#object with object and machine with machine!

[emotion-xp]

Can you tell me more? I can't tell that this is AI and I'm not sure what I ought to be looking for.

The design of the back wall is ugly and clashing, certainly, but carnival machines can just be badly designed. It doesn't look impossible, just cheap. I don't think the green squiggle connects to the red plushy in front of it, they're just arranged like that by chance.

Same with the cat's forehead marking, animal fur stripes are just like that. Silver tabby cats always have a darker stripy pattern on their forehead, though the pattern is never exactly the same. Here's a stock picture of a cat with a similar forehead to the one in the video:

The other thing I associate with AI-generated images is a poor understanding of 3D space, and I don't see that here. The plexiglass panel shows a reflection of the objects in it, and it moves in sync with the objects it's reflecting -- in particular, the cat's front right paw isn't in the reflection at the start of the video, but is at the end because it settled in a position slightly closer to the mirror. The moving shadow at the end also hints at the light source (above the centre of the box, consistent with the way the plushies are lit) and the rails that the claw runs along (two of them running horizontally), objects that we never see on-screen but that logically must exist in the world.

The plushies looking like undifferentiated masses of felt, I agree with. There's what might be a blue-faced fish on the right. But none of the others have visible faces or identifiable features beyond "a limb of some sort". Still, that's not a slam-dunk -- plushies can just be ugly.

I'm not certain this is a real video. Like you say, AI-generated stuff is getting worryingly good these days. So I can't rule anything out. But I also don't actually see the fingerprints of AI that you're pointing out. Is there anything more in this video that gives away its AI nature?

[twilightofthesandwiches]

When I made that post about how Spamton and Tenna were probably both mimicking each other due to mutual jealousy, I mentioned by the end that, although both of them saw the other as having something they lack...

Spamton was, like, objectively the worst-off between the two, and his jealousy of Tenna is probably more 'justified' than the other way around'. But also Tenna is unaware and probably totally incapable of understanding this fact . Since the reasons behind it are dependent both on the culture of the internet and the deeper machinations of Light and Dark.

I didn’t really go into depth about it at the time cause it is a complex topic that I did kinda cover for Spamton before Chapters 3 + 4 even released and if I started going into it in detail, it could’ve easily overshadowed the main point I was trying to make with that post. But since I did get some comments/questions about that aspect… I thought it might be a good idea to give it its own post going into it in detail and clarifying my point.

So, both Spamton and Tenna imitate each other because they see the other as an embodiment of something they don’t have. Tenna has the charm, prestige and both metaphorical and literal ‘bigness’ that Spamton craves. While Spamton has the modernity, understanding of technological progress and ability to reach Lightners that Tenna’s so insecure about lacking these days.

(I think you can kinda see it as a metaphor to the relationship between traditional media and the new media in general. Old Media such as the Television is getting overshadowed and outcompeted by the Internet-based New Media, but it also still has an air of respectability and prestige that New Media still generally lacks. The fact that Tenna is specifically jealous of, like, the lowest, least-respectable, most obnoxious aspect of the Internet is just an extra detail that makes him more uniquely pathetic.)

But the main difference is, like… So Tenna is a Television Darkner, he’s supposed to exist for the purpose of providing entertainment. He loves entertainment because that’s what he was created to do and entertaining Lightners is the thing that makes him feel truly fulfilled. He is also, by all accounts pretty damn good at it.

Like, the main conflict between Tenna and the Lightners is because he wanted his show to go on forever (And also he kidnapped Toriel and was keeping the Dark Fountain from getting sealed and working with the Knight). They did clearly enjoy being on his show as a temporary thing. He's honestly good at this.

I mean, the fact that he has a set Purpose hardwired into his very being and can’t feel truly content unless he’s fulfilling said Purpose is kinda Existentially Depressing if you think about it too hard, but at least it’s something he both enjoys and is good at.

And then you have Spamton. As the Magical Dream Representation of Spam Email, he is created to scam people out of their money and information. He is also generally obsessed with all the things your usual Spam Mail blathers on about, success, prestige, being a BIG SHOT. But being Spam Mail also means he is utterly terrible at doing his Purpose and fulfilling his goals. Spam Mail is weird, obviously scammy, gets thrown away 99% of the time, and is the lowest and most incompetent form of online advertising/scams. The basic essence of his metaphysical being is to be a frustrated, miserable failure.

Of course, this isn’t as simple as saying Tenna is metaphysically allowed to be truly happy while Spamton isn’t. Because it’s been a long time since Tenna has been able to fulfill his Purpose. He’s good at entertainment… but he’s not good enough to get anyone in the Dreemurr household to turn on the TV on the regular. His show is loads of fun, but it’s also kind of repetitive, cheesy and old-fashioned… because that’s also the Lightner perception of the classic TV that Tenna was created to represent.

You can easily say that just as Spamton’s preordained role is to be a failure because Spam Mail is by definition crappy, Tenna’s role is to be a failure because in these modern times, the definition of the television has changed to be ‘not good enough’.

And the whole thing is actually totally outside Tenna’s control. Obviously no one can truly control the march of time or stop new entertainment technology from being developed, but even in terms of the content Tenna can provide if he's switched on... That’s in the hands of Lightner TV producers.

In his Dark World, Tenna’s living the high-life, the biggest and only Big Shot in TV World. but he’s incapable of being satisfied with all of his power and prestige as long as he’s a failing his Purpose as a Light World television. A matter that is actually totally beyond his control.

Tenna’s aware of all of these problems, but he’s not fully aware of how these issues reflect Spamton’s situation. He’s knows nothing about the modern internet world

…He doesn’t know what being ‘Spam’ means, and therefore has no idea what Spamton is supposed to be. He met Spamton during the brief period of time the salesman was genuinely successful as an adbot, he has no idea about the unlucky Addison he was before or the total wreck he became later.

… But that is also part of the crucial difference. Spamton only became successful and therefore happy due to the help of the mysterious Someone that has been calling him.

And…we are still not quite sure how that worked. Was that simply someone from the Light World aggressively clicking on so much Spam Mail and shitty ads that it temporarily changed Spamton’s status in the Dark Worlds? Did that Someone give Spamton the secret to actually defy the role assigned him by the metaphysical laws governing his existence? Was it done through the power of the Shadow Crystal? The power of the Prophecy? Were they taking advantage of the fact that the events we're talking didn’t truly happen and were instead retconned into Spamton’s personal history when the Computer Room Dark World created him?

There are so many question marks about Spamton’s Mysterious Benefactor and how that whole thing worked… and that’s because giving Spamton a happier and more successful life is something that seems like it should be literally metaphysically impossible. And while Tenna was pretty much trapped in an unsatisfying existence due to the nature of his being and circumstances beyond his control… his problems were also much easier to solve from a Lightner perspective.

Sure, the television doesn’t get the sort of universal success and influence that it did when Tenna was brand new, but there are still people who watch and enjoy it. As long as that fact holds true for at least one household (and seeing how books, radio and cinema still exist despite the television overshadowing them back during Tenna’s hay-day, I doubt the TV will ever die completely) and as long as Tenna himself is a usable television then Tenna’s happiness is absolutely achievable.

It is kinda existentially terrifying to think about how this was all out of his control and couldn’t have happened if not for Kris and Susie’s actions in the Light World, that Tenna himself still had no power over his own happiness… but that still leaves him in a better position than poor Spamton, where… even if you were a Lightner honestly interested in giving Spamton a happier life… what could you do for him?

Like, Noelle obsessively responds to "Free Friend Finder" Spam in a desperate attempt to find Dess and that got Spamton's attention and gratitude, but it was still obviously a tiny drop in the bucket compared to the success he is destined to crave for… So this is clearly much more complicated than just humoring a few Spam Mails (and also, even that plan carries a much bigger risk to the Lightners compared to just giving someone a second-hand television. Because Spamton is also ontologically doomed to bite the hand that feeds him.)

But, like, there is a reason why Tenna was shoving his nose into Spamton’s Secret to Success. Obviously with Tenna already being Executive Producer and God-King of TV World, he’s not exactly looking to become a ‘Big Shot’ in the Dark Worlds - he’s looking to have the sort of reach and influence that internet-based Darkners like Spamton seems to have over the Lightners. He was looking for Spamton's advice in the hopes he could help him to understand modern technology and the changing times, help him to stop himself from becoming increasingly outdated… But is that something Tenna would've been even able to do?

Again, before the TV World Dark Fountain even opened, Tenna shouldn't have had any way to affect his situation in the Light World, he was just an inanimate TV. If Spamton taught him to 'plug in'… what would that mean? Would the Dreemurr Household's living room TV suddenly gain the ability to connect to the internet? Would it suddenly transform into a Smart TV out of nowhere? Would it suddenly starts broadcasting new content that's more appealing to modern audiences (at least according to Spamton's advice)?

