnerable, because when workers come together to exercise power, their employer can't rely on middle managers to pressure workers, deal with irate customers, or step in to fill the gap themselves:

https://projects.itforchange.net/state-of-big-tech/changing-dynamics-of-labor-and-capital/

Only by seizing the means of computation, workers and organized labor can turn the tables on bossware – both by directly altering the conditions of their employment, and by producing the evidence and tools that regulators can use to force employers to make those alterations permanent.

Image: EFF (modified) https://www.eff.org/files/issues/eu-flag-11_1.png

CC BY 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #15

They were never supposed to be real.

Danny wasn’t born; he was built—stitched together in a freezing underground HYDRA lab from the broken DNA strands of James Buchanan Barnes, chosen not for loyalty or legacy but for blood. Something about Winter’s cells held a resilience no other subject had survived, even after decades on ice and countless mental fractures. Danny was Subject 077—barely more than a theory made flesh. A prototype for a new line of enhanced operatives. Something that could endure everything and obey nothing but the cold voice of a handler.

Jazz was worse. She was art. Red Room engineering at its most elegant and most horrifying. A near-perfect clone of Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, born of Black Widow blood but grown under their sharp hands and sharper scalpel. Jazz had beauty, poise, intelligence. But she was also an apex predator molded in ballet and murder, just like her source. She had been created to be the final evolution of Widow. A sleeper. An infiltrator. A masterpiece in patience and destruction.

They were never supposed to meet.

But then Vlad happened.

Dr. Vladimirov Masterov—Vlad Masters—was a ghost in every way that mattered. Once KGB, always KGB. They said he’d died during a failed mission in Chernobyl. He hadn’t. He’d gone half-dead. Half-ghost. A twisted result of an experiment gone wrong, his molecules phasing just enough to slip between states. He’d taken the failure personally, refused to fade. Instead, he rose again in America, as Vlad Masters, eccentric billionaire and corporate ghoul. But behind every charity gala and mayoral campaign was a hunger to perfect the science that had torn him in half.

Vlad had overseen Jazz’s earliest combat assessments. He’d taught Danny how to fire a Glock at age six. His affection was obsessive. Paternal in that twisted, post-Soviet way that smelled like iron and vodka. “You’re my legacy, my little phantoms,” he’d murmur, his gloved hand stroking Danny’s hair, like petting a favorite lab rat. He loved them the way a butcher loves the knife.

Jack Fenton—Jakob Fentzen—was worse. A HYDRA scientist with a permanent manic grin and a knack for building machines that did things no machine should. Quantum destabilizers, molecular disruptors, spectral centrifuges—things that turned flesh to glass and time to mist. He’d been the one to isolate the Winter Soldier’s regenerative traits. He laughed through the process. He called Danny “Champ” while inserting tracking chips into his spinal cord. Danny screamed, once. Jack said it was music.

Maddie—Maja Vuković—was quieter. Colder. Her notes were written in blood and brilliance. She designed Jazz’s conditioning routines. Psychological torment dressed up as ballet recitals and etiquette dinners. Jazz learned to disassociate by age four. “You’re perfect,” She would say, brushing Jazz’s red-gold hair. “Natalia was the draft. You are the final copy.”

And then something went wrong.

It was supposed to be a routine exposure. Just a test of the ghost portal Vlad had constructed in the basement of the Fenton Works facility—a decaying front in the Midwest. But Danny fell in. Or was pushed. Or ran. The records blurred.

And then he came back…wrong.

Cells mutated. Energy readings off the charts. Intangibility. Invisibility. An ectoplasmic core that pulsed like a dying star. Not just an assassin now—an anomaly. A walking ghost. They called it a miracle. Vlad called it divinity. Jack wanted to vivisect him immediately.

Danny refused.

That was the mistake.

They underestimated the side effects of individuality. The ghost powers weren’t part of the program. And with them came emotion, conscience, defiance.

They tried to recondition him. Vlad struck him. Maddie drugged him. Jack built something with screaming blades.

Jazz broke protocol. She slit two guards’ throats with a dining knife and pulled Danny out of the operating room. He was barely conscious, bleeding green and crying. She whispered to him the way Natalia might have whispered to herself in a Red Room dormitory: “We go now. Or we die here.”

They went.

They ran.

For three years, the world forgot about the Fenton kids. Until they didn’t.

The Avengers found out during a HYDRA base raid in Belarus. Steve Rogers opened a data file and dropped it like it burned. Natasha Romanoff stared at Jazz’s image and fell silent for an hour. Bucky Barnes had to be sedated after reading Danny’s file.

“A clone?” Bucky rasped, restrained and shaking. “Of me?”

“HYDRA’s final Winter Soldier prototype,” Bruce murmured. “He’s a ghost. Literally. His molecular structure—”

“I don’t care about his molecules!” Bucky exploded. “He’s just a kid. My fucking kid!”

Steve looked pale. “They’re so young...”

“They’re us,” Natasha said quietly, staring at Jazz’s face on the screen. “Our blood. Our sins. Our ghosts.”

They scrambled, but the trail was cold. Danny and Jazz had buried themselves deep. They moved from safehouse to safehouse, mostly living like rats. Danny phased them through walls, hacked ATMs with his ghost energy. Jazz manipulated human behavior like a maestro. They didn’t speak much. They didn’t have to.

“You okay?” Danny would ask.

“No,” Jazz would say. “But you?”

“No.”

Still, they stayed alive.

Until they slipped up.

It was a gas station. A security camera. A moment of laughter—Danny made Jazz laugh, and her teeth showed. That smile ended everything.

Tony saw it first. “Is that the Fenton girl? She’s…smiling.”

Natasha was on her feet before the footage ended. “Get the quinjet.”

Steve was right behind her. “We find them. Now.”

When they did, it was ugly.

The Avengers cornered them in an abandoned church in Chicago. Danny nearly brought the roof down. Jazz went straight for Natasha’s throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Natasha pleaded, parrying the blade with bare hands.

“Then you’re already weak,” Jazz snarled.

Steve took a punch from Danny that shattered his ribs. Bucky didn’t fight. He just stood there, tears on his face.

“I know what they did to you,” he whispered.

“You don’t,” Danny hissed, half-ghost and glowing. “You don’t know what it’s like to be built to die.”

“I do.” Bucky stepped forward, arms open. “They made me too, and I remember every scream.”

Danny hesitated.

That was enough.

Jazz disarmed Natasha and froze.

“You look like my nightmares,” she whispered. “But quieter.”

“You look like a second chance,” Natasha said, and her voice broke.

That night, the church became a refugee camp.

Tony brought blankets. Bruce brought meds. Steve brought silence. Bucky and Natasha never left their sides.

“Don’t touch me,” Danny had growled at first.

“I won’t,” Bucky said. “I’ll just be here.”

Jazz refused food until Natasha force-fed her soup and whispered lullabies in Russian.

“You’ll kill me eventually,” Jazz muttered.

“No,” Natasha said, brushing her hair. “I’ll love you first.”

It wasn’t easy.

Danny screamed in his sleep, glowing and flailing. Once he phased into the floor and didn’t come back for three hours. Jazz stopped speaking for two weeks. She stared at walls. Cut herself just to feel.

Natasha stitched every wound.

Bucky sat beside Danny and read him books about World War II.

“You’re not him,” Danny said one day. “You’re not my father.”

“No,” Bucky agreed. “But I wish I’d been.”

Steve took them outside. Taught Jazz how to ride a bike. Let Danny fly circles around the compound.

But one day, Vlad showed up again.

He appeared in Danny’s room, phasing through the wall like smoke. “Come home, little badger.”

Danny shrieked and attacked. Vlad didn’t fight.

“I miss you,” he said, bleeding green from his mouth. “They won’t understand you like I do.”

“You’re not real,” Danny screamed. “You never were!”

Jazz shot him in the chest. He smiled.

“Perfect aim. I taught you well.”

He vanished.

After that, they didn’t sleep for a week.

One morning, Danny sat beside Bucky on the roof.

“Do you think I’ll ever be normal?”

“No,” Bucky said honestly. “Though you’ll be loved.”

Jazz, curled in Natasha’s lap, asked, “Was I always going to be a monster?”

“No,” Natasha whispered. “You were always going to be mine.”

They weren’t cured.

They were wreckage.

But they were surviving.

And for now, that was enough.

[thatbitchery]

You can tell how much a lady will not level up by how much she doesn’t love herself—and you can tell how much someone doesn’t love themselves by how much they don’t understand themselves. I’ve been telling you ladies since the dawn of this blog: a level-up is personal. Custom-made. Made for you and only you. You cannot achieve another person’s goal.

Listen, the highest form of love is knowledge. To be loved is to be known. To love is to look—with the purpose of seeing—and then understanding what you see. To love yourself, you have to know yourself. And that takes nothing but self-observation. No judgment. Open acceptance.

What prompted this? I was talking to one of my girls in my personal coaching program yesterday. We started this month, so we’re still learning each other. My first topic is always fashion, because the outside world is a mirror of the inner—and you can easily understand someone from their presentation.

So this girl and I go through her closet, and I’m honestly both impressed and jealous. We are talking runway-worthy gowns. Designer bags. Louboutin heels. The kind of closet you get in your starter-pack Kardashian era. She looks at me like, “What do we think?” And apart from being impressed by the sheer amount that closet adds to her net worth… I am also deeply disappointed.

Why?

Because she is a textbook introvert. An AO3 nerd who spends all day in pajamas and works online (if you can even call it that) and is introverted even outside—i.e. would rather do indoor activities than outdoor. She’s also hyperactive and sporty. That is not the closet of an 18-year-old valedictorian homebody chess-playing video game addict online business owner. That is a Paris Hilton closet. You will NOT be wearing that micro skirt, ever. Let’s not lie to ourselves.

