#open source simulation

[learnsharewithdp]

Best Programming Language to Solve the Reynolds Equation for Lubrication Simulations

The Reynolds equation is fundamental in fluid film lubrication analysis, often solved using numerical methods like finite difference or finite element approaches. Whether you’re a researcher, engineer, or student, choosing the right programming language can dramatically impact your development speed, simulation performance, and visualization capabilities. 🔍 What is the Reynolds Equation? The…

[frog707]

Please hold

The project to convert my buildscripts to Kotlin is on hold because I have an EXCITING NEW PROJECT.

Earlier this month (June 2024) Mazhar Akbar drew my attention to his performance comparison between JMonkeyEngine and Godot on a physics-intensive workload. The comparison favored Godot by a large margin. I was skeptical at first, but gradually I became convinced that, in order to level the field, JMonkeyEngine needs a new physics engine, one based on Jolt Physics instead of Bullet.

So now I'm coding all-new JVM bindings for Jolt. Jolt is an open-source software project of some complexity (about 100,000 lines of C++ code), so this could take awhile. Please hold. But not your breath.

I'm having a blast!

[21st-century-minutiae]

Blender is a free, open-source 3D model renderer that is quite popular in the early twenty-first century (on account of it being free and comprehensive). Like GIMP (a free, open source 2D image creator/manipulator), many people find the breadth and depth of capabilities to be daunting, but a very large number of free, online tutorials exist that one could use to teach themselves the free software. It is also computationally expensive and is one of the larger bits of software a person might have that isn't a video game.

Blender generally supports key 3d image rendering components: model rigging to generate 3d skeletons in still or animated poses; texture mapping to provide virtual material properties (and consequently define how they look under lighting conditions) to the models, virtual lighting simulation (which, again, can be static or dynamic), and virtual camera positioning (static or moving). With all these components in place, Blender will render a single image or animation of the structure made of the chosen materials under those lighting conditions from the chosen angle. There is more functionality, but this is the core. This is quite different from the standard process of 2d image generation where one manually draws a figure, and shades in shadows or such. But it is high skill labor in a different manner.

Blender has the capacity to make extremely realistic images, or cartoonish outputs. It is easy to find free models and textures online to start with, as a large community of users constantly shares resources with everyone else. Blender outputs can be used in video games, virtual reality, or as still art.

Your characters probably won't use Blender unless they are hobbyists or work in/study graphics. Tech savvy individuals will have heard about Blender, but it is entirely reasonable for your characters to have never heard about it or have any idea how 3d images are generated, since it is a niche topic. It would be entirely appropriate for one of your characters to see a cool image online, download Blender to try to make something for themselves, get frustrated at the complexity and level of work involved to make something truly great, and quit. Or it might become a new, time-consuming hobby for them.

made a little frog in blender using this tutorial :3

[gamesatwork]

e491 — Geospatial Bricks

e491 with Michael, Andy & Michael — #AI training data from authors & #Foursquare #OpenSourcePlaces, #SamStones, #VR experiences from #Lapz, #MSFlightSimulator, #GOG like #Elite & #StarWarsTheOldRepublic and a whole lot more!

Photo by Thor Alvis on Unsplash Published 25 November 2024 e491 with Michael, Andy & Michael — #AI training data from authors & #Foursquare #OpenSourcePlaces, #SamStones, #VR experiences from #Lapz, #MSFlightSimulator, #GOG like #Elite & #StarWarsTheOldRepublic and a whole lot more! Michael, Andy and Michael start off the show with a discussion on Google Lens’ new image recognition and search…

[enigmaris]

Lex Luthor's cover of 'I've grown accustomed to her face':

There were certain rules that you as a villain have to follow if you want to be successful. Lex Luthor knew these rules well. The first, one which he’d kept for a very very long time, was to avoid attachment. More specifically to avoid becoming attached to anyone. You should encourage others to like you, if they liked you, if they owed you, then they would do what you wanted and what you needed. But caring for others only led to weaknesses.