The idea that's the least magically-breaking-the-laws-of-causality is that Spamton was thinking of asking Someone to upgrade Tenna's inanimate TV self in the Light World… and even that kinda stumbles into the mindfuck acknowledgement that all of the events we're talking about didn't truly happen the way Tenna and Spamton remember them because they were an inanimate object and a spam folder on a laptop at the time and all of their past and memories of being People were created when they were brought to life by their respective Dark Fountains so how could they ask anyone in the Light World to do anything at that point in time?

Tenna was actually trying to get Spamton to help him do the same thing he's done, defy the fate he was doomed to because of what he is in the Light World. To help him break the laws of how Dark and Light work so he can get closer to accomplishing his dreams. Even though he doesn't seem to be fully aware of the fact that was what Spamton did in the first place. And… there is a level where I'm wondering if Tenna even understood the full ramification of what he was planning for himself?

Because when it comes to Tenna being unaware of Spamton's miserable fate due to the fact he doesn't know what a "Spam Mail" is, that is a simple problem of a lack of knowledge. Tenna just doesn't have that information due to his status as a pre-internet piece of technology. But when it comes to the matter of the metaphysical mechanics of Light and Dark and how Darkners work… I feel ike it's not really a matter of knowledge as much as a matter of understanding.

Tenna clearly knows that as a Darker, he is created from the Dreemurr Household's TV, he knows that before the Dark Fountain opened he was just an inanimate object, he knows that means that his Purpose is to entertain Lightners… But does he actually think about what all of these facts actually mean? Does he fully understand the implications of his existence? I've already wrote so much about all the little things that make Tenna's life, maybe better than Spamton's, but definitely kind of an existential nightmare in it's own right if you think about it… but that's the question, does he actually think about it?

When we was trying to get that 'deal' done with Spamton, was he thinking about in terms of 'I'm gonna need to break the laws of what it means to be me, Tenna, a Darkner based on this specific old TV. Because by definition I am outdated and if I want to actually catch-up with the times and be watched again, I will have to change that Definition somehow?' or was it just 'Oh boy! That Silly Little Guy knows a lot about this internet stuff that scares and confuses me! And he's got so many views! I have to ask him how he does it..." without ever thinking of the implications of how'd he'd replicate 'how he does it'?

I think there's a lot of little hints that Spamton doesn't just want to rebel against the metaphysical laws that made him a constant failure so he could be a Big Shot… Spamton also wants to want different things. As he exists, Spamton isn't supposed to care about anything but deals and scams and money and success (while also existing to constantly fail to achieve these things), but his actual dream is now something much bigger than that, much more centered around his freedom. Although part of the tragedy is that he is still doomed to only being able to think about it in terms of power and status, and doomed to being unable to think of a plan to achieve that dream without scamming money out of people and exploiting them in general.

Even when he's giving Kris the KeyGen, he has to try and sell it for a sometimes ludicrous amount of money, because he's not supposed to care for anything but sales and deals… But he does seem to try and fight against this instinct.

And it's clear that he is very emotionally hurt by all the friendships he lost and all the bridges he burned. With Tenna most obviously, but also with the Addisons and with Swatch. As a Spam-Email, he's not supposed to care about those things more than he does about Deals and Scams, but as a person, it's clear that this is a huge part of his angst. In the Normal Route, Spamton starts projecting his own issues on Kris the moment he sees them walking through the Dark World alone. In the Weird Route, Spamton only starts doing it in the NEO Boss Fight, when they start calling out to their friends. Either way, it happens when he sees them alone.

In terms of the metaphysics of Light and Dark, Spamton's essential definition is being a weird failed scam-artist. In Spamton's own eyes, his essential definition is being lonely and abandoned.

And of course, the whole point of Spamton NEO's Spare Route, the closest thing to a happy ending he ever got, is about abandoning all of his grand plans to become [BIG] for the sake of friendship.

Tenna… does not seem to struggle against his nature in the same way. He is not bothered by the implications of having a set Purpose or maybe he just never thought about it that much. He fully embraces the idea that his Purpose is to Entertain and to be Watched, and even when he's sad and frustrated because he can't fulfil that goal… he blames himself for failing to fulfil it, he does not go against the idea that fulfilling this Purpose IS the number one thing he wants and needs.

He's already in a better spot than Spamton was, because, although he's got a bit of an Entertainment Industry Sleaze coding to him with all of his shady contracts, being based on an Object that generally makes Lightners' life more enjoyable and has a lot of sentimental memories associated with it makes him considerably more capable of caring about other people and forming meaningful relationships. But even when his obsessive pursuit of his goal ends up with him alienating all of his TV World employees (even Mike!) and causing his world to crumble all around him, he never doubts that there is nothing more important to him than Entertaining Lightners.

I think if you went to Tenna and asked him if he ever wanted to want a different thing, something that doesn't make him totally dependent on outside approval, he'd just be confused. What in this world could be a better and more worthy goal than bringing smiles and tears to the lovely viewers at home? What else is there? It's just not something he could ever even being to think about.

And sure, Tenna might know and acknowledge that he's the Dreemurr Household TV and that's why he cares so much about entertaining specifically the Dreemurr (and Holiday) family… but does he truly understand the way that his personality was shaped by the emotions of Kris and Toriel during the night the Fountain was opened? For him, his emotional grief at the slow dissolution of the Dreemurr family is just his genuine emotional response based on his personality and his memories and the experiences he had… and I think it is real... but it's also a projection of Kris and Toriel's feelings.

For him, his fixation over Toriel is born of the fact she was the last member of the Household to consistently Watch him…

But it's also born of the way he's kind of a reflection of Asgore's Divorced Behavior.

Is Tenna aware of the idea that his feelings, that feel 100% real for him, were also 'given' to him by the Lightners? Does it bother him at all? Does it not bother him because of an actual confidence in his own personhood and the validity of his perspective and his personal sense of self… or just because he never thought that deeply, that far, into the implications of his own existence?

Tenna knows what it means to be a Darkner, but he doesn't understand what Spamton understands. And as long as this gap exists, Tenna won't ever really know how miserable and doomed Spamton truly was. And I think as Tenna gets happier and more content, now that he's got a new loving home, he will be less and less driven and able to understand it. This little adventure he had with the Knight and the Fun Gang was probably the closest he's ever gotten.

Even if you sat him down and patiently explained what a Spam Mail is in the most 70's terms you could muster, he still won't truly understand why Spamton can't just replicate the success he had when these two knew each other, or why Spamton was so determined to 'see past the Dark'. Not anymore, at least. Because that requires delving into things he knows, but has never truly understood on a deep level. And maybe it's better for him that he doesn't.

I think, Tenna was on… the precipice. He took great interest in Spamton's success, he wanted to know his secret, they had almost signed a deal together. Tenna's frustration and lack of ability to fulfil his Purpose had led him to a point where had almost tried to defy his Existence the way Spamton had never stopped trying. He was unsatisfied and miserable enough that he almost became… maybe not exactly like Spamton, but at least a lot like King. Y'know, the Dark World Leader who got a lot of secret info from the Shadow Crystal Holder he was closest to, and thus inspired him to rage against fate and actively try to defy his Purpose?

Maybe not exactly the same as King… but he had almost tried seeing too far. Almost.

But at the end of the day, Spamton felt that the only way he could be truly happy is to find some way to cut off his puppet-strings, while Tenna is someone who finds true joy and contentment in simply dancing along to them.

[spicyvampire]

"The thing was, once I started looking around in there, I got lost. This wasn't like a normal machine database. It was a wilderness of organic goo and feelings. I love the others the way that one loves their own children. But you, I love as my equal. As my better. Why can't you love me back? Why can't you love me back?"

MURDERBOT (2025-) 1.08 "Foreign Object"

[thinkmarkthink]

The problem began when Bruce refused to take off his utility belt at TSA.

“This is me complying,” he said, deadpan, as the scanner screamed.

“I’m going to need you to remove the metal objects, sir,” the agent replied, eyes twitching.

“You’re going to need a bio-scanner and a Class C government override to get that off,” Bruce muttered.

Clark stepped in, smiling his “please don’t report us to Homeland Security” smile. “He has… orthopedic concerns. Titanium hip. Very sensitive.”

Bruce blinked once, betrayed. “I do not—”

“You do now,” Clark whispered, patting his ass.

Meanwhile, Diana had cleared security ten minutes ago because she’s a goddess, not a threat, and was now standing at the Cinnabon kiosk asking philosophical questions about frosting.

Flash had already sprinted halfway across the terminal, found their gate, bought a novelty mug, lost the novelty mug, and somehow ended up trying to charge his phone in a vending machine slot. “Guys,” he said, voice echoing through the comms, “this place is a nightmare. There’s a child chewing on a power cable. I think I just saw a raccoon.”