So she poured all that money (yes, she’s wealthy, but that’s not the point??) into another person’s closet—but inside her own house. What she does actually wear is three sets of loungewear that have seen the washing machine so many times they are fighting for their lives to hold on to color. And she won’t buy a new set because it’s “not elegant.”

So I know I will need Jesus and all of heaven when we get to the “self-love” section. Pray for me, people.

It is very important that you stop looking for trends and God knows what, and start observing yourself. Set your goals according to that, so you don’t waste time and money and actually—for once—achieve your yearly goals. Because they belong to who you are, not who you wish you were.

One of the goals I see a lot is “lose weight.” And you know what? Hell yeah. There’s no empowerment in obesity, let’s get healthy. I get it—I want to be a healthy BMI so I can clear brain fog, look better, feel better, function better, yes. But as a person who spends most of their day indoors, is barely attracted to men, and works in corporate… why are you killing yourself trying for a Bella Hadid body when you’ve got Salma Hayek genetics and you don’t need it? I get starvation if you’re a K-pop idol or a model. I get it. But you’re a regular civilian—just stop at “healthy BMI.” Because not only is it not fun, it’s also extremely unhealthy to have zero body fat. What are you even doing this for? It’s torture. If you don’t need to… what’s the point?

Or the classic “wake up at 5 a.m.”—makes sense, I see it. But if you’re a night owl, what are you doing? Your productive hours are 10 p.m. to 3 a.m.—why would you be awake at 5? That’s when you’re supposed to be going to bed after wrapping up your work.

Or “gym 3 days a week.” I love it, I do. But look at yourself in the mirror and say that again. Be honest—is it going to happen? Have you considered that maybe you’re not a gym person? That there are other ways to move your body that don’t require you to battle depression and poor time management in spandex?

You can easily tell who will not be achieving their yearly goals by comparing the goals to the person. No—those are not your goals. They are someone else’s. So another year goes by, and you achieve nothing. Again.

And if you just—if you just—observed your behavior, with no judgment, without slapping on classifications like “lazy” or “wrong” or whatever else… if you just said, “Okay, how do I make me work, in a way that works for me?” You wouldn’t need affirmations to tell you you’re good enough.

You’d just be.

BMAC

[stillmonsterz]

all i gotta do

for this anon!

pairing: jake x reader

genre: fluff (?), humor (???), smut

summary: it's your first day at work and you're nervous. however, your trainer is going to show you why you were nervous for the wrong reasons. one week with jake sim will either make you quit the job or never leave.

contains: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, swearing, incest mention, PTSD mention, i try to be "funny" and make "jokes"

word count: 4.4k (unproofread)

---

DAY ONE

You stepped inside of your new workplace apprehensively; you hadn’t felt so nervous since your first day of university. Wiping your palms on your pants, you made eye contact with the receptionist and smiled wanly. 

“Hello,” you said, resting your fingertips on the counter. “I’m the new hire. I was wondering where I could find…Jake Sim? He’s supposed to be my…” The term that had been used in the introductory email the company had sent to you eluded you.

“Your buddy,” the receptionist said flatly. “Your Park Corp buddy.”

“Yes. That.”

“Jake Sim is on the fifth floor. I take it you’ll be working in data analysis as well?”

You nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

The receptionist smiled at you, but it belied a certain cold humor. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, you too.” As you walked away, you realized your blunder and squeezed your eyes shut. 

–

The fifth floor of the office building had all of the markings of a corporation attempting to reel in more younger workers. There was a vending machine as soon as you walked in, the cubicles were arranged as part of an open concept floor plan, and the walls were plastered with positive, empty aphorisms. You scanned the area, wondering which of the people hunched over their computers was Jake.

Footsteps echoed behind you, and when you turned around you saw a slight, enthusiastic-looking young man with a shock of shaggy brown hair approaching you. In his hands he held two coffee cups. 

“Hey, newbie,” he said with some affection. “Got you a coffee.”

You took the cup, surprised by his vivacity. “Thank you…”

“Jake,” he finished, holding his hand out. “Jake Sim.”

You shook his hand as firmly as you could and introduced yourself.

“I know,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I like to do a little stalking before we meet a new hire. Although…” his face grew serious. “You really shouldn’t post such…provocative pictures on your Insta. Someone could get ideas.”

Your face blanched and your fingers gripped the coffee cup. “What?”

Jake’s face broke out into a smile. “Just fuckin’ with you. Sorry, I like to razz all the new hires. Makes me feel big.”

His grin was so wide, you felt compelled to smile too. He nudged you and jerked his thumb in the direction of the cubicles. “Let me show you around, PCB.”

You blinked, then it dawned on you. “Park Corp buddy…?”

“So observant,” Jake said, amused. “Come on.”

You followed him around as he explained where everything was: the copy room, the coffee machine, the water dispenser, the popcorn machine, your cubicle (situated in the middle of the room, to your chagrin), his cubicle (tucked neatly in the corner).

Then he taught you how to use the software. Thanks to your university courses, it wasn’t difficult to learn. Jake’s playful personality also gave way to a maturity that you hadn’t expected. He carefully walked you through the program step by step.

“I’ll leave you these tasks to work on,” he said, pulling up a document he had pre-made. “If you get stuck, just come get me, okay? I’m right in the corner.”

You thanked him for his assistance and started working on the tasks he had given you. It wasn’t challenging, so much as it was tedious. Still, you persevered. 

At least, until you heard him approach you again.

“Hey,” Jake said, sitting beside you. His eyes darted around the room. “You were supposed to come get me.”

“You told me to do that if I needed you,” you replied, somewhat confused.

“Yeah,” Jake said slowly, “in case you feel the overwhelming urge to make Jakey’s day and let him help you with something so he can avoid doing his boring ass work. You don’t even understand the basics of being a PCB, do you?”

“You’re using me,” you said, waving an accusatory finger at him. 

“Can you blame me?” he retorted. “Sometimes I can…I can feel my soul leaking from my pores.”

You giggled, and he squinted at you in mock annoyance. “There’s no way you’re laughing at me,” he said, trying to fight a smile. “I’m dying, turning into a corpse, and you’re laughing.”

You shrugged. “At least you’ll die at the prime of your life.”

Jake’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Oh, you think I’m in my prime, huh?”

“That’s not what I me-,”

“You’re hitting on me,” Jake said, leaning in. He blinked at you like a puppy. 

You leaned away, your cheeks feeling warm. “I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were,” he said softly.

You were about to say something else, something intelligent and witty, but one of your new coworkers approached the two of you. 

“Couldn’t wait a day before sexually harassing the newbie, could you?” He was tall, pale, and had a shit-eating grin that could rival Jake’s. Unlike Jake, who was dressed in a blue button-down and slacks, this person wore a suit with a silky black tie.

Jake leaned away from you, balking at the accusation. “I am not sexually harassing her,” Jake said, clutching his heart. “I wasn’t even normal harassing her.”

“He wasn’t,” you chimed in. 

“Don’t cover up for this louse,” Sunghoon said, shaking his head at Jake. “Look at you, corrupting one of our brightest already with your salacious comments. Weren’t you supposed to be writing up a report on the-,”

“You hear this jerkoff?” Jake said, interrupting. “He puts on a little suit and starts using words like ‘louse’ and ‘salacious’, like we’re not in data analysis.”

“I am a data architect,” Sunghoon said, playfully slamming his hand on your desk. “And I will be treated like one, damn it.”

“Quit it,” Jake said, putting his arms around you and hugging you close to him. “You’re scaring my PCB.” 

“Your PCB is going to get PTSD if you keep touching her,” Sunghoon replied drolly, crossing his arms.

Jake grinned. “My PCB is going to get PTSD if I do PDA with her?” 

Sunghoon said, “Good one,” and they laughed and high-fived. You stared at them incredulously, noting that Jake’s arm was still wrapped around your shoulder. 

“Sorry,” you said slowly, “but I’d like to do my work…”

Jake withdrew his arm and tsked under his breath, standing up. “Great going, Sunghoon,” he hissed. “Now she hates you.”

“She hates you, idiot,” Sunghoon retorted as they walked away.

You slumped down in your chair, already feeling exhausted. You worked straight through your lunch break, and as you commuted home you wondered how the rest of your training week would go.

–

DAY TWO 

The next day, you felt a little more equipped to navigate your new job. In your purse, you brought some items with which to decorate your desk.

You came into work early, noting that very few people show up at this time. Perfect. With careful precision, you arranged your new trinkets on your desk; a magnetic calendar for your cubicle wall, a little plush doll, a notebook, a nice mousepad, and a little jar of chocolates. 

As you’re turning your computer on, you heard three male voices approaching your desk. Two of which you recognize. 

“There she is,” you heard Jake say quietly, “isn’t she cute?”

You looked up and waved. There was Jake, wearing a button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sunghoon, wearing another crisp suit. And a third person wearing an oversized collared shirt with dark blue jeans, looking you up and down. 

“You’re here early,” Jake said cheerfully. “Excited for work?”

“I just wanted to decorate my desk,” you explained, proudly displaying your newly decorated workplace.

The three men politely admired your table. Then Sunghoon nudged the third man in the ribs. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m Heeseung,” he said, awkwardly raising his hand. “Heeseung Lee.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied, holding your hand out.

You shook hands with him, and Sunghoon snorted. “I didn’t get a handshake from you.”

“You also didn’t introduce yourself to me…”

Sunghoon looked away, the tips of his ears going red. “Right. I suppose that was my folly. Apologies.”

Jake leaned down and whispered, “Isn’t he such a pretentious dick?” in your ear. You suppressed another giggle as you stuck your hand out.

Sunghoon shook it firmly. “Park Sunghoon,” he said with a smile. “Data architect.”