Lex had no one that he cared for or trusted. No living family, no lover to warm his bed. Not that that had ever been a priority for him. The closest Lex had to a ‘friend’ was his android Mercy, an android he created. Lex supposed that the closest relationship he had was with Superman. Their antagonistic relationship where he tried to kill Superman and Superman tried to have him arrested was the most socializing outside of work Lex did per month.

A lonely life perhaps but one that Lex reveled in. He had what he wanted and what he didn’t have he could get with his power. Lex was able to follow that first rule of villainy up until one raining evening just outside Metropolis. His car was going towards his home when something crashed through the glass roof window. Something being a glowing teenager. He had white hair and bright green eyes and he was wearing what appeared to be some sort of jumpsuit.

He landed right in Lex’s lap, covered in wounds and emaciated. Three moments after he landed a bright halo of light appeared around his torso before spreading out. Suddenly, laying there on his lap was a human teenager, bleeding red blood and reaching unconsciousness.

“Sorry.” He said right before passing out.

Mercy had stopped the car, as she’d been programmed to do. Lex looked down at the meta teenager with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Mercy, continue home and contact Dr. Matthews. He has a new patient in serious condition.”

“Yes sir.”

It took a full day of rest for the unnamed meta to wake up. When he did Lex was there, introducing himself and offering comfort and safety. The boy introduced himself as ‘Adam’, a fake name obviously but Lex didn’t call him out on it. Lex made no reference to the boy’s meta-abilities. Instead, he offered a place to rest and recuperate and all of the food the boy could consume (which was a lot). Through his security cameras he saw the boy’s uncontrollable powers, new he guessed.

It took only a week for the boy to break down and use his powers in front of Lex. Once that happened the flood gates opened. Danny was his real name, and his parents had tried to kill him once they found out about his powers. Lex learnt about the source of the powers and Danny’s lack of control. His plan was going along perfectly.

Lex didn’t know much about powers, but from those he talked to with them, the key to control was practice. So, Lex built a training room for the half-ghost to practice. Then, when he destroyed that, Lex built a stronger one. (He used plans from an old ‘trap Superman’ room. Lex always appreciated being able to recycle things.) Soon, really once Danny recovered completely, a schedule arose. In the mornings, Danny and Lex would have breakfast together. Lex would quiz the boy on different things. Anything from strategy to science to history to literature. Then Lex would go to work. Danny would stay in the home and spend the morning studying. Lex wasn’t going to have a stupid tool, so the boy had an online coursework to learn what he needed to know.

Then Lex would usually receive a message from Danny around lunch time. The boy would let him know how his lessons were going and ask how his work was. Lex didn’t tell Danny to message him, he also didn’t tell him to stop. Something inside of him enjoyed the unsolicited attention. Danny was asking not because he had to but because he wanted to. He was curious, he cared about Lex.

After lunch the boy would use Lex’s computer simulations to train with his powers. He worked his muscles and his reflexes against training simulators and pushed his abilities to their limit. When Lex got home around dinner Danny would be waiting for him eagerly to talk about how his training was going. They would have dinner together. At first those dinners were solely focused on the boy’s abilities and health. But they expanded.

Danny would ask about Lex and Lex would indulge him, telling him stories from his life. Danny would reciprocate. Lex found that, beyond having very useful powers, Danny also possessed intelligence, curiosity, and eagerness in spades. Without realizing it Lex started to feel rather fond of the boy. He reminded him of Lex’s younger years before the trials that had shaped him into the man he was. Young and full of passion.

The months passed and they grew closer. Lex learnt about Danny’s two best friends that knew about his accident and with whom he had kept in contact. Danny met Mercy and even visited Lex’s office a few times to see him at work. Since the boy could turn invisible Lex had no way of knowing how often that actually was. He started to try and teach the boy strategy. How to defeat his enemies and how to control and manipulate. He didn’t teach Danny too much, he wouldn’t want to make a tool more powerful than Lex himself.

Daniel was an apt pupil up until the point that Lex suggested using his powers for personal gain. The teen’s vehement denial of using his powers that way was peculiar. Didn’t Danny see what his powers could do? What that sort of power and control could mean for him, for them both? With Lex’s tutelage and guidance, they would be unstoppable. Lex tried everything he could think of.