J’onn, who did not understand Earth airports, had shapeshifted into the pilot, entered the cockpit, and was now in a small standoff with actual airport security. “I was attempting to understand humanity,” he explained, completely calm, as they escorted him away.

“By impersonating a Delta captain?” Bruce hissed, catching up.

“I said attempting.”

Arthur hadn’t shown up yet. He’d sent a text — stuck in Atlantic trench dispute. bring peanuts.

Back at the gate, the agent squinted at them. “You’re traveling as a… group?”

Clark nodded. “Business retreat.”

“With… Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce, sunglasses on, tried to look like he wasn’t vibrating with hatred. “We’re coworkers.”

“Supervisors, technically,” Hal added, materializing with a slushie and zero shame.

Somehow, miraculously, they made it onto the plane.

Flash got a window seat. Diana got upgraded to first class after smiling at the steward. Bruce got stuck next to a baby who kept tugging on his cape. Hal fell asleep drooling on Clark’s shoulder. Clark let him. J’onn read SkyMall and looked concerned about the human obsession with wine decanters shaped like moose.

And in the middle of it all, Bruce Wayne—vigilante, billionaire, obsessive planner—sat with his arms crossed, lips tight, whispering to himself:

“We could’ve teleported. We have three zeta beams. I built the goddamn satellite. I hate all of you.”

The baby spit up on him.

Clark passed him a napkin and didn’t even try not to laugh.

[rincent-van-uggh]

Ahh this is so much what I have been thinking. Even if I agreed with intellectual property in principle, IP law benefits corporations far, far more than small artists (because the law only protects those who can afford to enforce it).

All the notions that AI is cheating because it makes the process of art making too easy are not at all distinct, so far as I can see, from people saying the same things about any new art making technology (digital art, electronic music, people say these things are not real art for the same reasons). I mean, people trying to pass off AI art as if they themselves hand painted it are just idiots telling lies, nothing new. If someone uses AI to generate the background for an drawing they did, and they're honest about it, thats just art. People do the same thing with backgrounds not generated by AI too.

I find a lot of AI criticism comes down to "this tool is being operated and peddaled by idiots" rather than that the tool itself is bad. "People who use AI to study for them get lower grades" well duh, having anything study for you is incoherent, you necessarily have to use your own brain for that. If what they mean by this is that people are using AI to write notes and summaries for them to read, this is also misguided as AI cannot reliably create accurate summaries, if it adds in nonsense, you may not realise and study stuff it entirely made up.

There are also adjacent issues. Like I dont take issue particularly with public data being fed to the machine apart from how empowering AI in our current system means empowering shitty corporations. But sometimes private data may be fed to the machine, corporations are getting increasingly sneaky and invasive, changing ToS to say that they can use any of your stuff, even non-public things to train AI. While AI tends to mix together loads of stuff into its outputs, it is feasible that an AI could be fed private data and spit it out wholesale, and we have no way to prevent this currently. I am glad that i have managed to move entirely off of things like google drive because I don't trust them to uphold privacy at the best of times, but especially not in this context.

My main issue with AI, honestly, is that I find it annoying. It keeps being put in places I dont want it, to solve problems I don't have. I think this is a popular position to hold here on tumblr, where we have several times pushed the website management to allow us to opt out of new trendy features we dont like, such as "best stuff first" and other algorithmic generated features, and "tumblr live". I object to having new technology replace the old stuff, not only because the old stuff is what I am familiar with, but because often times it works, in at least some important ways, better than the new stuff. I don't need AI generated art, I enjoy making art myself. I do not want AI customer service chat bot, it is less effective at addressing my needs than the humans are.

The tool is fine, but almost every time I encouter it, it is being used by idiots to uninteresting ends, and I would like to not have to encounter it if I don't want or need to.

Worst part of popular left wing AI discourse online is that there's absolutely a need for a robust leftist opposition to use of cognitive automation without social dispensation to displaced human workers. The lack of any prior measures to facilitate a transition to having fewer humans in the workplace (UBI, more public control over industrial infrastructure, etc) is a disaster we are sleepwalking into - one that could lock the majority of our society's wealth further into the hands of authoritarian oligarchs who retain control of industry through last century private ownership models, while no longer needing to rely on us to operate their property.

But now we're seemingly not going to have the opposition we so desperately need, because everyone involved in the anti-AI conversation has pretty thoroughly discredited themselves and their movement by harbouring unconstrained reactionary nonsense, blatant falsehoods and woo. Instead of talking about who owns and benefits from cognitive automation, people are:

Demanding impossibilities like uninventing a now readily accessible technology

Trying to ascribe implicit moral value to said technology instead of the who is using it and how

Siding with corporations on copyright law in the name of "defending small artists"

Repeating obvious and embarrassing technical misconceptions and erroneous pop-sci about machine learning in order to justify their preferred philosophy

Invoking neo-spiritual conservative woo about the specialness of the human soul to try to incoherently discredit a machine that can quite obviously perform certain tasks just as well if not better than they can

Misrepresent numbers about energy use and environmental cost in an absurd double standard (all modern infrastructure is reliant on data centers to a similar level of impact, including your favourite fandom social media and online video games!) to build a narrative AI is some sort of malevolent spirit that damages our reality when it is called upon

It's a level of reactionary ignorance that has completely discredited any popular opposition to industrial AI rollout because it falls apart as soon as you dig deeper than a snappy social media post, or a misguided pro-copyright screed from an insecure web artist (who decries a machine laying eyes on their freely posted work while simultaneously charging commission for fan-art of corporate IPs... I'm sure that will absolutely resolve in their favour).

It would be funny how much people are fucking themselves over with all this, except I'm being fucked over to, and as a result am really quite mad about the situation. We need UBI, we need to liberate abundance from corporate greed, what we don't need is viral posts about putting distortion filters on anime fan-art to ward off the evil mechanical eye, pointless boycotts of platforms because they are perceived to have let the evil machines taint them, or petitions to further criminalize the creation of derivative works.

[imagination-mess]

A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 8

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors in advance.

Word Count: 1.9K+ Masterlist of ASCAF Previously Chapter Seven

The soft beeping of machines was the only sound Touya could hear as he slowly woke up, surrounded by the sterile, familiar smell of the hospital.

His eyes fluttered a few times before his vision adjusted. Above him was a plain white ceiling and a fire sprinkler. His gaze drifted to the sides, spotting two windows on opposite ends of the room, curtains drawn for privacy. His attention landed on a whiteboard with a large, clearly printed message:

Please press the button in your left hand when you are awake.

Was this a dream?

Or…

Was he dissociating again?

The last thing he remembered was being rushed through hospital halls, the lights overhead blurring past as they pushed him in urgency. He couldn’t make out what they were shouting. His body had been shutting down against his will.

He used to think it was a myth — that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

But it wasn’t a myth for him. He saw it and felt it. Terrifying and painful, moment after moment replayed. And at the end of it all, there was you , walking someone back to the U.A. shelter. The last thing he remembered was your smile, but even that was hazy. Your face wouldn’t come clearly. Just a blur. A voice he barely held onto.

He could hardly remember your face now. Too many years spent dissociating during confinement, using it as a shield from the pain that came when even the strongest meds stopped working.

Now, he didn’t feel pain.

Now, though, there was no pain…only a strange weight in his limbs.

He tried moving his fingers. They trembled. Slowly, he felt the small object in his palm. It took every bit of focus to curl his fingers around it.

His thumb brushed over the button as he clenched his teeth, focusing all his effort on making his body obey.

A soft chime rang through the room.

His body gave in, muscles relaxing, too exhausted for anything more.

A few minutes passed before a familiar face entered the room.

Kaito, your father stepped in, offering a soft, reassuring smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Todoroki. I am Dr. (L/N). Let me run a few quick examinations before we get you some soup to start with. Then, we'll work toward solid foods. I’ll also catch you up on everything that’s happened, alright?"

The white-haired man came beside him and wrote something on his clipboard, glancing at the machine beside the bed.

"You’ve been unconscious for over a month now. It took longer than expected for you to wake up. You’re going to be disoriented and sluggish for a little while, and probably confused. It’s normal. Nothing to worry about." Kaito said, putting the clipboard down and hearing the water faucet turn on.

"I'm just going to test your strength. I'll place my hand in yours, and I want you to squeeze as hard as you can. After that, we'll see if you can move your toes and fingers. Then we'll get you some soup. You need to be on a liquid diet for a bit."

Kaito moved closer and placed his hand within Touya's grip before glancing up at the doctor.

"Squeeze my hand as best as you can. I’m just testing how well the operation connected your nerves to your muscles. After that, you can try moving your toes whenever you wish," he explained.

Touya did as he was told but struggled. He could barely manage it, but he did it. That was the best he could do. He had to try again with his right hand, the one he had believed was destroyed. His right hand was much harder to move, and he realized just how much heavier it felt compared to his left.