“You told her that already,” Jake said. 

“And I told you to shut up several times, not that you ever listened,” Sunghoon retorted.

You glanced at Heeseung, and he just shrugged at you. “They can’t stop,” he said, glancing between the two of them. “It’s hard-coded into their DNA to be idiots in front of cute girls.”

Jake squinted at Heeseung. “Oh, you think she’s cute? Are you into her or something?”

Heeseung raised his hands in self-defense, backing up. “No, no, not at all.”

You sighed. “Could…could I go ahead and start my work?”

Jake shook his head and stalked away from your table. “She fucking hates you, you know that?” he said, lightly pushing Heeseung. 

Later that day, as you’re packing up to head home, you hear footsteps that were already becoming familiar.

“Hey,” Jake said quietly, “the guys and I were wondering if you wanted to eat with us at lunch tomorrow?”

You blinked up at him. “No kidding?”

“Yeah. We want you to feel welcome here,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder. 

A smile spread across your face, and you nodded. “Sure. Sounds like it'll be a lot of fun.” Like seeing monkeys in the zoo.

Jake grinned, patting your shoulder. “Awesome! Awesome, awesome.” He paused then, placing his hand in his pocket. “One other thing,” he said slowly. 

“What’s that?” you tilted your head at him.

“Well, you know, you don’t have to dress so formally,” he said, gesturing at your outfit. “Unless you’re trying to be Sunghoon or something. You can dress business casual.”

You looked down at yourself; your outfit was pretty formal and rigid. “All right,” you said, “I’ll be nice and casual tomorrow.”

“Sounds great,” Jake said, biting his lip slightly. 

– 

DAY THREE

Work already felt much more comfortable. Besides the three coworkers you had already met, the rest of the employees ranged from amicable to ambivalent, so you never felt tense. Occasionally, Jake would come over to your desk and look at how you were coming along. Or, as you figured, he was just coming to ogle you. Not that you minded the extra attention. 

When you walked in this morning, dressed in your more casual outfit, his eyes had lingered on you for so long you thought it could be classed as a workplace violation.

“Very nice,” Jake had said approvingly. “Very…casual.”

“I try,” you had said drily, heading to your desk. 

“I’m serious,” he had said, walking with you. “You have, pardon me, a great figure.” 

“That’s not very PC,” Sunghoon had said as he passed by your desk. 

“So, what you’re saying,” Jake had started, and you were already rolling your eyes, “I’m not acting PC with my PCB?”

You had groaned. “Jake…”

“Great going, Sunghoon,” Jake had grumbled, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re the worst, I swear…”

Now you were sitting with them in the break room, where they were locked in what you could only assume was a longstanding debate. 

“I’m saying that it wouldn’t be gay if it was on an island,” Jake protested, “so it wouldn’t even matter, Sunghoon.”

“Okay, but they’d eventually get rescued, so they’d have to live with that,” Sunghoon retorted, gesturing with his sandwich. 

“Yeah, but they don’t know that they’re getting rescued.”

You glanced at Heeseung, who was eating a microwavable meal. “What are they talking about?”

Heeseung leaned into you, whispering as so not to catch their attention. “It’s this stupid hypothetical they came up with,” Heeseung explained. “If there was an island, and a pair of adult siblings were on one end, and a pair of two straight men were on the other end, which pair would hook up first?”

You blinked. “Well, the siblings, right?”

A haunting silence overtook the break room. Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon all stared at you, and you got the impression that you had disrupted something sacred, something hallowed.

Sunghoon laughed and pointed at you. “See? See? Your little work wife doesn’t even agree with you. Those siblings would be smashing, right?”

“Well, I g-,”

“All over each other,” Sunghoon continued, making vulgar gestures with his hands. “It’d be like…five hours. Sweaty from the sun. They’d be rolling around, sand in their ass, it’d be carnal. Primal.”

Jake stared at you incredulously. “You really don’t think the straight guys would fuck?”

You shrugged helplessly. “Well, they’re straight, so I mean…”

Jake groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Okay. Look. If you were on an island with a sexy ass woman, and she had short nails and everything, and she was fully ready to finger your pussy, you wouldn’t let her smash? Because you were ‘straight’?”

“I mean…no.”

“Nah,” Jake said, waving a baby carrot in your face. “You’re either deluded or you aren’t thinking hard enough. You’d get desperate. You’d be munching so much carpet you’d look like…like…”

“Like a carpet factory,” Heeseung said sarcastically. 

“You’re so fucking unfunny,” Jake replied. “No, you’d look like…”

“Like she’s an interior designer?” Sunghoon offered. 

“Close enough,” Jake said, sighing. “Real dark day when Sunghoon is funnier than you. Do better, Heeseung.”

“Yeah, Heeseung,” you said, “do better.”

Heeseung scoffed. “I thought you were my friend.”

You shrugged. “I wanted to join in.”

Jake clapped you on your back and laughed. “Look at you. Blending in already!”

– 

After lunch you excused yourself and went to the bathroom. When you emerged, Jake was leaning against the wall, playing with his fingers. 

“Hey,” he said, straightening up. “Had a random hypothetical for you.”

“Sure,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“So,” Jake began, his eyes darting around your face, “if you were stuck on a deserted island…”

You groaned. 

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait.” Jake put one hand on your shoulder. “If you were stuck on a deserted island, which of us would you want with you? Me, Sunghoon, or Heeseung?”

You frowned. “Well, you, obviously.”

Jake smiled at you widely, running his fingers through his hair. “Ha, for real?”

“Well, yeah. I know you the best.”

His smile faltered. “Is that really the only reason?”

You frowned, unsure of what to say. “I me-,”

Jake clapped you on the back and snorted. “I was just messing with you,” he said before striding back to his corner cubicle.

–

DAY FOUR 

You consulted your list of tasks. Your last, and most important task, was to type up a data analysis report based off of the information you had been gathering for the past week. Jake said that he would look over it for you later.

After spending the better part of your morning working on the report, you leaned back and stretched. Your eyes were starting to hurt from staring at a screen for so long, and you rubbed them.

Jake was next to you before you could react. “Hey,” he said, “how’s the report going?”

“It’s going,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Let me see,” Jake said, leaning over you and scrolling through your document. Your breath hitched; he was so close, you could smell his cologne. If you glanced to your right, you would be able to see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. 

Jake silently pored over the document, his chest pressed against your back. His hand rested on your shoulder, and you couldn’t tell if he was rubbing it as a subconscious habit or not.

“Looking good so far,” he whispered, and when his hand slid down your arm, you knew it was intentional.

“Anything I need to fix?” you asked, attempting to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

“Hm…” Jake leaned in to you evermore, until he was flush against you. “Nothing I can see. You’re a good worker, aren’t you?”

“I try,” you said quietly. 

“A good little worker bee,” Jake said softly, his lips almost brushing your ear. “Just what I like.”

You dared to turn your head slightly to catch Jake’s gaze, and he smiled at you, that easy-going, smile that hid a wealth of sobriety and determination. He patted your shoulder again and leaned upwards. The loss of his scent and touch bothered you, but you didn’t say a word. 

“I’ll leave you to it now,” Jake said, stretching his wrists out. “Come early tomorrow, okay?”

“Huh? Why?” 

“So I can look over your report one last time before you submit it,” Jake said plainly. “What were you thinking, you naughty little bee?”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything like th-,”

Jake laughed. “I was kidding. You’re so cute when you’re all flustered, though.”

When Jake left, you realized that you had been squeezing your plush doll. You released it and sighed. Then, you continued working on the report. 

–

DAY FIVE 

You strode into the office early. Jake had emailed you through the company’s email, requesting that you arrive on the fifth floor at 7:30 am. Work started at 9:00, so he would have ample time to go over the report with you.

When you entered the floor, you first noted that there were a few workers already there, hunched over their desks. Just a few overachievers…or underachievers, you guessed. 

Jake was waving you over to his cubicle, his hair flopping in his face as he enthusiastically beckoned you. You walked towards him. 

“Come on,” he said, smiling at you playfully despite the early time. “Come sit.”

You went to pull over another chair, but Jake grabbed your wrist. “No, no,” he said with a shake of his hair. “Just sit next to me.” He scooted over in his chair, leaving you with a sliver of space. 

You were already growing accustomed to Jake’s “jokes”, so you sat next to him. Your left leg hung over the side of the chair, the other smushed against Jake’s. 

He smiled at you, then opened your report on his computer. You had sent it to him that night, your heart fluttering even though it was just an email. Just five days at this office was making you as pathetic as Jake and his friends. 

As he scrolled through the document, he kept glancing at you. Eventually, Jake said, “You can’t be comfortable sitting on the chair like that.”

“You’re right,” you said with a sigh. “I’m not.”

“Why not just…sit on my lap?” Jake asked nonchalantly, his lower lip jutting out in a slight pout.

You sighed. “I see the game you’re playing here, Sim.”

“Will you play, my little worker bee?”

A shift of your ass from the small slice of chair to Jake’s lap was your answer to him, and when you leaned against him he smiled. Jake’s hands reached down to encircle your hips. 

“You really are such a good bee,” he said, massaging your hips. 

“I can be even better if you let me,” you replied, your gaze flickering to his plush lips. 

Jake leaned his head against the mesh backing of his swivel chair. Your back was pressed against his chest, and your hands reached behind you to stroke his face. “I’d like to test that theory,” Jake said softly.

You leaned in and kissed him, reveling in the taste of his lips. He followed suit, kissing you enthusiastically. Jake’s hands remained on our hips, but they soon slid to your thighs, squeezing and groping at the soft flesh. Jake swiped his tongue along your bottom lip a few times, and you widened your mouth. His tongue probed past your lips, licking your own tongue.