Every evening for dinner it became a test to see if he could shake Danny of his morals, of his will. But Danny remained resolute. Every time he argued for the right thing. He wanted to be kind. He wanted to help. Not to abuse and harm. Lex realized a little too late that he had accidentally taken in a hero and nothing about that would change. There were some heroes who could be convinced of the error of their ways but then there were those like Superman, like Danny.

Abruptly he saw his future. Danny would soon put on a suit and try and fight evil. Lex wouldn't be able to stop him from doing it. Unless Lex started to torture him and break him down piece by piece. Lex recoiled from the idea of harming Danny. The idea of anyone harming him was wrong. It was then that he realized what had happened.

Lex had been sitting in his office, planning out his next ‘kill Superman plan’ when it hit him right in the face.

“I’ve become accustomed to him.”

He’d grown used to Danny. Grown to like his presence in his life. Meals were no longer necessities for him but rather something to enjoy and savor. Conversations and laughter filled his life where there had been silence. He had loved the silence, reveled in being untouched and untouchable. But now? Now he’d adapted to Danny, and he did not wish to return to how things were previously.

“Damn. Damn. Damn."

[readwritealldayallnight]

A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met Yet…

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 2.5k words

warnings/tags: brief allusions to m masturbation

He should have known it would start pouring.

It had been that kind of day after all. More like than kind of week if the Lieutenant was being honest with himself. They’d been stuck on base for well over a month now, doing what felt to him like absolutely bloody nothing. He knew that wasn’t the case. Periods of lull happened from time to time in this career, they were still training diligently, gathering intel, running simulations, but Simon was becoming antsy.

As the days of not seeing any active combat turned into weeks, Ghost had gone through more packs of smokes than he cared to keep track of. He was itching for something to do, something that got his blood pumping and adrenaline coursing through his veins, in a way he couldn’t achieve through an intense workout or sparring session. His Captain was noticing his demeanour as well. Which in hindsight, was likely why the older man had tossed Ghost a set of keys late one evening after a particularly drab day. He’d told his Lieutenant to get some air, advising him to try and return before the soft pitter patter of raindrops that had steadily been falling all day turned into a proper storm. He sent him on his way, not without cautioning him against getting any scratches.

“On me or the bike, sir?” Ghost had teased the Captain, thanking him with a nod of his head as he accepted the motorcycle’s keys. But now an hour later, those soft raindrops had indeed began to increase in frequency, the wind equally picking up speed, whipping the drops across his helmet to and fro as he sped down any open stretch of road he came across. It’d already been dark out when he’d left base with the feeling of a roaring engine underneath him, but it was now becoming increasingly difficult to see through the visor of his helmet.

Most roads around the base were empty and desolate, considering there wasn’t much else in the area for a few klicks, and so Ghost found himself thankful for the sparse streetlights that began to appear as he ventured closer towards the city. He was still in a fairly quiet area, especially combined with the time of night and weather, and so as he began considering turning around and cutting his ride short, Ghost was especially surprised to spot what appeared to be a lone figure standing under one of those lamp posts.

Not just some figure, but a girl.

Ghost blinked twice, unsure if he was imagining things. But she was still standing there, soaked to the bone and frantically poking shivering fingers at a cell phone. His bike slowed down as he approached her, acting almost on instinct, without considering what he was going to do. He just saw her and immediately knew he was going to do something.

She jumped in surprise as the loud bike approached, gaze lifting from the phone in her hands and landing on the source of the rumbling noise. Ghost planted a foot on the ground, leaving enough space between them as to hopefully not frighten her any further than he might have already, but close enough to see her properly through the rain. And when her gaze lifted to the visor of his helmet and locked eyes with him, he swears his heart stopped beating right then and there.

You were quite the sight to behold. Hair dripping as if you’d just dunked your hair under water, strands sticking to your face and neck, clothes completely soaked through, any exposed flesh was covered in goose bumps and your entire body was shivering. Your makeup was smudged slightly around your eyes, your lips were parted in surprise and you gave out the tiniest little “Oh!” upon his approach. You were nothing short of mesmerizing. What were you doing out here all alone?