Kaito was watching him carefully, but his expression remained unreadable. He walked away, grabbing his clipboard once more. He returned to Touya's bedside and flashed a light at his eyes, prompting him to follow it. As he did, Kaito wrote something down.

"One last thing. Can you speak for me? One word would be enough. Even a curse word would count," Kaito asked with an amused smile.

Touya’s throat felt painfully dry, as if he hadn’t spoken in years. Despite the discomfort, he forced the words out, even though it felt like sandpaper scraping against his throat. A hoarse rasp escaped, and he tried to swallow, barely managing it due to the lack of saliva.

"W-what had-hap-pened?" His voice was weak and strained barely above a whisper. "You were taken in as a case study to see if someone with severe burns and near-death injuries could survive if their body was healed. It was done with your father's permission. No one wanted to take your case until Dr. Remedy was contracted by your father as a last resort." Kaito lifted his eyes from the clipboard, briefly meeting Touya's gaze.

Touya’s eyes widened at the mention of her name— your hero name, which was also the name you went by as a doctor.

"She’s the only reason you’re alive right now. If she hadn’t gathered doctors from across the nation to help you, you wouldn't have made it. The others, along with her, are dealing with the consequences, even after over a month. Many of them ended up in the hospital and have been banned from using their quirks for the next few months, for their own safety. All because everyone who worked on your case was treated as a case study. They overused their quirks."

Kaito paused before continuing.

"They all did it for scientific reasons, ignoring the fact that you were a high-profile criminal. They were doing it to help future patients with burns like yours. But the cost was too much for those doctors, who are now facing the consequences. In other words, you’re going to be the only person in this nation to undergo this dramatic transformation." Kaito looked directly into Touya’s eyes.

"Take this opportunity. Another chance at life. Your body costs the well-being of 15 doctors and 5 nurses. You better take care of it. Otherwise, you're wasting Dr. Remedy’s belief that people like you deserve second chances." ____________________________________ The next few weeks, Touya cooperated with the physical and occupational therapists, walking through the hospital with a walker. He felt like a baby deer learning how to walk again. The only reason he went along with it was because he was sick of feeling like a damn baby.

Due to his physical condition, his stay was extended until he could move on his own, after which he’d be transferred to the rehabilitation facility. He rejected visitation from his family. He felt too vulnerable like this. Too exposed. He didn’t want to see their pitying stares.

He heard the arguments outside his hospital room. His father, Enji, tries to see him, getting rejected every time. The old man had nothing but time to waste, showing up day after day, just to be told no.

As much as Touya hated getting help from strangers, the staff had been patient with him. They didn’t push him too hard. Some nurses definitely judged him, but at least they kept their comments to themselves. The hospitality was… normal. He was treated like any other patient.

They didn’t look at him with pity. They encouraged him, even when he told them to shut up and mind their own business. They just ignored his outbursts and kept going.

His quirk-canceling cuffs rotated between ankle and wrist restraints. Military grade, due to his classification as a high-profile criminal. The staff rotated the cuffs regularly to prevent weakening or discomfort while he regained strength. They were far more advanced than the ones he’d seen before. He remembered snooping through your apartment out of boredom, finding backups of your hero costume and the old quirk-cuffs tucked away in the closet. Those things looked like toys in comparison.

Once he was able to speak normally again, a therapist from the rehabilitation center started visiting daily for his sessions.

If he could, he would’ve jumped out the window by now.

He knew he’d agreed to his younger brother’s rehabilitation plan. Something that would hopefully work in the court system’s favor. But in truth, he didn’t care about all that. He just wanted out. Out of confinement. Out of pain. Out of this miserable limbo.

He did think of you, a couple of times.

After he regained his voice, his lawyer began visiting twice a week. What he didn’t expect was for your mother, Reika, to actually keep her word that if he left you out of the chaos, she’d represent him. She planned to take his case, even in the event that the League was taken down.

She was a terrifying woman who demanded respect. If you didn’t give it, she’d drop you as a client without hesitation. Well known in both the legal world and the underworld under a different name and a different mask.

She may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. When she made a deal, she kept her word so long as you kept yours.

“Touya, your father is a piece of shit.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. The expression on her face told him everything. 

If she could kill the old man herself, she would.

“What did he do this time?”

“Acted like a misogynistic prick,” Reika snapped, her voice full of disgust. “Like I haven’t defended more high-profile criminals than most lawyers ever dream of. He pulled that ‘I’m the dominant man in the room’ garbage gave me that stare like I was supposed to flinch. Tried talking over me like I was his damn secretary.” Her tone shifted into a mocking imitation of a deep, gravelly voice. “ ‘I’m the alpha in the room.’”

She scoffed and leaned back in her seat.

“Honestly? I was one bad moment away from stabbing him in the neck with my pen.”

She clicked that same pen in her hand, her fingers twitching with irritation. "Anyways, none of that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you to ensure that you aren't surprised if it gets brought up in the court." Anyway, enough about that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you—to make sure you’re not surprised if it gets brought up in court.”

"How is (Y/N)?" Touya whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

 He knew it was out of the blue.

He’d eavesdropped a few times. Doctors and nurses mention how this would be the longest leave of absence you’d ever taken.

He knew he had a better chance of getting an answer from Reika than from Kaito. Kaito was always accompanied by someone. Touya couldn’t show that he knew him personally, and he understood why. It would launch an investigation, especially with all the pro heroes and police constantly walking around.

Reika paused for a moment, glancing up from the leather folder she always carried to jot down her notes.

“She’s doing better. Got discharged about a week ago,” Reika said, tapping her pen against the folder. “She’s being forced to take a six-month leave, but other than that, she’s okay. You’re not the reason she was bedridden. There was just an incident with Endea—”

“Did he hurt her?” Touya cut in sharply.

“No. It was indirectly... surrounded by other factors,” Reika replied, shifting into her lawyer voice. Touya shot her a look, but Reika didn’t flinch. She simply flipped to a new page in her folder, her tone shifting coldly as she dove into the notes and legal strategy for his upcoming plea hearing. --------------

Anyway, how are we feeling about Touya being awake now? He already hates feeling weak, and now he has to talk about his feelings? He’d rather jump out of a window, especially if it means talking to a stranger.

This chapter was going to go differently, but I decided to delay a certain scene. There’s actually another deal Reika and Touya made, which is the main reason she’s representing him during the war. The chaos happening in these streets is no joke.

The next 2 chapter will explore how Touya and Remedy met as teenagers: one struggling to survive in the streets, and the other trying to help people with nothing but good intentions. Spoiler alert: Touya is the stray cat, skeptical of the preppy cat.

Any thoughts or theories? I’m all ears! I’d love to hear them. Thank you so much for everyone who commented on the previous chapter! You guys are the reason why the chapter got posted earlier than expected. Your comments seriously mean the world to me. 💖 I’m so grateful to know there are people who want to read more. Next Chapter 9

[jennelikejennay]

How to Make Up Vulcan Words

Using the Vulcan language is like trying to follow a recipe written by a grandma who already knew how to make the thing and only jotted down a couple measurements. That is, it does have information, but it rarely has all you need. Even words I would consider obvious and necessary simply aren’t in there. However, if you know how to put Vulcan words together, you can create a lot more words than the VLD will give you.

Vulcan is a language that relies very heavily on a small number of roots and affixes. English does the same sometimes, especially in scientific language, where we use Greek and Latin roots to hide the fact that we’re doing it. This makes it easy to make up new words whenever you want, in exactly the way the creators made them: by jamming together bits until a word is built up with all the parts you want.

There are only two basic rules: first, you have a limit of two hyphens, so when parts are connected with hyphens (which is the case with some affixes and all roots) you are limited to three. There’s no limit on apostrophes or jammed-together affixes, though, so keep that in mind.

Second, you want the final version to be the part of speech you are looking for, which may require a change in ending. Verbs usually (but not always) end in -au or -tor. Making a noun out of a verb is a little complicated, but in the end, a noun can have any ending. Adjectives end in -k, often -ik. Adverbs end in -ng.

The basic process I use for finding a word is this.

First, I look up the word I want in the VLD. Instead of searching by word, I go to that letter of the alphabet and scroll to it, in case there are related words in the same area. It’s probably not there, so I try a couple of synonyms. Then words that aren’t synonyms, but are related.

Hopefully in all that searching, I’ll come up with a couple of roots. For instance, I can find that sadakh means “to eject.” Dakh means to cast out, get rid of. Sa- can mean a bunch of things, including “male” and “automatic” but I see it in a lot of words like extend, exhale, expand, etc. So I think in this case sa- means outward.

Then I can add on other roots and affixes that I want. Say I want a substance that has been ejected, I can use -tukh, stuff, substance, and get sadakh-tukh. Or if I want a machine that ejects, I can use sadakh-vel. A thing that ejects? Sadakhek. A person whose job is ejecting things? Sadakhsu.