“So good,” he whispered, briefly breaking the kiss. “You’d never let fuckass Sunghoon do this, right?”

“Jake…”

“Sorry, baby,” Jake said apologetically. “I get territorial. I’m like a wolf.”

“Jake, come on.”

“Awoo,” he said playfully before kissing you again. Your tongues pressed together, swirling around each other. As the kiss deepened, you bit his lower lip before licking the mark. Jake groaned into your mouth.

“Little bee,” he said, pulling away once again. He rested his forehead against yours. “If you’re going to do stuff like that, you’re gonna have to commit to it.”

“I want to commit to it,” you said, leaving wet kisses along his neck. 

Jake groaned and grabbed one of your legs. He brought it over his lap and dragged your hips closer to his crotch. “Now, you’re going to have to be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

“I can be quiet,” you said, resting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Promise? This isn’t a big office,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “It’d be a shame if someone heard us and you got in trouble. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

“No,” you whispered. As you stared at him, Jake started to unbuckle his belt. When he noticed your gaze, he frowned. 

“Come on, bee,” he said, gesturing at your skirt. “Can’t do everything for you, can I?”

You zipped your skirt down in the back and shifted so you could wriggle yourself out of it. Jake gave you an exasperated glance, so you shimmied your panties down to your thighs.

“And?” he asked impatiently.

“And…what?”

Jake sighed. “Take your tits out, come on.”

The phrase was so vulgar it shocked you, but somehow it was sexy when uttered from Jake’s mouth. The contrast between his disgusting mind and his boyish good looks thrilled you, so you did as he asked. You un-buttoned your shirt down and tugged your bra straps down, revealing your chest. 

Immediately, Jake groped your tits, sighing in pleasure. “Feeling up a pretty girl’s tits early in the morning,” he said, almost reverently. “This is amazing.”

The sensation cause you to moan, and Jake immediately sent you a harsh look. He squeezed one of your breasts, and you suppressed a gasp. “I told you to be quiet, little bee,” he whispered. “You said you could do it.”

“I can,” you murmured. 

“Then show me you can,” Jake replied, still fondling your breasts. He pinched your nipples, squeezed your tits, pushed them together then apart. After a while, he took one of your hands and placed it on his crotch. 

First, you rubbed his hard-on through his slacks, and he bit his lip to avoid moaning. Then you unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. You were surprised by its girth, as well as the fact that he was already leaking precum. Spitting into your hand, you gathered up some of that precum and used it to stroke his shaft. Jake shuddered and gritted his teeth together. 

“Nice and slow,” he said, his breathing already labored. “Slowly, baby.”

You heeded his order and stroked his cock while he played with your breasts. He hadn’t tired of them; on the contrary, he was transfixed by them. Jake leaned forward and bit one of your breasts hard, sucking at the spot immediately after. “Look at this and think of me,” he whispered before leaving another hickey on your other breast. 

Jake suddenly seemed to remember that he didn’t have much time with you. He took his mouth off of your breast and swatted your hands from his cock. Then he covered your lips with his hand and slowly, painstakingly, guided his cockhead into your dripping, wet pussy. 

You were glad you were being muffled by his hand, because you would not have been able to contain your shivering moans. He shallowly fucked into you, allowing you to get used to his length. When he felt that you were ready, he lifted his hips upwards and slid inside of you completely, letting out a heavy breath.

“Now bounce on it,” Jake whispered into your ear. One hand freely groped your breast, the other was clamped onto your hip. You guessed that he trusted you not to moan now. 

You had never ridden dick before, but you had a general idea of how to do it. You lifted yourself up and down, your pussy enveloping his shaft. The feeling was incredible, and you bit his hand as you worked yourself on his cock. As you did, the swivel chair squeaked due to the movement.

Jake shunted his hips upwards, matching your movements. His hand moved down to your waist, gripping it tightly. “Faster,” he hissed. “Faster, baby.”

Now that you had gotten used to him, you bounced on him faster. Your ass slapped against his strong, muscular thighs, and you knew that there was no way you were being conspicuous. Your pussy made smacking noises as you rode him, and the swivel chair squeaked like it was going to break.

Still, Jake urged you on. “Come on, come on, fucking put that slutty pussy to work,” he said, taking your tits into his mouth. Both of his hands were gripping your hips, pushing him onto his length. “Keep going. Don’t you dare…stop.”

You were reaching your limit, exhaustion seeping into your limbs. Jake lightly pinched your side, and you gasped. “I told you to keep going, baby.”

So you kept going. You swore you could feel him in your womb, that was how far he was pushing you. “Pussy’s gonna be shaped like this dick,” Jake hissed, leaving sloppy kisses all over your chest. “My masterpiece.”

Warmth filled you, all the way to your core, and you knew you were about to burst. “Cover my mouth,” you whispered and Jake immediately placed his hand over your mouth, rutting into you even faster.

“Gonna cum,” Jake grunted, his thrusts growing slower and sloppier. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up.” With a growl that didn’t dare leave his throat, he fucked his cum into you, his hand still gripping your hip. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulled out of you, and you could see his cum dripping out of you.

He kissed your forehead and uncovered your mouth. “That was so good,” you whispered.

“It’ll be better next time,” Jake said slyly. 

“Oh, yeah?” You started to put your clothes back on, tugging your bra down and buttoning your shirt again. “What makes you so sure?”

Jake leaned into your ear again. “Next time, I’ll get to hear you scream my name.”

You pulled away from him, your eyes widening. 

Jake smiled at you. “Just kidding.”

[ladyaldhelm]

This post is a very long rant about Generative AI. If you are not in the headspace to read such content right now, please continue scrolling.

....

....

It has come to my attention that a person who I deeply admire is Pro-AI. Not just Pro-AI, but has become a shill for a multi-billion dollar corporation to promote their destructive generative AI tools, and is doing it voluntarily and willingly. This person is a creative professional and should know better, and this decision by them shows a lack of integrity and empathy for their fellow creatives. They have sold out to not just their own destruction, but to everyone around them, without any concern. It thoroughly disgusts and disappoints me.

Listen, I am not against technological advancements. While I am never the first to adopt a new technology, I have marveled at the leaps and bounds that have been made within my own lifetime, and welcome progress. Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning models certainly have their place in this world. Right now, scientific researchers are using advanced AI modeling to discover new protein configurations using a program called Alpha-Fold, and the millions of new proteins that were discovered have gone on to the development of life saving cancer treatments, vaccine development, and looking for new ways to battle drug-resistant bacterial infections. Machine learning models are being developed to track and predict climate change with terrifying accuracy, discover new species, researching new ways of dealing with plastic waste and CO2/methane, and developing highly accurate tools for early detection of cancers. These are all amazing advancements that have only been made possible by AI and will save countless millions of lives. THIS is what AI should be used for.

Generative AI, however, is a different beast entirely. It is problematic in many ways, and is destructive by its very nature. All the current models were trained on BILLIONS of copyrighted materials (images, music, text), without the creator's consent or knowledge. That in and of itself is highly unethical. In addition, these computers that run these GenAI programs use an insane amount of resources to run, and are a major contributor to climate change right now, even worse than the NFT and blockchain stuff a few years ago.

GenAI literally takes someone's hard work, puts it into an algorithm that chews it up and spits out some kind of abomination, all with no effort on the part of the user. And then these "creations" are being sold by the boatload, crowding out legitimate artists and professional creatives. Artists like myself and thousands of others who rely on income from art. Musicians, film makers, novelists, and writers are losing as well. It is an uphill battle. The market is flooded right now with so many AI generated art and books that actual artists and writers are being buried. To make matters worse, these generated works often have inaccuracies and spread misinformation and and lead to injury or even death. There are so many AI generated books, for example, about pet care and foraging for plants that are littered with inaccurate and downright dangerous information. Telling people that certain toxic plants are safe to eat, or giving information on pet care that will lead to the animal suffering and dying. People are already being affected by this. It is bad enough when actual authors spread misinformation, but when someone can generate an entire book in a few seconds, this gets multiplied by several orders of magnitude. It makes finding legitimate information difficult or even downright impossible.

GenAI seeks to turn the arts into a commodity, a get-rich-quick money making scheme, which is not the point of art. Automating art should never be the goal of humanity. Automating dangerous and tedious tasks is important for progress, but automating art is taking away our humanity. Art is all about the human experience and human expression, something a machine cannot ever replicate and it SHOULDN'T. Art should come from the heart and soul, not some crap that is mass produced to make a quick buck. Also developing your skills as an artist, whether that is through drawing, painting, sculpture, composing music, songwriting, poetry, creative writing, animation, photography, or making films, are not just about human expression but develop your brain and make you a more well rounded person, with a rich and deep experience and emotional connection to others. Shitting out crappy art and writing just to make a quick dollar defeats the entire purpose of all of that.

In addition, over-reliance on automated and AI tools is already leading to cognitive decline and the deterioration of critical thinking skills. When it is so easy to click a button and generate a research paper why bother putting the work in? Students are already doing this. Taking the easy way out to get a grade, but they are only hurting themselves. When machines do your thinking for you, what is there left to do? People will lose the ability to develop even basic skills.

/rant

By the way if any tech bros come at me you will be blocked without warning. This is not up for debate or discussion.