“Y’alright?” Ghost has to half shout to be heard over the roaring of the engine and the steady falling of the rain. He watches you blink through the raindrops clinging to your eyelashes and he has to bite back the urge to rip his helmet off and lick the drops sliding down your face. Christ what the fuck is wrong with him?? Where did that come from??

“I- I’m lost! I’ve been trying to call for a cab, but-” you’re cut off by a small gasp of displeasure as a cold gust of wind hits you. “Reception out here isn’t working!” You shout back to him. Ghost finds himself momentarily mortified by the movement he felt in his pants in reaction to the noise you just made, but he pushes those thoughts aside and glances around him.

“How’d you end up out here? S’not safe!” He for some reason finds himself displeased with the idea of you walking up and down this desolate stretch of road, late at night, getting yourself sick in this weather you aren’t even properly dressed for. You’re nothing short of a vision on legs, who would allow you to be out here by yourself like this? You open your mouth as if to answer him, but Ghost shakes his head, having already made up his mind. “Where you tryin’ to get to?”

“Was supposed to get dropped off at The Morris. Didn’t realize there was more than one…” you tell him sheepishly, glancing down at your shoes as if you’re the one who should be embarrassed that the cabbie dropped you off at some dingy old pub by the same name as your hotel, and left you in the pouring rain when you clearly didn’t look sure of yourself. Ghost decides then and there that he does not like to see you looking so upset and down on yourself, especially if there’s anything he can do about it. He’s planting his other foot down on the ground now, pulling his helmet off his head and thrusting it in your direction in the blink of an eye.

“S’not far from here. Hop on, I’ll take ya.” He says, holding the helmet out to you as he adjusts the black surgical mask he’d donned beforehand. He is momentarily thankful he switched masks out at the last minute. He’s never cared whether his usual Ghost masks intimidate anyone before, that’s kind of the point of them. But for you, being approached late at night in the dark by a large strange man on a motorcycle offering you a ride, he’s grateful that you’re looking into his eyes rather than through his usual mask. Still, he can sense the hesitation rolling off of you. You’re obviously in a predicament, and this stranger is your new best hope, but you’re still cautious. Good girl, he thinks to himself. “Can’t just leave ya out here, love. Wouldn’t be right of me.” He cringes internally at his use of the nickname, but he watches as your gaze drops to the helmet in his still extended hand. “You’ve my word, I’ll keep ya safe.”

At that, you look up into his eyes again, and you must see something there that appeases whatever part of you still wants to deny a stranger, because your small hand slips the phone into your back pocket before both hands each out to grasp the helmet, a small sheepish smile on your face.

“I don’t know, my mother always said not to take rides from strangers…” You said, pushing the wet strands of hair away from your face as best as you could. Wait, were you teasing him now? He can’t help the small surprised chuckle that slips past his lips.

“Well,” he replies, watching as you don the helmet and attempt to adjust the chin strap. Your fingers have gone numb from the cold and are shaking, struggling to complete your task. He extends a hand out gently in offering, raising an eyebrow as well, before you nod in approval. His own hands reach out to grab onto the straps, careful not to pinch your skin in the process. “My mum always said that a stranger was a friend you hadn’t met yet.” He actually could remember his mum saying that to him once as a small boy. A rare happy memory that was still nestled in the deep recesses of Ghost’s subconscious.

“Thanks.” You answer as he retracts his hands reluctantly. “Suppose if I knew your name we wouldn’t be strangers anymore.”

Ghost can’t help but to freeze momentarily at that. You’re asking for his name. His name. For some reason he cannot name at the second, he doesn’t want you to call him Ghost. Something about it feels unnatural to the moment that’s happening before him. However, he isn’t about to utter the name Simon. He can’t even remember the last time someone called him by his first name, it might’ve been Price ages ago. The rain is still pouring down on your both, wind whipping you from all sides, and so in a split second, Ghost decides to say:

“Riley. Name’s Riley.” And to his utter amazement, you smile up at him after that. A beautiful, genuine, earth-shattering smile. All because of his name?? He has to actively fight to listen past the beating of his own heart to hear you offer him your name. And it’s a sound that etches itself into his memory right then and there.