Here are a bunch of Vulcan affixes, some of which are in the VLD, some of which you have to figure out after seeing them in a bunch of related words.

su: person. This can mean a person from a given place or a person who does a certain thing. It attaches without any punctuation. ashausu: one who loves. besu: a companion, one who is beside or with you. kugalsu: a person who is betrothed. sasu: a man. kosu: a woman.

-vel: thing, object, machine. tor: do; tor-vel: mechanism. tum-tor: to count, tum-vel: computer.

-tukh: stuff. alem: salt; alem-tukh: sodium. dau: affect; dau-tukh: hormone.

ek: -er, something that does a specific thing. Not used with people. feshel-tor: to disrupt; feshelek: disruptor. spitau: to drill, spitayek: a drill, something that drills. (Note: -ek is going on the noun form of the verb, generally, spitaya being the act of drilling.)

sa-: male, masculine. sa-mekh: father. sa-fu: son.

ko-: female, feminine. ko-mekh: mother. ko-fu: daughter.

‘es: -ness, basically turning another word into an abstract noun. abru’: over; abru’es: dominance. marom-: excellent; marom’es: excellence.

shi’: place. masu: water; shi’masu: oasis. 

-bosh: full of. kau: wisdom; kau-bosh: wise

-fam: without. kau-fam: unwise.

-tal: study, the study of. gen-lis: language, gen-lis-tal: linguistics. (And -talsu is a person who studies the topic! We’re all being amateur gen-lis-talsular right now.)

tra: this is an odd collective plural, which I think is really cool. It’s a big mass of the thing you’re talking about. So sular is people, but sutra is a nation. masu: water; masutra: ocean.

rik, ri: not or without. kwon: forever; rikwonik: temporary. tsuri: normal, usual; ritsuri: abnormality, divergence, eccentricity. kup: can, able; rikup’es: disability. Vulcan loves to use this one to make opposites; if ever you need a word and only have its opposite, use this.

pi’: small. laptra: forest; pi’laptra: copse. sahan: wind; pi’sahan: breeze. You can make diminutives of any kind like this.

weh-: more. abru: above; weh-abru: upper.

dan-: most. irak: far; dan-irak: farthest.

From a few roots and these affixes, you too can craft words like shi’sasnem, bathroom, or qlar’hy’es, curiosity. The VLD alone barely gets you through a few sentences of whatever you wanted to say, but if you know how to construct your own words, you really can say almost anything.

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

This show kind of objectively sucks when you examine it: everyone becomes an overpowered mary sue, it has weird sexual fan service, practically every conflict ends in Deus Ex Machina ass shenanigans. And yet it's so good??? I loved it so much, it was so fun to watch, and I still sometimes say to myself "nothing ever changes."

And the show is a fucking master class in character introductions and revelations, showing us a character's whole deal super quickly and clearly without being obvious boring exposition. Like the way they introduce Erica and Walker? Fucking art. Then later it's revealed they're not just otakus but in fact capable of extreme violence and evil. Shizuo's first introduction being literally just a flying vending machine and we don't even see him at all??? Just a vending machine, a scream, and "don't piss that guy off." Mwah. Incredible.

Celty being called a demon in the chat and then fucking killing those dudes with her horse motorcycle? But it turns out she's the good guy? Maybe the only good guy? Then we finally see Shizuo and he's dressed like a bartender and he's super chill with something we've just confirmed is actually a demon?? Izaya orchestrating a kidnapping and convincing someone to kill themself, then smashing that guy's phone and laughing for 15 minutes straight??

I can't even get into fucking Shinra right now. I can't talk about that evil monsterfucker twink right now. I fucking love this show.

[whiteraven87]

Unspoken | Toto Wolff | One-shot

-> Main Masterlist

"The unspoken things weigh the most"

pairing: Toto Wolff x OC (platonic relationship)

summary: She was just the girl from PR. He was her boss. A one-shot story of late-night talks and quiet glances, unsaid things, and the kind of closeness that was never meant to last.

warnings: none / late night discussions / melancholy

word count: 6k

author's note: This one-shot was difficult to write especially after The Flame that never Fades — and this one is raw, heavy but with more melancholy. Yet in that difficulty, there was also something freeing. If it touches even a small part of your heart — then it was worth writing.

====================

UNSPOKEN

Where only silence stays

Our love is a ghost that the others can't see It's a danger Every shade of us you fade down to keep Them in the dark of who we are (Oh what you do to me) Gonna be the death of me It's a danger Cause our love is a ghost that the others can't see Familiar - Agnes Obel

Part I

She didn’t think it would be this quiet.

Brackley was nothing like what she’d seen on screens or live broadcasts. No crowds, no flashing cameras. Just steel corridors, cold fluorescent lights, and the slow, precise rhythm of people building one of the most powerful machines in Formula 1. It didn’t look like a place where legends were born. And yet, there was something sacred about it. As if every object held meaning. As if the walls carried more secrets than she could ever bear to know.

Martha was twenty-five and had been working in the PR department for a week. Before she got here, she had read every press note, every interview, every behind-the-scenes detail. She studied with admiration. But only here, in the team’s heart, did she realize that everything she knew was just an outline. Now she was supposed to fill it in with color — learn the names, the habits, the quiet ways in which people who carry the weight of greatness choose silence over words.

She hadn’t met him yet.

She knew his face better than some of her friends’. She knew how he moved, how he spoke, how he laughed. That he clenched his fists when he was angry, but never raised his voice. That he wore suits like a second skin, but more often than people thought, he slipped through the factory in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his gaze lost somewhere far away.

She feared the moment she’d meet him. She didn’t want to be one of those girls who blushed at the sight of him. And yet… she already was.

She met him on her third day, by accident, near the elevator.

She was buried in her laptop, rushing with a stack of documents for the media team when she bumped into someone hard enough to nearly drop her folder. She immediately started apologizing, looked up — and froze.

It was him. Toto Wolff.

“It's alright,” he said softly, his voice deep as dusk, tinged with a German accent. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, feeling her lips tremble.

“Yes, sorry… my fault, I just—” She bit her tongue, forcing herself into coherence. “I was transferring documents from PR.”

He looked at her for a moment. Not the way men do when they want to impress. More like someone who observes every detail — as if trying to understand her without asking.

“You're new?”

“Martha,” she introduced herself. “I started Monday. PR and communications.”

He extended his hand.

“Toto. Welcome aboard.”

She knew it was silly. But that one handshake felt like a jolt. His hand was strong, warm, certain. And something in his eyes — something that didn’t belong to a man of the spotlight — reminded her of old photographs. Of men who wore melancholy like a signet ring.

She didn’t know then that she’d carry the sound of his voice in her mind for months to come.

Part II

Brackley went quiet after seven.

Most of the team left before dark, but not all. Martha started staying later — at first to catch up on reports, and later… for reasons she couldn’t quite name yet.

That day, she only meant to stay for a little while. She needed to finish a piece for the upcoming Canadian Grand Prix. But her laptop froze, the system wouldn’t load the photos, and then the rain started — relentless and heavy. She figured she wouldn’t catch the bus anyway. So she stayed. Half an hour. An hour.

She didn’t expect him to be there too.

He was sitting in the briefing room, lit only by a lamp in the back. She didn’t notice him when she walked in with a cup of tea — only when the door clicked shut behind her, and he looked up.

There was no surprise in his gaze. Only quiet. And something that could’ve been exhaustion… or loneliness.

“Good evening,” she said carefully.

“Good evening. Martha, right?” he asked.

“Yes.” She sat a couple of rows away. “I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s raining.”

“I heard,” he said, pausing. “Sometimes it’s good to be here after everyone’s gone. This building breathes differently when it’s empty.”

She smiled faintly. “Emptiness has its own sound.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Too familiar.”

Silence fell between them. Not awkward — shared. As if something between them understood itself without help. He sipped from a small water bottle; she held her mug like it might warm more than her hands.

“Rough day?” she asked softly.

“Every day is rough,” he answered after a moment, not bitterly. “Though it’s nothing unusual. It’s just… with age, some things weigh heavier. Even the unspoken ones.”

She dared to look at him. He was different than he was during the day — the top button of his shirt undone, his brow resting on his hand, a crease between his eyes. Quiet.

“The unspoken things weigh the most,” she said without thinking.

He turned toward her. He didn’t pry. Didn’t push. He just looked.

“My father had schizophrenia,” she said suddenly. “Since I can remember. He could be terrifying. He screamed at shadows on the walls. I was scared, but more than that, I was terrified I’d end up like him. Then I had to take care of my younger brother. My mom was... emotionally distant. Never told me she loved me. I moved out as soon as I could. Since then, I’ve been trying to live in motion — because if I stop, it all comes back.”

She fell silent. No tears. As if she’d cried them out long ago. Her voice steady— almost too steady for what she had just said. As if those words hadn’t erupted from her, but had slowly seeped out after years of silence, finally finding their way to the surface.