[palinecrosis]

“how are you anti ai but like dbh? did you even play the game?”

did you play the game? genuine question, how many of you have played dbh and the lesson you learned was “we need to embrace ai” because that is absolutely not what it’s about.

humans are the ones responsible for the sentience of androids. they’re the ones responsible for their slavery and creation. they’re the ones who made androids to serve them, to make their life easier. and when they fought back they regretted funding their creation. because now, their exploitation, previously aimed at humans, can’t be justified anymore.

people like ai because it allows them to be lazy, carefree. you don’t have to learn how to draw, you don’t need to refine your tools or your your art style when you can just ask a program to generate a piece for you. you don’t need to learn how to write, come up with prompts, spend years finding your style and fixing your vocabulary, go through phases of horrible and cringeworthy writing, because guess what? you can ask chatgpt to write it for you.

and when corporations discover that they will use it to their advantage, replacing humans with ai. so 30 years down the line, when a machine enters your work force, does your job 10x better than you and lands you homeless, of fucking course you’re going to be angry and android hating.

the issue that dbh addresses is (in that universe) blaming sentient ai for the evil that corporations commit. again, they created ai, they created it so that it has the possibility of being sentient, using it to do jobs no one wants to do, take it even further and make them do jobs (arguably) to replace marginalised people who need those jobs. so the “bad guy” in dbh aren’t the rightfully angry citizens, who have no concept or understanding of deviancy, and it’s not androids either, it’s fucking elijah kamski. and all the other fuckers at the top. they create infighting between workers to distract from class differences.

if ai became sentient it’d absolutely be morally wrong to mistreat them, because they have consciousness and emotions. being anti ai is being against narrow and generative ai which is 1. bad for the environment 2. is theft!! not fucking hypothetical robots who possibly have feelings. improve your media literacy people.

[the-robot-bracket]

Robot Poll Green Round 1

Orisa Propaganda:

She's a super sweet horseshaped mom figure. She was originally a traffic enforcement robot that was destroyed by one of the main villains and was then rebuilt to be better by a super smart 13 year old girl from Africa.

Orisa loves helping old ladies cross the street, puppies, and protecting her team mates.

Angela Propaganda:

It is impossible to say much about her without spilling spoilers everywhere. She's haunted by the ghost of the woman haunting the narrative. She's stuck in the timeloop for one morbillion years. She is responsible for so much death. She has blue hair and pronouns. She turns into worse, haunted versions of herself. She has narratively significant Closed Eyes. She's done nothing wrong. She embodies the conscious effort to Become (you know how it is). She gave up corporate mangement and now owns a magic library made of peoples. She's breaking the cycle. Everything is her fault. Nothing is her fault. She has a gang of enforcers dressed in fancy clothes. She's wanted by the feds for being an abomination upon man. If the yuri is to be believed she's wanted by the ex-feds for unrelated reasons. She's a star in a Korean Anarchocapitalist hellscape dystopia. She threatens to turn people into popcorn machines. I love her

I'm really simplifying this, but she is an AI made for the purpose of executing her creator's plan by constantly going through a timeloop, resetting every time something goes south. Her task is to aid the protagonist and nudge them in the right directions, as well as pull the strings behind the scenes, making sure the play goes according to the script. She faces a lot of terrible things due to the nature of this script, and eventually comes to resent her creator and the reality she exists in, given that she's experiencing everything 100 times slower thousands of times on repeat. She can't do anything before the scenario is complete, however, due to her programming.

According to her, "all sorts of new algorithms and functions were created and a new history of AI was written" due to her creation (quote from the wiki) in universe as well. Complex AIs and human-like machinery are outlawed, so her existence is basically illegal.

In the second game, when she gets her revenge, she's on a quest to learn about the world and eventually become human.

The fact that she's an ai is very important to her character growth and the story as a whole, so I think she deserves a spot in the tournament :)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Cecilia Nowell at The Guardian:

On the campaign trail this year, Donald Trump routinely criticized US media. The president-elect called for CBS to be stripped of its broadcast license after it aired an interview with Kamala Harris, refused to participate in an interview with 60 Minutes and routinely called journalists the “enemy of the people”. But perhaps no American media has attracted as much ire from the president-elect as the Corporation for Public Broadcasting – a non-profit corporation created by federal law in 1967 to distribute funding to public media organizations like PBS and NPR.

“NO MORE FUNDING FOR NPR, A TOTAL SCAM!” Trump wrote in a post on Truth Social in April. “THEY ARE A LIBERAL DISINFORMATION MACHINE. NOT ONE DOLLAR!!!” As the Trump prepares to take office next month, public media organizations – such as NPR and PBS, which have aired longtime favorites such as Curious George and All Things Considered – are readying themselves for funding cuts and other attacks against their programming. After Trump was re-elected in November, NPR member stations circulated a report warning that “it would be unwise to assume that events will play out as they have in the past” where funding is concerned, the New York Times reported Friday, and PBS board members received an update from political consultants earlier this month. Trump and his allies have repeatedly called for the federal government to cut all funding to public media. In March 2017, Trump called for Congress to cut all funding to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting in the first proposed budget of his presidency – a call he repeated throughout his presidency.

In response to a 2020 effort to defund public media, the PBS president and CEO, Paula Kerger, issued a statement noting that “PBS and our member stations have earned bipartisan Congressional support because of the vital role that public television plays in homes and communities across the country. For 50 years, PBS has served as a trusted source for educational and thought-provoking programming, including school readiness initiatives for children, support for teachers and caregivers, public safety communications and lifelong learning across broadcast and digital platforms.” But the conservative playbook Project 2025 has continued echoing conservative calls to cut funding to PBS and NPR, stating that the new Trump administration should strip public media of federal funding and licenses for noncommercial education stations.

[...] In November, shortly after Trump won the 2024 presidential election, Musk coauthored an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal with Vivek Ramaswamy (the two have been tasked with leading a “department of government efficiency”, an agency Trump claims he will create). In it, the pair identified the $535m Congress allocates each year to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting as one line item they would cut to reduce federal expenditures. As recently as this week, Musk posted on X that “legacy media must die”. Although these attacks against public media are growing more concerted, they’re not new. Every Republican administration has aimed to defund public media since the Corporation for Public Broadcasting was founded. American public media traces its origins to the Public Broadcasting Act of 1967, passed under Lyndon B Johnson’s administration. A public-private partnership, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting connects 1,190 public radio stations and 356 public television stations with federal grants, allowing those stations to maintain editorial independence and also raise funds from members and sponsorships. Today, 99% of the US population lives within listening range of at least one public media station.

The attacks on NPR and PBS should worry us all, as it is part of Donald Trump's authoritarian war on press freedom.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! do u have any recommendations on fics that are corporate/work human aus?

Thanks!

Hi! Here are some office worker AUs...

When God Closes a Door… by wyrmy (T)

Aziraphale is a burnt out salesperson, stuck in a boring job selling sliding doors for a wildly incompetent boss. The highlight of his work day is a man he is fascinated by but has never met in person, Anthony Crowley, the sexy purchaser who buys doors for another company. Can two small cogs in two large machines somehow defy their bosses and find love?

Critical Upgrade (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Tech) by Kirathaune (T)

Modern Office AU: Aziraphale likes his vintage computer equipment, but it's causing problems with his colleagues. Gabriel mandates an upgrade, and Crowley from IT is assigned to make it all work.

be mine tonight (be mine forever) by artenon (T)

Aziraphale knows he’s a solitary person. He knows Crowley may very well be his only true friend. He doesn’t mind this. He does, however, very much mind learning that his coworkers have a betting pool on whether he’ll be coming alone to the department holiday party next week. He especially minds when he learns that the reason there is a betting pool in the first place is because their intern, young Newton Pulsifer, is the only one naïve enough to believe Aziraphale might have a date. ----- In retaliation to a bet made against him, Aziraphale asks Crowley to be his date to the office holiday party. Certainly there are no flaws to be found in this plan. Certainly the secret love Aziraphale has been harboring for Crowley for the past several years won't be an issue. Certainly not.

House Style by soft_october (M)

“Since that's all settled, the real question is did he give you his number?” Anathema laughed. “He was looking at you the way you look at lunch.” “Forget lunch!” Michael declared. “He was looking at you the way you were looking at him!” Aziraphale is content in his job as an editor at Celestial Publishing, though he could go for a bit less of doing his boss' job for him. But everything goes a bit screwy when the CEO brings in a consultant with plans to build a program that will turn the entire editorial department on its head. If only he wasn't so handsome

Butterflies in a Bell Jar by Still_Not_King (T)

Arthur “Zira” Fell and Anthony J. Crowley both work for the same company in London, a big office building for Ethereal™ Investments. Crowley is in IT, which is good because his favorite coworker’s husband is kind of a mess with computers, plus his office-mate Zira is fricking adorable. Of course, then Zira finally joins Newt and Anathema for Karaoke Friday and comes face-to-face with the real A.J.. To say they hit it off would be an understatement - it’s like they’ve known one another for years. It’s an adorable little meet-cute. There’s navigating a new relationship, falling in love hard and fast, and the Incredibly Strict No-Fraternizing Policy at work. Cept, turns out that No-Fratrenizing Policy is mostly directed at THEM specifically...

i've found a way (a way to make you smile) by curtaincall (T)

Crowley worked in Sales. He had never intended to work in Sales. It had just sort of happened. One moment, there he’d been, a newly minted university graduate off to change the world, exquisitely useless Philosophy degree in hand, and now here he was, having sauntered vaguely downwards into a Hell that consisted mainly of cold-calling new customers and sucking up to existing ones.   AU based on The Office.