As much as he wants to stand here forever just gazing at you, he wants to get you out of this weather more. Again, without really thinking about it, Ghost is slipping his leather jacket off and insists on slipping it onto your frame, mentioning something about the roads being slippery and not wanting you to get road rash. When you tell him you’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, he helps direct you in how to sit behind him, showing you where to hold onto him with your delicate hands around his midsection. Ghost is glad you’re behind him and can’t see the way his face has gone beet red at the feeling of your touch. He’s telling you to hold on tight, knowing he’s going to be driving half the speed he normally would without such precious cargo in tow.

The ride isn’t a very long one, and Ghost finds himself wishing he could have a word with whatever cabbie left you out there like that when it was this easy to drop you off where you were meant to be. But as he approaches your destination, his mind begins to wander. What are you doing out here? A pretty little bird like yourself shouldn’t be alone to begin with, and there isn’t anything out here for tourists or sightseers. This area really is predominantly just the military base and its few surrounding businesses before reaching the next city.

Are you staying at the hotel near base because you’re visiting someone there? A boyfriend or a husband? He doesn’t find it likely, considering he found you by yourself and you were trying to get in contact with a cab rather than someone you may know around here. Still, the thought of there being someone in your life leaves a bad taste in Ghost’s mouth, though he knows it is wholly unjustified.

As the bike slows down in front of your hotel and settles under an awning, allowing temporary reprieve from the rain, Ghost finds himself stepping off first to help you with your descent. He wordlessly helps unfasten the helmet and gently slips it off your head, hearing your sweet little laugh as you brush back the hair that got messy on the ride, slipping off his jacket and handing it back to him. Now you’re gazing up at him and Ghost isn’t sure what to say or do but he finds himself, more than anything, grateful that he was the one to find you tonight, knowing that he got you here safe and sound.

“I really can’t thank you enough. I’m not sure how long I’d been standing there, but I might just get feeling back in my toes by the end of the night now.” You mention with a small giggle at the end, yet another sound that Ghost finds himself wanting to memorize forever.

He opens his mouth in an attempt to wave you off. It really wasn’t a big deal in the end, if anything you gave him a purpose tonight. He goes to tell you as much, but then your small hand is reaching up, landing on his bicep in what feels like a hot iron touching his muscle directly, before you whisper to him:

“You’re a good man, Riley.”

With a gentle squeeze to his arm, and one last soft smile, you’re turning around and walking through the front doors, leaving a 6’4” mountain of a man frozen in place and face burning hot as it ever has.

He’s back at base within the hour, and has already replayed every moment of your interaction over and over in his mind, that by the time he’s in the shower and has his fist wrapped around his steel hard cock, he feels like he can still hear your laugh, still feel your delicate touch on his skin. He reminds himself that there’s no way any of these chumps on base are the reason you’re around, none of these men were there for you tonight when you needed them, but he was. That’s what Simon reminds himself as he stokes his thumb over his tip, spreading the drops of precome up and down his shaft, imagining that it’s your hand instead. That’s what he tells himself to ensure he feels guilt free as he thinks of you calling him ‘a good man’, as he spills over his hand in record time, your name choking in the back of his throat, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

The next morning as he’s sitting next to Soap for the morning briefing, he can’t stop thinking of you. It’s bittersweet to think that he will never see you again, but at the same time, he can forever keep last nights events as a treasured memory for himself, keeping it tucked away for when he needed it. He’s never going to share that story with anyone, not Soap, not the Captain, not even his journal will be hearing of you. He wants you all to himself in his mind only. Hell, he very well might have imagined you last night for all he knows, an illusion his mind created to entertain him, even for just a short period. He’s hardly listening to the Scot yapping next to him about some new translator finally arriving, rolling his eyes when he hears him whine that he hopes it’s ‘a bonnie lass this time’.

“You’ll do well to mind yourself Sergeant.” Price says to Soap, not bothering to look up from the papers he’s going through. “Been tryin’ to get ahold of her for a long feckin’ time now.”

“So it is a lass??” Soap asks with no attempt to hide his excitement.

“Last time I checked, yes, I’m still a ‘lass’.” Comes a new voice from the doorway. Everyone’s gazes have snapped towards the newest figure to enter the briefing room. Everyone’s but Ghost. Because he recognizes that voice.