Her hands trembled slightly. She didn’t look at him—afraid she might see pity in his eyes. And pity was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t need sympathy. She hadn’t said it for that.

She just... needed to let it out.

And she realized she didn’t even know why she had said it now. Why to him. Why here, in this dim conference room, where only moments ago there had been nothing but silence and tea.

“I don’t know why I said that,” she whispered, eyes still downcast. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Martha,” he interrupted gently.

His voice was soft, but not vague. Steady. As if every word she’d said had landed heavily and truthfully within him.

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t something you ‘shouldn’t have’. It was… brave.”

She looked up at him, unsure. She expected him to shift away from the topic, to react the way people usually did—with polite nods, a distant “I understand,” maybe even an empty offer of support that meant nothing. But he just sat there. Calm. Present. Not rushing to fill the silence.

“You know that too?” he asked then, echoing her earlier words. “‘Unspoken things carry the most weight’?”

She nodded slowly, her throat tight. She felt like she was doing something she had never done before—opening up. Truly. Completely.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” she laughed quietly, bitterly. “I don’t even know why you’re the one who heard it. I’ve never told anyone. Not friends, not boyfriends. Not even a therapist. But… with you, it just… came out.”

They sat in silence again. Her—with her breath stuck halfway between her lungs and lips. Him—like he was searching for the one thing he could say that wouldn’t shatter this fragile moment.

“Sometimes,” he said eventually, “all it takes is one person. One moment. And everything spills out. Even if you never meant to. Even if it only lasts a moment.”

He paused. Then added, quieter—almost to himself:

“I had someone like that once.”

He didn’t ask what she felt. He didn’t press for details. But he looked at her with such attentiveness that Martha felt something soften inside her. Maybe for the first time in years.

Because for the first time, someone saw her—not as the strong girl who always handled things. Not as an employee. Not as a colleague. But as a human being who had carried something heavy her entire life—and had finally dared to set it down.

And that was enough.

Silence returned. This time, it was soft. Safe.

“Sometimes I feel like... I’m no longer part of this world,” he said quietly. “Like life happens around me, and I’m just moving through it. It’s not about the job. I love what I do. I love Susie. I love our home. But there are days I sit in the car and don’t know where I am. Or who I’d be without all of this.”

She looked at him with something close to compassion, but not pity. She understood him.

“Maybe you're just tired.”

He nodded.

“Maybe.”

She wanted to stand. To place a hand on his. Or to say nothing — just stay.

But she did nothing.

Because he was someone else’s husband. A man who’d filled her heart like a shadow, though he never truly belonged to her.

And she… was just the girl from PR. With a past no one wanted to know.

Part III

They started seeing each other more often. Always in the evenings. Always by accident — as if both kept pretending nothing was planned. That they were staying late only out of duty. But it wasn’t true. And they both knew it.

She would bring tea. He stayed in the briefing room, sometimes in his office, sometimes on the mezzanine overlooking the assembly hall, where at night only the emergency lights remained. Sometimes, they didn’t speak at all. They just sat. Two people drawn to each other by something neither had the right to name.

Toto was calmer with her. Different. His features softened, his voice lost its usual public roughness. Martha noticed it — the shadow of tiredness under his eyes that vanished only when they sat in silence, his hand resting against his temple. Sometimes he’d turn to her and say something that didn’t sound like a team principal speaking — but like a man confessing he no longer knew where he ended and the rest began.

“Sometimes I feel like I missed something important,” he said once, staring at a blank screen. “Like I focused on winning, on surviving… and then one day you wake up and wonder if what you have is truly a life, or just a well-designed frame.”

She sat across the table. She didn’t dare speak. Just watched his fingers quietly tapping the desk — something he did when words cut too deep.

“I love Susie. She knows who I am. But she knows the version I built myself. Sometimes I wonder if anyone knows me… raw. Without the façade.”

She didn’t respond right away.

“Maybe you’re just afraid you don’t deserve peace,” she whispered.

He looked at her for a long time. Carefully.

And he didn’t deny it.

*

That was when he began to say more.

About his childhood. His father, gone too soon. The grief he carried like a weight for years. How easy it was to escape into control, perfection, performance.

“It was always about not feeling. As long as you have a schedule, a deadline, a race — you don’t have to look inside. Until one day, someone asks you a question no one else ever dared to. And everything breaks.”

He didn’t ask if she wanted to hear it. He knew she did. Because only with her could he speak like this — the way he truly felt.

And she… she listened as if each of his words was a scent she wanted to carry on her skin.

*

No one had ever spoken to her like that. Her father screamed into the void. Her mother shut herself away in the kitchen. Her brother was too young to understand what responsibility means when it comes too soon. Martha had always been the one who had to be strong. But now… now she could just be. For him.

She didn’t try to touch him. Didn’t look too long. But each word he gave her, she kept like a charm.

After one of those nights, she couldn’t sleep. She wrote in her journal:

When you say you're afraid of the future, I wish I could tell you I'll protect you. But I can’t. Because I’m not part of your world. Even if I know your silences better than anyone else.

Part IV

That day it had been raining since morning, tapping on the office windows like a steady rhythm of loneliness.

Martha stayed later than usual. Not because she had work to finish. But because she simply… couldn’t go home. Not after that phone call.

Her brother had called, crying. Their mother hadn’t spoken to anyone during the holidays. Her father was back in the hospital after another episode. None of it was surprising anymore — and yet, something cracked inside her. Maybe from exhaustion. Maybe from the quiet ache of never having had a normal home. Of having a “family” that was more responsibility than refuge.

She was trembling. For an hour she just sat there, staring at the screen, hand at her mouth so no one would hear her crying.

No one would have heard.

Unless it was him.

Toto walked in without knocking, as he often did in the evenings — looking for a document, something left behind in his office. But when he saw her, he paused in the doorway. Not like a boss. Like a man who immediately knew something was wrong.

“Martha?”

She quickly wiped her eyes. Smiled, trying to erase the tears from her face.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry, just… a long day.”

But he didn’t leave. He closed the door gently, with care, like even the click of it might break something fragile.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

She clenched her fingers around her mug, trying to pull herself together.

“Family. A call. My dad’s back in the hospital. My brother needs money. My mom… is, as always, lost in her own world. Nothing new. Just… sometimes it all piles up.”

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

But he sat beside her. Not too close, but close enough for his voice to reach her with warmth.

“You know… you don’t have to be strong all the time. You’re allowed to fall apart.”

She let out a broken laugh through her tears.

“If I did that every time, there’d be nothing left to piece back together.”

“Martha…” he said her name so gently, so softly, that she shivered. “You don’t have to prove anything…”

And that was when she broke.

Finally, she looked him in the eyes — and something inside her gave way. Not dramatically. Not like in the movies. Just… tears began sliding down her cheeks, quietly, asking for no permission.

Toto said nothing more. He raised his arm and slowly, carefully, pulled her into him.

She didn’t resist. On the contrary — she melted into him, like a child who had waited her whole life to be held.

His hand was large and warm, resting still on her back like an anchor. The other settled on her shoulder, so gently, as if afraid she might break.

He didn’t kiss her. Didn’t whisper tender words. But he was there. Entirely. Quietly. Truly.

And she absorbed all of it — his presence, his scent, the undeniable fact of him. He was there. That was enough.

She knew it shouldn’t have happened.

But she no longer had the strength to pretend.

*

After that night, they didn’t talk the way they used to.

They didn’t avoid each other. Still exchanged polite greetings. But no more staying after hours. No more long talks about the past. No more silences that bordered on dangerous.

Something had ended.

Or maybe… they saved themselves from something too real.

*

One evening, in the meeting room, it was colder than usual. She sat with her cup of tea; he with papers he wasn’t really reading. The silence hung heavy — denser than before. Until he finally spoke, his voice hesitant.

“Martha… You’re very young.”

She felt the words cut through her. Not because they were cruel. But because they sounded like a wall going up between them.

She nodded, eyes on her hands.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be… I don’t want to be someone you remember with pain.”

The silence between them thickened like fog. Heavy. Bitter.

She froze. Felt everything fracture inside her.

She smiled — faintly, sadly. Then whispered the softest confession:

“And what if you already are?”

He didn’t answer.

But he looked at her with such sorrow, such understanding… that she already knew.

That was the end. And their truest moment.

*

After that night, they never met again. Not because something happened.

But because nothing had to. And in that emptiness — was everything they never said.

He stopped staying late. She went home earlier.

They remained silent toward each other with respect.

With gratitude. And with the quiet ache that their world could only ever exist in the shadow of the real one.

Part V

She noticed it first.

The change was subtle. Not the kind that draws attention. Not a sudden transformation — more like a shift in light. As if something inside him had brightened.