- Mod D

[kingshovelbug]

im sorry but i need to geek out somewhere and screaming into the void on tumblr is less likely to get me flayed than on twitter, especially if i get terms wrong. plus i can do a read more and yall can click into the tech talk if you want to verse it bombarding your twitter timelines

so idk if i only liked it or if i actually put it in my queue but i saw a post that talked about a few pieces of tech that focus on user repairs and being sustainable (fairphone and frameworks laptop) and after doing some more research into what they have to offer i actually really excited that these products are finely hitting the us market and that people are moving away from the belief that super smooth streamlined glassy = the future. being able to reliably repair and keep what you have alive verse throwing the whole thing away when maybe all you needed to do is add more ram to your current laptop (something that i would do with my laptop to keep using it for a few more years if it wasnt glued shut and i was at risk of cracking the screen) or swap out a fuse.

i know big corporations dont like it but i truly do believe with how much tech we use on a daily basis that the way that we are going to be more environmentally friendly is to move back to tech that we can hang onto for as long as we can and to recycle and then reuse what we cant. like with the frameworks laptop. i saw that they just partnered with coolermaster to create a case specifically so that you can reuse you motherboard, cpu, etc and make a portable workstation. you could dual wield with the laptop you just upgraded if you want to dedicate specific tasks to one or the other. they also specifically mentioned that you could screw it into the back of a monitor and create your own all in one. guys thats cool as shit??? if you had a 3d printer and some time you could even create that yourself

on top of the actual hardware part moving to open source programs when your able. when i update my desktop i plan on running linux. it might have a learning curve compared to windows but in terms of performance??? ive heard that it runs smoother even on older machines, that its more efficient because isnt running stuff in the background that tracks your data and shit. now i understand that not everyone can do that because there are some programs that dont play nice with linux but for my needs at least it does everything i would need it to. and maybe a couple years down the road we do figure out how to run these programs on certain flavors of linux since its open source and people fiddle with it so much. (still looking for alternatives to like word and excel though, i use google docs since its free but i want to move away from them as much as i can too since they laid of their youtube music team (i believe?? it might of been a different branch) for trying to unionize)

if anyone knows of any other smaller companies that actually focus on sustainability and user repairability please let me know. theres certain pieces of tech that i think are now unfortunately behind a software repair paywall, things that used to be just machines and are gaining more bells and whistles like cars and refrigerators if that makes sense. but the more we push for these things to be repairable by us the consumers id hope that would change, or there would at least be options that dont need specific companies to repair them or else they blow up

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Solar is a market for (financial) lemons

There are only four more days left in my Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Rooftop solar is the future, but it's also a scam. It didn't have to be, but America decided that the best way to roll out distributed, resilient, clean and renewable energy was to let Wall Street run the show. They turned it into a scam, and now it's in terrible trouble. which means we are in terrible trouble.

There's a (superficial) good case for turning markets loose on the problem of financing the rollout of an entirely new kind of energy provision across a large and heterogeneous nation. As capitalism's champions (and apologists) have observed since the days of Adam Smith and David Ricardo, markets harness together the work of thousands or even millions of strangers in pursuit of a common goal, without all those people having to agree on a single approach or plan of action. Merely dangle the incentive of profit before the market's teeming participants and they will align themselves towards it, like iron filings all snapping into formation towards a magnet.

But markets have a problem: they are prone to "reward hacking." This is a term from AI research: tell your AI that you want it to do something, and it will find the fastest and most efficient way of doing it, even if that method is one that actually destroys the reason you were pursuing the goal in the first place.

https://learn.microsoft.com/en-us/security/engineering/failure-modes-in-machine-learning

For example: if you use an AI to come up with a Roomba that doesn't bang into furniture, you might tell that Roomba to avoid collisions. However, the Roomba is only designed to register collisions with its front-facing sensor. Turn the Roomba loose and it will quickly hit on the tactic of racing around the room in reverse, banging into all your furniture repeatedly, while never registering a single collision:

https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2021/04/when-ais-start-hacking.html

This is sometimes called the "alignment problem." High-speed, probabilistic systems that can't be fully predicted in advance can very quickly run off the rails. It's an idea that pre-dates AI, of course – think of the Sorcerer's Apprentice. But AI produces these perverse outcomes at scale…and so does capitalism.

Many sf writers have observed the odd phenomenon of corporate AI executives spinning bad sci-fi scenarios about their AIs inadvertently destroying the human race by spinning off in some kind of paperclip-maximizing reward-hack that reduces the whole planet to grey goo in order to make more paperclips. This idea is very implausible (to say the least), but the fact that so many corporate leaders are obsessed with autonomous systems reward-hacking their way into catastrophe tells us something about corporate executives, even if it has no predictive value for understanding the future of technology.

Both Ted Chiang and Charlie Stross have theorized that the source of these anxieties isn't AI – it's corporations. Corporations are these equilibrium-seeking complex machines that can't be programmed, only prompted. CEOs know that they don't actually run their companies, and it haunts them, because while they can decompose a company into all its constituent elements – capital, labor, procedures – they can't get this model-train set to go around the loop:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

Stross calls corporations "Slow AI," a pernicious artificial life-form that acts like a pedantic genie, always on the hunt for ways to destroy you while still strictly following your directions. Markets are an extremely reliable way to find the most awful alignment problems – but by the time they've surfaced them, they've also destroyed the thing you were hoping to improve with your market mechanism.

Which brings me back to solar, as practiced in America. In a long Time feature, Alana Semuels describes the waves of bankruptcies, revealed frauds, and even confiscation of homeowners' houses arising from a decade of financialized solar:

https://time.com/6565415/rooftop-solar-industry-collapse/

The problem starts with a pretty common finance puzzle: solar pays off big over its lifespan, saving the homeowner money and insulating them from price-shocks, emergency power outages, and other horrors. But solar requires a large upfront investment, which many homeowners can't afford to make. To resolve this, the finance industry extends credit to homeowners (lets them borrow money) and gets paid back out of the savings the homeowner realizes over the years to come.

But of course, this requires a lot of capital, and homeowners still might not see the wisdom of paying even some of the price of solar and taking on debt for a benefit they won't even realize until the whole debt is paid off. So the government moved in to tinker with the markets, injecting prompts into the slow AIs to see if it could coax the system into producing a faster solar rollout – say, one that didn't have to rely on waves of deadly power-outages during storms, heatwaves, fires, etc, to convince homeowners to get on board because they'd have experienced the pain of sitting through those disasters in the dark.

The government created subsidies – tax credits, direct cash, and mixes thereof – in the expectation that Wall Street would see all these credits and subsidies that everyday people were entitled to and go on the hunt for them. And they did! Armies of fast-talking sales-reps fanned out across America, ringing dooorbells and sticking fliers in mailboxes, and lying like hell about how your new solar roof was gonna work out for you.

These hustlers tricked old and vulnerable people into signing up for arrangements that saw them saddled with ballooning debt payments (after a honeymoon period at a super-low teaser rate), backstopped by liens on their houses, which meant that missing a payment could mean losing your home. They underprovisioned the solar that they installed, leaving homeowners with sky-high electrical bills on top of those debt payments.

If this sounds familiar, it's because it shares a lot of DNA with the subprime housing bubble, where fast-talking salesmen conned vulnerable people into taking out predatory mortgages with sky-high rates that kicked in after a honeymoon period, promising buyers that the rising value of housing would offset any losses from that high rate.

These fraudsters knew they were acquiring toxic assets, but it didn't matter, because they were bundling up those assets into "collateralized debt obligations" – exotic black-box "derivatives" that could be sold onto pension funds, retail investors, and other suckers.

This is likewise true of solar, where the tax-credits, subsidies and other income streams that these new solar installations offgassed were captured and turned into bonds that were sold into the financial markets, producing an insatiable demand for more rooftop solar installations, and that meant lots more fraud.

Which brings us to today, where homeowners across America are waking up to discover that their power bills have gone up thanks to their solar arrays, even as the giant, financialized solar firms that supplied them are teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, thanks to waves of defaults. Meanwhile, all those bonds that were created from solar installations are ticking timebombs, sitting on institutions' balance-sheets, waiting to go blooie once the defaults cross some unpredictable threshold.

Markets are very efficient at mobilizing capital for growth opportunities. America has a lot of rooftop solar. But 70% of that solar isn't owned by the homeowner – it's owned by a solar company, which is to say, "a finance company that happens to sell solar":

https://www.utilitydive.com/news/solarcity-maintains-34-residential-solar-market-share-in-1h-2015/406552/

And markets are very efficient at reward hacking. The point of any market is to multiply capital. If the only way to multiply the capital is through building solar, then you get solar. But the finance sector specializes in making the capital multiply as much as possible while doing as little as possible on the solar front. Huge chunks of those federal subsidies were gobbled up by junk-fees and other financial tricks – sometimes more than 100%.

The solar companies would be in even worse trouble, but they also tricked all their victims into signing binding arbitration waivers that deny them the power to sue and force them to have their grievances heard by fake judges who are paid by the solar companies to decide whether the solar companies have done anything wrong. You will not be surprised to learn that the arbitrators are reluctant to find against their paymasters.

I had a sense that all this was going on even before I read Semuels' excellent article. We bought a solar installation from Treeium, a highly rated, giant Southern California solar installer. We got an incredibly hard sell from them to get our solar "for free" – that is, through these financial arrangements – but I'd just sold a book and I had cash on hand and I was adamant that we were just going to pay upfront. As soon as that was clear, Treeium's ardor palpably cooled. We ended up with a grossly defective, unsafe and underpowered solar installation that has cost more than $10,000 to bring into a functional state (using another vendor). I briefly considered suing Treeium (I had insisted on striking the binding arbitration waiver from the contract) but in the end, I decided life was too short.

The thing is, solar is amazing. We love running our house on sunshine. But markets have proven – again and again – to be an unreliable and even dangerous way to improve Americans' homes and make them more resilient. After all, Americans' homes are the largest asset they are apt to own, which makes them irresistible targets for scammers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

That's why the subprime scammers targets Americans' homes in the 2000s, and it's why the house-stealing fraudsters who blanket the country in "We Buy Ugly Homes" are targeting them now. Same reason Willie Sutton robbed banks: "That's where the money is":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/

America can and should electrify and solarize. There are serious logistical challenges related to sourcing the underlying materials and deploying the labor, but those challenges are grossly overrated by people who assume the only way we can approach them is though markets, those monkey's paw curses that always find a way to snatch profitable defeat from the jaws of useful victory.