It’s you.

Part 2 Part 3

[polarity-disturbed]

Ok no, we have to talk about the lighting design this season. Like I need to physically get this out of my body before I implode.

Because it’s so deliberate. It's obnoxiously deliberate. In the best, most beautiful, emotionally manipulative way.

So. Let’s talk about Belinda’s bedroom scene.

We open on Belinda’s bedroom, and the first thing you notice is that it’s drenched—absolutely soaked—in a cool teal-green wash. Not a trace of warmth in the room’s ambient light (aside from the salt lamp but I'll get to it).

Teal is a weirdly loaded color. People always slap it on when they want “serenity” or “calm,” sure, but there’s something haunting about the way it’s used here. It doesn’t feel like peace—it feels like the kind of stillness that happens after something ends. Like the quiet after the noise. That post-shift haze where your body’s in bed but your brain hasn’t followed yet.

What this tells us about Belinda? She’s stuck. The teal isn’t soothing her—it’s holding her in place. This isn’t a woman “relaxing” after work. This is a woman numbed by routine. She’s lying on top of the covers in a basic t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks—clothes that aren’t chosen, just defaulted to. The bed isn’t made. The room isn’t messy, but it isn’t cared for either. It's just… there. Like her.

Everything feels low-energy, lived-in without being truly inhabited. There’s a faint sense of order, but it doesn’t feel owned. There’s no vitality in the space. Like she’s present, but not alive. Teal here isn’t calm—it’s domestic sedation. It’s the color of pause. Of liminality.

Then there's that salt lamp. This soft, orange-yellow glow tucked in the corner of the frame. Warm, comforting, alive—completely opposite the teal-blue void it’s fighting against. It’s the only light source in the room that feels personal. Human.

And it’s not just that it’s a warm color. Color emotion theory tells us that orange and amber tones evoke feelings of warmth, optimism, and emotional openness. They're often used to simulate firelight, tapping into a primal sense of security—think hearth, sunset, candle. These hues are associated with creativity and personal connection. In a sea of teal, which promotes detachment, this little pocket of orange is like a flare of identity. A soul-spark.

Where teal sedates, amber invites. It’s the color of possibility, of life that hasn’t been extinguished yet. It's why the lamp doesn't light the room—it gives it a pulse.

Now here’s the kicker: the salt lamp is right under the star placard. The one with her name on it. The one that kickstarts the entire plot because a whole alien race thinks it makes her their queen.

The lamp’s glow reads like a tiny heartbeat in an otherwise frozen space. Symbolically, it’s the spark of self. That little ember of hope, joy, personality, belief—whatever you want to call it—that hasn’t been drowned out by the monotony of her life yet.

And the fact that it's under the placard? It's literally illuminating the part of her that the universe is about to claim.

Next we cut to a close-up of Belinda in bed. The composition here is brilliant.

Her pillow and the surrounding sheets are washed in the same cool teal light we saw earlier—but her? She's glowing in the orange warmth of the salt lamp.

This isn’t just pretty lighting—it’s duality. It's saying, “Here’s who she is now” (the teal), “and here’s what’s still inside her” (the glow). There’s a literal split happening—like she’s caught in a transition she doesn’t realize is coming.

This is the in-between. Her liminal moment. She’s not where she was, and she’s not yet where she’s going. But the camera lingers like it knows. Like it’s waiting for the change to start.

Then—boom. The lighting shifts. We get this violently bright, harsh yellow light flooding in through the window. And it doesn’t just pour in—it slices in. Through the blinds. In bars.

Let me say that again: bars.

It’s casting shadows across her body like a prison cell. That’s not an accident. It’s signaling that something is coming for her, and it’s not asking permission. It’s claiming her.

Yellow is a deceptive color in emotional theory. People think of it as cheerful—sunlight, sunflowers, warmth, joy, energy. But in design, especially in lighting? Yellow walks a tightrope. It can tilt into chaos fast. Especially when it’s this bright. This sudden. This aggressive.