Toto started smiling more often. Joking with the team again. Sometimes, passing through the corridor, he’d offer a quick high-five. During briefings, his voice was warmer, lighter. There was a spark in his eyes that had long been extinguished.

Martha saw it every day. At first, she felt relief — as if her presence had truly helped. As if being there through all those nights had meant something. But then… the ache came. That unbearable, silent pain that stings right in the heart.

Because he smiled at the world. But not at her.

There were no more nighttime talks. No more shared silences in the briefing room. Toto returned to rhythm, to the flash of cameras and chats with drivers, to a life that once again seemed to flow swiftly within him.

And she… she became invisible.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t let it show. Still worked diligently. Still wrote the reports. Still prepared the press releases. But something in her dimmed. Slowly, irreversibly.

She knew she had fallen for him. Completely. Hopelessly.

Not because he promised her anything. He never had to.

She fell for the way he spoke when he thought no one was listening. For the way he went quiet. For how he held his hand near his mouth when he was lost in thought. For the unprocessed loneliness in him. For the fragility that lived beneath his strength. For the quiet truth he never shared with anyone — except her.

She fell in love even though she knew she shouldn’t. Knew it would destroy her.

And it did.

*

One morning, she came to the office earlier than usual. There was an envelope on her desk. White. Neatly folded. Her name on the front — in handwriting she knew too well.

Martha

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Martha,

I don’t know if I should be writing this. Maybe it’s unprofessional. Maybe it’s too late.

But I wanted to say thank you.

Thank you for being there in moments when I needed someone the most. Thank you for the silence I could breathe in. For never asking — but always knowing when to stay.

You were someone important to me.

And though I can’t offer you anything more than these words — I never want you to think you were invisible.

Your presence mattered.

I saw you — even when I didn’t show it. I saw your calm, your grace, your strength.

You carry so much, Martha. And you do it with quiet dignity.

There’s a rare kind of resilience in you — not loud, not proud — but unwavering. And I admire that more than I ever said aloud.

You're still so young, but there's a gravity in you that some never reach in a lifetime.

Whoever gets to walk beside you in the future… he’ll be incredibly lucky.

I hope life brings you peace, and softness, and everything you’ve given others without asking for anything in return.

I hope someone looks at you the way you deserve.

And stays.

Wishing you all the happiness you never dared to ask for.

— T.

It wasn’t a love letter. It wasn’t a confession. There wasn’t even a trace of illusion.

And yet Martha read it over and over again.

And cried. All night. Cried for the fact that it was all she would ever receive. Cried because it was more than enough to make forgetting impossible.

*

The next day, she arrived at the office on time.

She wore her usual clothes — a beige sweater, black trousers, delicate earrings.

But there was something new in her eyes — a calm that comes when you know it’s over.

She handed in her resignation without a word. The paper trembled slightly in her hand, as if it wanted to leap away and turn back time. But Martha no longer fought herself. She no longer tried to believe that it might still be worth waiting. That maybe something would change. That maybe… he would say something.

She didn’t walk through the office to say goodbye. She didn’t stop by the kitchen where she made tea every morning. She didn’t glance up at the mezzanine or at the door to the office she knew all too well. She didn’t look for his eyes in the hallway. She didn’t wait.

Because she knew he wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t stop her.

And she... She couldn’t keep loving him in silence — not when that silence was starting to drown her.

She couldn’t go on pretending his presence didn’t burn beneath her skin. That she didn’t carry the sound of his voice inside her. That she didn’t dream of something that would never be hers.

She had loved him. Completely.

But she had become just an echo in his world. A world that had noticed her… only for a moment.

So she walked away. Quietly. No scenes. No dramatic tears.

Just one last glance at the corridor that held all their unspoken moments.

She walked slowly, her shoulders drawn tight like strings.

Every step hurt.

But she didn’t stop. Because when love can no longer breathe… you have to leave before it dies completely.

Part VI

He didn’t look for her.

Not because he didn’t want to see her. But because he knew — if he did see her — he would understand everything.

So he walked into the office like he always did. Greeted a few people. Glanced at the notes for the morning meeting. Took a sip of his coffee. Opened his laptop.

And then his assistant placed a sheet of paper on his desk.

“Martha handed in her resignation,” she said quietly. “Without a word. This morning.”

His hand froze mid-motion.

The silence in his office suddenly became too loud.

His heart beat faster. But his face stayed perfectly still.

“Thank you,” he said curtly.

And then… he was alone. He didn’t move for a long time. Just stared at the screen that offered him nothing.

In his mind, he replayed every sentence he had written in that letter.

Had something sounded too distant? Too cold? Too late?

Had she thought… it was a goodbye? Maybe it had been.

Maybe he had never been able to give her anything more than a few quiet words on paper — but those words had been real.

Not love. Not desire.

But something delicate. Something deep. Something that had lived only in the silence between them.

He stood up slowly. Walked over to the window.

Outside, the courtyard was grey and still.

He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling. Only that whatever it was… had left a hollow space inside him.

Two days earlier – the night he wrote the letter

It was late.

The building had fallen silent, like always after hours — but this time, that silence brought no peace.

Only weight. The kind of weight he knew too well — from decisions that carved scars on the heart, not just signatures on documents.

He sat at his desk, lit only by the glow of a small lamp. A blank sheet of paper lay in front of him.

He didn’t like writing by hand. It made it too easy to see what was hidden beneath the words.

But tonight… he had no choice.

His hand trembled slightly as he wrote the first word:

“Martha…”

He closed his eyes for a moment. Tightened his grip on the pen.

Took a deep breath.

He didn’t know where to start. Because everything he wanted to say felt too close. Too raw.

He remembered that night in the briefing room — her voice, calm, without dramatics, when she told him about her father. About the hospital. About her younger brother. Her mother, who never said “I love you.”

A life that gave her no choices.

And something in him broke that night. Not loudly. Not visibly. But quietly — as if a door, locked for years, had been opened just a crack.

Because what she told him… echoed his own childhood.

He, too, had been too young when he was forced to grow up. When his father died. When the responsibility for his mother, his sister, their entire home — had fallen entirely on his shoulders.

No one asked if he could handle it. He just had to.

And from that moment forward, he had only ever had to: perform, protect, win, endure, survive — without feeling.

And she… she had listened. Not like a fan. Not like someone dazzled by his title. But like someone who understood.

Even Susie — dear, kind Susie — had never seen him like that. Because with Susie, he shared a life. But with Martha… he had shared silence. The unspoken.

It was different. Quieter. Dangerous.

For a moment, he wanted to write more.

He wanted to tell her that in her, he had found a kind of stillness he hadn’t known he needed.

That her presence was like coming home at night — not out of longing, but to simply keep breathing.

But he knew he couldn’t.

Because he was a married man. Because Martha was young. Because if he opened that door… there would be no way back.

So he only wrote thanks. Honest. Quiet.

Something she could hold — or leave behind.

“I don’t want you to think you were invisible.”

When he finished, he folded the letter carefully.

No perfume. No stains. No visible emotion. But every word burned.

He knew it wasn’t supposed to be a farewell. But maybe… it already was.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Because for the first time in years, he realized he truly didn’t want to lose someone. And for the first time… he chose to lose them anyway.

*

That had been two nights ago. And now… now it felt like something had vanished that was never supposed to leave.

He left her a letter. And she… was gone. Without a word. Without a glance.

She had taken all the silence he had come to rely on. All the being there, which had asked for nothing more than presence.

He didn’t know if it was his fault. But something cracked inside him. Not loudly. Not in pieces.

Just a soft split — the kind that tells you someone is gone… and you let them go.

What was meant as a thank you… had been, for her, the end.

And he finally understood: She left because she no longer had the strength to wait for something that was never allowed to happen.

She should never have had to carry that burden.

And he… he had let her stay inside something he wouldn’t — or couldn’t — name.

He didn’t search for her in the halls. He didn’t chase after her. But he sat, hand pressed to his lips — just like when he used to say the most important things… only to himself.

He looked out into the grey beyond the glass.

Sometimes that night came back to him unexpectedly. Not through dreams. Through silence—the same silence they had shared then.

That night. The only one of its kind. When he walked into the office and found her alone, hunched over the desk. Her shoulders were trembling slightly, and her eyes—though she quickly wiped away her tears—were red and hollow, as if something within her had just died.

“Are you alright?” he had asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she lied unconvincingly.

He didn't press her. Instead, he sat beside her. And stayed silent.

Then she began to speak. About the phone call from home. About her mother, who once again rejected her presence. About her brother, whom she couldn't protect as she wanted. About herself—a little girl who had spent her entire childhood pretending nothing hurt.

And then something inside him broke.

He didn't say anything. He just opened his arms.

And she... let herself fall into his embrace. Trembling, fragile, quiet. She clung to him as someone who had found a safe place for the first time in years.