To get a sense of how the engineering challenges of electrification could be met, read McArthur fellow Saul Griffith's excellent popular engineering text Electrify:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/09/practical-visionary/#popular-engineering

And to really understand the transformative power of solar, don't miss Deb Chachra's How Infrastructure Works, where you'll learn that we could give every person on Earth the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, but colder) by capturing just 0.4% of the solar rays that reach Earth's surface:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

But we won't get there with markets. All markets will do is create incentives to cheat. Think of the market for "carbon offsets," which were supposed to substitute markets for direct regulation, and which produced a fraud-riddled market for lemons that sells indulgences to our worst polluters, who go on destroying our planet and our future:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

We can address the climate emergency, but not by prompting the slow AI and hoping it doesn't figure out a way to reward-hack its way to giant profits while doing nothing. Founder and chairman of Goodleap, Hayes Barnard, is one of the 400 richest people in the world – a fortune built on scammers who tricked old people into signing away their homes for nonfunctional solar):

https://www.forbes.com/profile/hayes-barnard/?sh=40d596362b28

If governments are willing to spend billions incentivizing rooftop solar, they can simply spend billions installing rooftop solar – no Slow AI required.

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28 - TOMORROW!) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/27/here-comes-the-sun-king/#sign-here

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image:

Future Atlas/www.futureatlas.com/blog (modified)

https://www.flickr.com/photos/87913776@N00/3996366952

--

CC BY 2.0

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

J Doll (modified)

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Blue_Sky_%28140451293%29.jpeg

CC BY 3.0

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

[prodigal-sunlight]

What do u have against ai? :(

How much time do you have?

1. Generative AI is trained on the works of artists and writers without consent or compensation. It’s literally stealing from actual people. And no, it isn’t “learning like a real person” because it isn’t a real person. It’s a program that is incapable of creating anything new of its one. All generative AI is built on theft by corporations from small independent creators.

2. It uses considerably more power than most other current technology. Like, arguably it is worse for the environment than NFTs. The amount of water it wastes is absurd, the uptick in energy usage is absurd.

3. Corporations are salivating at the chance to cut creative people out of products. They don’t want to pay people for their work because they don’t respect art and artists. As long as we live under a capitalist system, people need to be able to own what they create and be able to provide for themself with their own skills.

4. The misinformation and disinformation generative AI can cause and has ALREADY caused is insane. People have had their faces and voices stolen without consent or compensation. People can generate believable deepfakes of politicians and social figures that will degrade the truth and potentially even damage our already messed up political climate. How would you feel if someone posted a realistic video of you praising a product you never bought? Or vouching for a politician you hate? Or saying you think all gay people should die?

5. This one is just personal, but I don’t care what a machine “makes.” Creativity is special to me because it lets you see the world through someone else’s eyes. Art of all kinds—writing, art, music, roleplay—is a kind of communication. I want to communicate with people, not an inanimate object mimicking what a person would be like. The joy of art comes from creation. Reducing it to only consumption is a disservice to all humankind.

Certain scientific fields have genuine uses for other kinds of AI, and I respect that. But Generative AI is built on theft and disrespect; at best its used for shallow art that someone didn’t care enough about to make themself, at worst its used for scams, disinformation, and stripping away even more of people’s rights.

I legitimately believe there is no current ethical uses for Generative AI. Will there be one day? Its possible, but I honestly find that unlikely. For now, though, if you are pro Generative AI, please unfollow me.

I may not be the most talented artist/writer out there, but I have enough self-respect that I don’t want people who see me as replaceable by machines engaging with my creative works. I put a lot of time, passion, and love into my work. Someone who sees that as equal in worth to something an algorithm spat out in five seconds is not welcome here.

[seat-safety-switch]

People ask me how I learned about so many different things. It's easy: I experiment a lot. Some folks are afraid to try pushing a new button in their word processor, or trying an alternative cooking time on their microwave. They know what works, and they fear that deviating from that golden path will lead them to horrible, confusing misery as the thing they rely on has broken, and it's all their fault.

Friends: everything I own breaks all the time. It is literally impossible to discern "my fault" from "it was just old." That's where my power comes from. I push whatever button I want, and then find out what it does. Sometimes it burns up a wiring harness, or ejects some part of the machine that I needed. Most of the time, though, I learn about a cool new feature I didn't know existed. For instance, did you know that the doors in my car can lock?

Now, I don't want to sound like I'm always trying out new things. For years, I'd been afraid of pushing different buttons on my washing machine. You see, it's very old, and a little finicky, and I had finally found a magic combination of options that got my clothes washed without turning them into microplastic dust. Then, one morning, I got a little froggy. Things hadn't been going well for me in the other projects, and I wanted to assert some control over my life. I pushed the "Custom Program" button.

Nothing seemed to happen. In fact, the screen went blank. And then I heard the helicopters. You see, I never got a manual with this clothes washer (because I found it floating in the river.) I had no idea what "Custom Program" would do, but secretly hoped it would unlock magic cleaning powers. What it actually did was cause the LG Corporation to mark me for death.

Just because I've been on the run from snipers and other heavily-armed mercenaries for the last sixteen months is no reason for you not to experiment. For instance, you could go push the "Custom Program" button on your own washing machine. That would probably draw away at least half of the highly trained assassins bearing down on me at this exact moment. Hell, maybe push it two or three times, really help me out. I would love to have a little more time to myself and less spent fleeing gun-toting psychopaths. Who knows what I'll discover next?

[the-perfect-violation]

Adagio

Ash x Reader

///

Summary: Ash dreams of you and you wrestle with priorities.

TW: Smut, Angst

Rating: 18+ Mature

Word Count: 3,100

///

A/N: This is my first fic and it was written sans beta, so please let me know if you see anything worth fixing.

Ash has always been a favorite of mine. My despair at finding so few pieces on him finally drove me to write my own. That's my way of saying that this is unapologetically self-serving haha.

Enjoy nevertheless!

///

Link to AO3 if you'd prefer read there.

Gif is my own.

Someone is gathering every crumb you drop.  These mindless decisions and Moments you long forgot. Keep them all. Let our formulas find your soul. We’ll divine an artesian source in your mind, Marshal feed and force. Our machines will Design you a perfect love Or better still A perfect lust.  O how glorious, glorious: A brand new need is born. Now we possess you. You’ll learn that. Now we possess you. You’ll learn that in time. Now we will build you an endlessly upward world.  Embrace you for all you’re worth. Is that wrong? Isn’t this what you want? - The Hymn of Acxiom

///

The storm had begun to pick up again as your automated car wound its way through the city streets towards your office. The sun barely rose at all this time of year, and the sharpness of the ensuing cold was made all the worse by the dark and damp that hung eternally over the city. It was supposed to snow again today. Who would have thought you’d end up on Thedus of all places? At least the job paid well. And you only had a few weeks remaining before you went back to Earth.

Weyland-Yutani practically owned the planet and almost every of the meager two million residents were employed by them. You included. A trained psychiatrist, you had been asked to spend six months on the mining planet to help prepare a handful of synthetics for different jobs they would be completing for the Corporation. What those jobs were exactly was high above your paygrade. You were sure the synthetics you worked with had no idea yet, either.

According to Weyland-Yutani, instilling their machines with a well-balanced emotional spectrum was essential to their success. That’s where you came in. You worked with your synthetics regularly, showing and talking to them about what they were feeling and how to respond accordingly. Most of your patients had been blinding successes and had been shipped off on their missions already.

Only one remained - a Hyperdyne Systems 120-A/2 named Ash. Today was your last day together. Then, he would be deployed and you would finish writing up your reports alone over the remaining weeks. Saying goodbye to the others had been relatively easy. Your relationship had developed only so far as to be considered professional acquaintances. 

But Ash - something about the way he watched you, hung on your every word, smiled slightly when he first saw you each day… You thought he might have developed some sort of crush. That was a stark contrast to how he had been when first activated. Programmed to be aloof, cold, a strict rule-follower, he had been all of those over the first few months of your relationship.

You found you actively looked forward to your time with him now. He was collected, intelligent, and had a dry sense of humor that never failed to make you laugh. While the others had been a professional responsibility, Ash had become closer to what you would call a friend, although that was as far as your moral compass would ever let things go.

The two of you could talk for hours about history, philosophy, or the latest scientific journals. He would ask about your life, too, just as much as you would enquire about his. Maybe living on a sparsely-habited planet in the outer rim had had more of an effect on you than you had thought, but it felt nice to have someone like him to work with and talk to. That made the knowledge that you likely wouldn’t see him again after today all the more painful.

The car pulled up out front of the monolithic Weyland headquarters, interrupting your musing. You pulled your coat tight around you, adjusted your scarf, and grabbed your briefcase. Your heels echoed steadily as you made your way through the tall, angular hallways towards your office. It appeared that most of the staff had decided to work from home for the day - which was no surprise for a stormy Friday - but it made the already brutalist building seem almost hyperborean.

The room they had given you was nothing special - although it did have a wide bank of windows looking over the city for which you were grateful. You had a few built-in shelves filled with archaic books you had collected over the years and had negotiated to have come with you to Thedus. Behind your desk, the wall held only a print of Böcklin’s Die Toteninsel that you had been gifted before you departed Earth. You liked to keep everything dim, and chose to only light the room with a few lamps placed around the room.

You set your briefcase down and lit a small stick of incense to chase away the smell of the mining plants that had eeked its way in with you. After taking off your coat, you checked your watch. Ash should be here at 15:00, giving you time to get a report or two off your desk. You settled down and dove into the work laid out before you.