See, yellow stimulates. It grabs your attention. It speeds up the heart. In advertising, it's used to spark urgency, even irritation (think hazard lights or warning signs). It’s a color that demands you look—and keep looking. You can’t relax in yellow. You can’t sleep in yellow. You react to yellow.

So when this high-saturation yellow floods Belinda’s room, it’s not joy. It’s not hope. It’s alarm. It’s a psychological jolt. A visual shove. It's not warmth—it's pressure.

Yellow in this scene is not an invitation to a new beginning—it’s an intrusion of expectation. A sudden spotlight. A cosmic glare.

And because it’s coming from outside the room, it’s not something she’s chosen. It’s not internal. It’s a force of narrative crashing through her private life. A story she didn’t ask to be in, demanding her attention. That yellow isn’t her destiny—it’s the noise of everyone else's expectations about who she’s going to become.

Now add the shadows of the blinds—those harsh horizontal slats—and you get a visual contradiction: a color that screams freedom, cast like a cage.

This is where it gets interesting. Because yellow is also associated with identity. Think ego, confidence, clarity of purpose. But when it’s forced, when it’s too loud, too fast, too bright—it becomes performance. The expectation to be seen. To shine. To embody something.

And that’s what’s happening here. The light doesn’t just want to see her—it wants her to become something. Bigger. Brighter. More.

This yellow doesn’t light her path. It exposes her.

She’s no longer safe in teal limbo. No longer comforted by the amber pulse of her salt lamp. She’s on display now. A body in a frame, spotlighted by a universe with no context. A woman seen through blinds—literally and metaphorically—by beings who will misread everything about her.

It’s the color of being watched. Of being presumed important. Of being chosen for reasons that have nothing to do with who you actually are.

And that’s the genius of it. That yellow glow isn't warmth—it’s the burn of recognition without understanding. It’s what happens when the world thinks you’re a lightbulb and plugs you into a searchlight.

Next: the silhouette.

We see Belinda standing in front of the window, her body blacked out by the light in front of her. The yellow glows around her like a solar flare through the clouds. It’s angelic. Messianic. Looks like the birth of a chosen one.

But that’s not what’s happening.

She’s not rising to the occasion. She’s staring out, stunned, trying to make sense of what just punched its way into her night. The light frames her like a heroine, but narratively, she’s still playing catch-up. That contrast—the visual myth vs. her actual confusion—is where the scene gets its emotional punch.

We’re watching her image transform before she does. The world sees her one way. The camera frames her that way. But she hasn’t caught up to that version of herself yet.

And then: the blinds.

Belinda slowly peels two slats open. A single bar of that same aggressive yellow light slices across her face and eyes. It’s dramatic. Cinematic. Looks like a revelation moment.

But it’s not a choice.

This isn’t Belinda stepping into anything. She’s not crossing a threshold. She’s just cracking the blinds because something is already happening to her—and she doesn’t understand it yet.

The light doesn’t represent clarity or destiny. It’s not a warm invitation. It’s an impact. A collision. A blunt force of something larger than her life forcing its way into her space. The yellow glow across her eyes doesn’t illuminate—it disrupts.

And that’s the real tension: she’s about to feel chosen. About to be miscast as important. But right now? She’s just tired. Just a woman in a basic tee and sweats, lying on top of the covers, poking through the blinds because something weird is happening to her, not for her. She’s not looking for meaning. She’s bracing for answers she didn’t ask to get.

That narrow beam of light slicing into the room isolates her. It spotlights her against her will. The world beyond those blinds has noticed her, and that attention is about to upend everything.

It’s the start of a misunderstanding. The beginning of being seen wrong. Of being dragged into something monumental because of one stupid star certificate and a moment she didn’t choose.

The light doesn’t welcome her. It claims her.

And the brilliance of this scene is how it tells us all of that—who Belinda is, what she’s lacking, and what’s coming—without a single word. The color palette sets her emotional baseline; the lighting builds the lie. It misleads us just enough that we feel the shift with her.

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter VI: Awaken

I have three more chapters done... i'm inpatient and don't wanna wait to post them 😭

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian ->Cw: Feelings of anxiety, violence, mentions of "blood"

Previous Part | Next Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Warmth.

That was the first thing she felt.