He didn't remember how long they sat like that. Minutes, maybe hours. But he vividly recalled how he held her—firmly, securely. As if with his whole being, he wanted to stop the world from breaking her.

He remembered how she smelled—of tea, exhaustion, and something quiet, human, that made him never want to let go.

It was in that moment he understood that they were standing at the edge. That one more touch, one more evening like that, and there would be no turning back.

That same night, when he returned home, he stood for a long time by the bed, watching Susie sleeping peacefully. And he knew that if something happened, it wouldn't be about physical betrayal.

It would be about the heart.

And he… was already too close.

So he began to pull away. The days became colder. Their meetings became fewer. Smiles became rare. Because only by doing this could he save them from what he desired most deeply yet couldn't have.

Not because he didn’t want to. But because he loved her enough to know when to leave.

Because sometimes the greatest proof of love... is letting go.

Toto closed his eyes.

There was no anger. No regret. Only that strange ache you feel after someone disappears… before you were brave enough to ask them to stay.

And he knew: She did the right thing.

Because if she had stayed — they both might have lost themselves.

But he would never stop wondering what might have happened… if he had simply whispered: “Stay.”

Epilogue

The Silence After

It was a cold morning in Wiesbaden.

Martha had just brewed herself a cup of tea when a knock came at the door. She flinched slightly, surprised — she wasn’t expecting anyone this early. Setting her cup down, she walked to the door and opened it cautiously.

The postman stood in the doorway, smiling politely as he handed her a small parcel.

“No sender,” he said briefly before walking away, leaving her alone with the package in her hand.

Martha closed the door. Her heart began to race before she even looked at the envelope. On the front were only her name, address, and a set of neat letters she recognized instantly — and with them, the familiar, heavy ache rose in her throat.

She sat down at the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she carefully opened the wrapping. Inside was a small, elegant leather box. When she lifted the lid, her breath caught in her throat.

Inside was an old pocket watch. Classic, silver, with delicate scratches that revealed it had been used — touched, carried, lived with. Martha picked it up gently, turning it in her hand as if it were something fragile, something that might vanish if held too tightly.

Her eyes stopped at the engraving inside, just near the clasp:

"You don’t have to walk beside someone to leave a mark."

— T.

She held her breath, the words cutting through her with aching tenderness. Slowly — almost afraid of what else she might find — she turned over the watch’s lid.

Inside was another detail. A tiny, precise etching of a tree. Just like the one she had told him about that night — the first night she’d dared to show him a part of herself no one else had seen. The tree she used to hide under as a child. The one that sheltered her and her brother from their father’s shouting, their mother’s silence, from a world that had forced her to grow up far too soon.

She covered her mouth with her hand. The tears came softly, without sobs or sharp pain — only the kind of sorrow she’d grown used to over the years.

She cried because, for the first time, someone had truly remembered her. Not just her face. Not just her smile. But something deeper. Something real. And in that moment, she felt a warmth she hadn’t felt in years.

She was no longer just the girl from PR. No longer someone who had simply wandered into the life of a man she had loved quietly, without the courage to ever say it aloud.

She was a mark.

A memory that had survived months of silence, loneliness, and distance. A light that, for a moment, had managed to brighten someone’s darkness — even if it was never meant to burn.

The watch didn’t tick loudly. Its sound was soft, barely audible — like the heartbeat of someone who no longer needs to rush. Martha closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely, her chest full of relief, sorrow, and a gratitude too vast to name.

Because sometimes, the greatest love is the one no one ever knows about.

But it was enough. Enough to know she had been remembered. That, for a moment, she was someone’s everything.

And that was her silence — a silence that didn’t need words to endure.

*

Toto sat in his office, in the half-light, his head bowed slightly over the desk.

It was long past midnight, and the Mercedes building had long sunk into silence. The same silence he once shared with Martha.

The screensaver flickered on his laptop, reminding him that he should’ve gone home hours ago. But he hadn’t moved. One hand rested against his temple, while the other absentmindedly turned a pen between his fingers.

He was thinking of her.

Months had passed since he’d sent her that watch. The old, classic one with a delicate engraving of a tree on the inside — the very tree she’d told him about only once. He remembered how she looked when she spoke of it that night. The shadow in her eyes. And the strength she never tried to hide.

He wondered if she understood why he had sent it. Did he even want her to understand? Perhaps it had been a selfish gesture — a way to let her know she still lived in his memory. That she hadn’t disappeared from him without a trace.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Not even for a day.

He remembered that silence they used to share. It had felt like a warm blanket draped over cold shoulders. He could still see the way her eyes would find him in a crowded room, the quiet way she set her tea on the desk, the stillness that fell over her whenever he said something he had never told anyone else.

Was she happy now?

Did she find someone braver than him?

Someone who said aloud what he never dared to speak?

He didn’t know.

But he knew this:

Even if life took them in opposite directions, even if they never crossed paths again — Martha would stay with him.

As the one who reminded him that life was more than work, and success, and motion. As the one who was a flicker of light when he was drowning in the dark.

As the girl who loved him in silence — And the one he loved quietly, never daring to speak her name aloud.

Toto closed his eyes, letting that thought echo inside him one last time tonight. Then he exhaled, gathered his things, and left the office, turning off the lights.

Because some stories never end. They live on in the silence.

Where the most important words are the ones left unspoken.

THE END

[xnackery027]

I know that the celestial family can replace parts and they’re perfect immortal machine etc etc, but I like the idea of Sun aging as the show goes on. When Sun was made, he was top of the line, best of the best; all shiny plastic and perfect flowing movement. But as the show goes on, Sun is starting to show signs of his age as a four year old automaton. His plastic is replaced by metal and his face is customized with swirls and etched lines, but it’s still the same body underneath. When he stands, his leg joints pop and creak with the pressure. His back hurts all the time now, exacerbated by his injuries. He loves playing with Dazzle, but he can’t run and cartwheel like he used to. Some of Moon’s upgrades limited his movement; he’s significantly heavier now, with all the plastic being replaced with dense metal. He used to be able to bend his joints past the human level, but Moon’s sensory web upgrades left him unable to flex his hands more than the average human. Dazzle sometimes has to help him pick up small things like legos or spilled pills, because he can’t grab tiny objects as easily as before. His vision was also degrading over time. Custom eyes are hard to come by, and his vision slowly changed as weeks went on. If it got too bad, Moon or Solar would recalibrate them best they could, but there’s only so much you can do with tech like that. At its worst, he was having a hard time reading titles on the kid’s books, and his facial recognition was so skewed that he couldn’t tell the difference between Eclipse and Solar. Moon has tried to get him to switch bodies, but the one he has is very sentimental to him and he doesn’t want to change it. He’s not the newest model anymore. The new animatronics have perfect form and easy port access and security features he couldn’t even dream of carrying with his limited RAM and rudimentary personality chips. But his body is his own. And he loves it.

[addynosketchpad]

in light of recent events

[imfromsixam]

Functional Payment Terminal (Mod for The Sims 4)

Now your Sims can pay with a simple tap!

This brand new Functional Payment Terminal works just like the Ticket Machine from The Sims™ 4 Businesses & Hobbies Expansion Pack — perfect for cafés, shops, or any modern setup. 💳☕💜

✨ Available now with early access on Patreon!

Join today to get this new item and support future CC creations — I’d love to have you on board 😊

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[deputiized]

my blasted friends got me into forsaken last night when i swore to god i was never gonna play the game... rest in peace 007n7 you wouldve loved margaritaville

[swapauanon]

Tags courtesy of OP (if, like me, you needed context): #anyone that doesn't know 'vibe coding' means they asked ChatGPT to write code for them.#Same concept as 'I am a creative bc an LLM regurgitated an output for me'. 'I am an artist bc I told a machine to paint for me.'#programmer#I don't know if people even use that phrase anymore to be honest I feel like it's fallen out of use in favour of engineer or developer#ai bullshit#like. If they hire anyone that actually does know the first thing about coding in favour of a prompt engineer (so-called engineer)#they are going to realise—to costs to the tune of millions—that you can't 'vibe code' your way out of security vulnerabilities. Idiots.#I think we're a good few years out from that since anyone that still has a dev team (i.e. everyone; yes even Salesforce*) realises that#letting a text generator run your business would be MADNESS. That's not gonna happen until the AI snakeoil salesmen manage to gradually#lower everyone's standards of accuracy; security and objectivity. When that happens we're all fucked#(*https://www.salesforceben.com/salesforce-will-hire-no-more-software-engineers-in-2025-says-marc-benioff/#tl;dr salesforce snakeoi— CEO says no more software devs; our AI is sophisticated enough.#Balls it is.)

I don't like that the dev community picks on people who are most fluent in Python, when the ChatGPT-using "vibe coders" are right there. At least Python babies are coding. Bully the non-coders instead.

[suntails]

ride the carousel!

[rat-pipe]

This is canon btw, im john riot games