///

Two sharp knocks pulled you out of your work-induced trance.

“Come in!” You called out, standing and slipping your glasses into your blazer pocket as your patient entered. Like always, he was wearing his officer uniform and smelled faintly of cologne.

“Good afternoon, Ash,” you smiled at him and motioned toward one of the two facing chairs by the window.

“Hello,” he responded with a slight smile.

He moved to take his regular seat and you sat down in the chair opposite.

“How are you?” You asked.

“I’m well,” he responded quickly, glancing out the window and rubbing his hands on the arms of his chair in what seemed to be nervousness. “You?”

“Fantastic - I like it when the building is empty like this,” you said. “And I can never hate a good snowstorm. How was your evening yesterday?”

“It was good.”

"You ship out tomorrow, right?"

"At 08:00."

"Do you have any idea what you'll be doing yet?"

"None. I know my ship is called the USCSS Nostromo."

You stared at him, hoping he would continue.

“Ash, is everything alright? You seem distant. I know this is our last session together, and I was hoping we could end on a positive note.”

“I know - I... I’m sorry. I just didn’t sleep well is all.”

You knew he was deflecting. Synthetics didn’t need sleep like humans did. Most did try to sleep each night in order to maintain a more human schedule, but if he weren’t able to get rest it shouldn’t have any effect on how they acted the next day.

“It’s alright - I'm sure you're under a lot of pressure right now. It happens to all of us," you said, deciding to avoid the confrontation. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“A little, yes.”

“Did you dream?” You had been going over dreams with him lately, walking through what moods they might represent and how to handle them.

You caught a flicker of something - uncertainty? - in his eyes before he answered. “Yes.”

“About what?” He only stared at the wall behind your shoulder.

“Or whom?” You added and watched as that flicker of uncertainty passed over his face again. Now you were getting somewhere. He was trying to conceal something from you, you knew. That hadn’t been a problem before. The pause lengthened and you prodded him again.

“Ash, I -” 

“I dreamt about you.” He said a little too quickly, as if it were an admission he was glad to have off his chest. His green eyes finally met your grey ones.

You realized he had been embarrassed before, something you had misinterpreted as nervousness. Good, you thought approvingly. You had heard that the idea of embarrassment had been a bastard to program so it was a relief to see that you had finally brought it out. But you showed none of this satisfaction, and instead stared at him across the room, crossing your legs. He went back to avoiding eye contact, preferring to study the wall just over your shoulder.

“What did you dream about me?”

You watched as a blush crept up his neck and into his face and he held his tongue. His eyes moved to your face and he looked at you as though begging for mercy. Realization hit you like a crashing wave.

Oh .

It was your turn to freeze. Guilt rose up in place of surprise and you turned your head to look out the window instead of at him. You knew it was your job to give him some sort of motivation, a sense of home. You knew that drive alone could make a person - synthetic or not -  do almost anything. But the last thing you wanted to do was to play with anyone’s romantic feelings. You hadn’t realized that a synthetic’s feelings could even develop that far.

You reminded yourself that playing with synthetic’s feelings was the majority of your job description and you were being paid very well to do it. That only made the guilt worse.

I mean, who’s to say these are romantic feelings at all? You argued with yourself in desperation. This could be a physical impulse alone. He was programmed to have those needs. He was a science officer after all. He knew sex was a necessity in any living being’s life. That his creators had given those needs to some synthetics to help them fit in well with the humans around them. There was no reason he would be embarrassed about the act alone. There was clearly more going on here, you realized and your heart sank.

You heard your pulse in your ears as you turned back to him. He had been watching you closely.

“What do you dream about me, Ash?”

There was a long pause before he began. “I’m - we’re here. It’s late. We’re doing an extra session. To help prepare, you know, before I leave. When we finish, you walk me back to my room.”

Most Weyland-Yutani androids on Thedus were housed here, in this concrete pillar the company used as a planetary headquarters. Each was given a small room, more akin to a storage closet, that had a bed and a kitchenette. Although synthetics didn’t have a need to eat or sleep, the Corporation thought it would be good for them to get used to living in human environments. As if what little they were given could be called that. The thought made you feel a twinge of sadness. 

“I kiss you.” You are brought back to the present with a jolt as he continues. “I think it surprises you because you don’t respond right away. But then your hand comes up to the back of my head and I push you against the wall.

I feel like I can’t breathe when you open your mouth and moan into mine. I can’t keep myself off of you. My hands are trying to touch all of you at once. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you, I need you so badly.

I pick you up and you wrap your legs around me as I carry you to the bed. As I lay you down, I position myself on top of you and begin to kiss your neck, just below the ear. You moan my name and I know I’ll do anything you ask me to. You begin to run your hands over my chest and I take my shirt off. I pull myself off of you slightly as you help me remove your suit. It looked very much like the one you’re wearing today,” his eyes scanned your figure briefly before he spoke again.

“I know I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as you lying underneath me, blushing and staring up at me,” he stops there and swallows thickly. “Even now I see it and I know.”

Thick snowflakes begin to fall outside. You sat, unmoving, as he continued. 

“I pull your undergarments off slowly before kissing each porcelain breast individually and revel in the feeling of your nipples growing erect against my tongue. One of my hands trails down to the heat between your legs. My fingers gently trace the sensitive skin there, causing you to gasp. My touch is hesitant and you moan, your body urging me to continue. I take the cue, my fingers exploring further as my lips return to yours. You moan for me again.” 

You were blushing hard and it felt almost impossible to breathe. Ash watched you intently. You were sure he could see the effect his words had on you as you struggled to maintain composure. This can’t be happening.

But it was, and he kept speaking in a low voice.

“Your hips buck into my hand, urging me to continue. I pull my head back slightly to watch, entranced, as a blush creeps up your neck and you say my name under your breath. My eyes never leave yours as I begin to move my fingers in a steady rhythm. My other hand comes up to cradle your face, my thumb gently caressing your cheek. Your breath quickens as the pleasure builds, and you wrap your arms around me tighter, pulling me closer. The world outside the room fades away, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the gentle movements of my fingers.

You climax, your body shuddering with pleasure, squeezing my fingers within you. I hold you close, my fingers slowing as you come down from the high. After you catch your breath, your hands move to remove my pants. I say a silent prayer that you will find me pleasing. My heart races as you guide me closer to you, my tip gently brushing against your entrance. I look into your eyes, seeking permission and you nod, inviting me in. Relieved, I push myself into you, filling you completely. I have never felt ecstasy like this. You let out a shuddering groan as I begin to move slowly, carefully, my hips rocking back and forth as I try to find a steady rhythm. 

My arms snake behind your shoulders, holding you tight to me and giving me access to your throat. As I rut into you, I can feel myself nearing the edge. I breathe your name into your neck, my heart racing as I bring myself closer to the brink. I push myself up to look into your eyes in the final throes.

When I climax, I cry your name. I collapse onto you, my breathing heavy and ragged. You hold me close and the room is filled with the scent of sweat and desire.

As your breathing begins to slow, I slide myself out of you and tuck us under the covers. Curling around your back, my arms wrapped around you, I know I will never let you go. Not for anything.”

///

He stood and looked down out the windows. “There. Tell me what you think that means. I think I have a good guess.”

You rose and walked towards your desk, facing him again as you leaned back against it. The added distance between you helped clear your head.

He turned towards you slowly, the dim lights illuminating his face only partially. “I’m in love with you. I want you. I need you more than anything I know.” 

“You know that is impossible, Ash," You could feel something like panic beginning to set in. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Still, you held your ground and attempted to talk him down. "Don’t-”

“I’ve wanted you since we first met,” he interrupted. “That first day here in your office. You sparked something in me that won’t go away.” He was spiraling and you were helpless to stop it.

“We could be happy . I could make you happy,” he said as he began to stride towards you resolutely.

“Ash, you have to understand that this is what happens between a doctor and patient when-”

He kissed you then, and ignited a war inside you, a million thoughts crowding their way into your head as he pressed his lips to yours.

You wanted him, too, you realized. You wanted what you shared now to go on forever. You wanted a friend to laugh with, a companion to grow old with, and a lover to keep your bed warm at night. He could be all of that. He wanted to be all of that. All it would take was a word. For a second, your thoughts trailed off, lost in a future you knew would never come.

But pragmatism had always been your strong suit and it wouldn’t fail you now, however much it hurt. Feelings like this were normal between a psychiatrist and their patient. It was proof that your job had been well done. You were going back to Earth soon and he, well, he was the property of The Corporation to do with as they pleased. You knew you couldn't change that, however much you might want to.

So as his kiss continued, unlike in his dream, you didn’t respond. 

“Please don’t,” was all you said as he pulled away. Those few words took everything you had left to give.

He stood there, fixed to the spot. You could see him trying to process what to do next. He hadn’t thought it would go like this. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

You knew what had to be done next, although you didn’t want to do it. You reminded yourself that you were a Weyland-Yutani employee, hired to complete a task. That sense of duty was your motivation. You would be Ash’s.

“Don’t be,” you said. Your voice had become strained and you cleared your throat. “I’m your doctor, Ash. A relationship like this would be inappropriate - however much we both might want it.” His eyes filled with hope at the implication and you felt your heart sink. It was almost too cruel.

You continued, knowing that you were forever damned anyway. “I go back to Earth in three weeks. Find me there, outside of all this mess. We can start again. But first we both have jobs to do. Once they’re done, we can try this again. I'd... like to try again.” 

He gave you a slight smile and nodded, moving towards the doorway. He paused before he walked out.

“I’ll see you on the other side, then," he said, glancing back for the last time.

“I’m looking forward to it already.”

“As am I.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the dark hallway.

You never saw him again, never knew what happened on his Nostromo. But you were haunted with the guilt of those empty words until the end.