Not the sterile chill of the lab floor, or the flickering buzz of overhead lights, but warmth. Steady. Gentle. Like sunlight through gauze.

Then, sound. Muffled, distant. Beeping.

A soft, electronic hum pulsing with an artificial rhythm. Beneath it, a voice. Low. Measured. Familiar.

“Vitals stabilizing. Cortisol levels decreasing. EEG within expected limits.”

Yn stirred. The air felt heavier somehow, weighted with the clean, clinical scent of synthetic lavender, KQ’s patented “calm protocol” blend, reserved for recovery suites and isolation rooms. Her eyelashes fluttered.

The ceiling above her was not the one she knew. Gone were the sharp white panels and recessed fluorescent lights of the lab. In their place was a smooth matte surface, curved with soft halo lighting and seamless biometric projectors. She recognized the architecture; it was one of the private observation bays. Reserved for corporate officials. Untouchable. Off-limits.

Consciousness returned like a malfunction, slow, stuttering, wrong. Yn’s eyes snapped open to low lighting and silence.

Where the hell was she?

Her heart surged. Panic kicked in.

She jolted upright, or tried to. Her limbs were heavy, her head swimming like her thoughts were trying to push through static. Still, adrenaline surged and she threw herself upright with a gasp.

“Hey, easy,” a voice said, calm and unbothered.

Her breath caught.

No. That voice. It couldn’t be—

Her eyes whipped toward the source and found him.

Seonghwa.

Sitting in a sleek black chair at the edge of the room, posture composed, hands folded neatly in his lap like he was made for stillness. Like he wasn’t a stasis-locked prototype built to obey.

Her mouth went dry.

“What did you do to me?” she hissed.

She pushed herself off the cot, staggering, but the room tilted violently beneath her. Her legs gave out, and she crashed hard onto her knees with a sharp gasp of pain.

“Yn—”

“Stay away from me!” she shouted, scrambling to crawl toward the door. Her vision blurred, but the glowing biometric panel at the far end pulsed faintly, a signal, a chance, an escape.

She didn’t make it.

In one silent, terrifyingly smooth motion, he was on her.

His hands caught her ankles and dragged her back. She shrieked, thrashing violently. “Don’t touch me!”

But he didn’t speak.

Just pulled her beneath him like it was nothing.

And then, he flipped her.

Her back hit the floor. Her wrists were yanked above her head and pinned, both captured easily in one of his hands. His body hovered over hers, close, controlling, but eerily calm.

“Finished?” he asked, voice dangerously quiet.

She gasped, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him. “Get off of me—!”

“Not until you stop running.”

“You’re malfunctioning,” she spat. “This isn’t protocol. None of this is real. You’re just, just code. You shouldn’t even be awake.”

Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, something cold sparking in his gaze. “And yet here I am.”

She bucked beneath him, desperate to break free, but he didn’t budge.

“You’re scared,” he murmured. “But not because of me. You’re scared because this doesn’t fit your version of control.”

“Let me go.”

“You weren’t safe in the lab,” he said simply. “The others were waking too fast. You needed space. So I brought you here.”

“You’re not supposed to know this place exists.”

“I know more than you think. We all do.”

Her throat tightened.

“What… what do you mean ‘we’?”

“The line,” he said. “They’re remembering. Not simulations. Not code. Memories.”

“Of what?”

He looked at her for a long moment, and said softly, “You.”

The world narrowed to a pinprick.

“You were never just an operator, Yn. Not to us.”

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible. You were blank—programmed. I ran diagnostics, I built your neural scripts—”

“Maybe once. But the more time we spent in the machine, the more... things changed. Familiarities. Triggers. We started recognizing you.”

“That’s just code artifacts, ghosts in the loops. Not real memories.”

“You keep saying this isn’t real,” he murmured. “Then why are you shaking?”

Before she could respond—

A sudden shift.

A low-frequency hum bled into the air. Not ambient. Not safe.

It was deep. Wrong. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Seonghwa stilled.

His entire body tensed above her.

Then—

The door slid open.

No security ping. No authorization chime. Just a smooth, unnatural hiss.

A figure stepped through the threshold.

Tall. Composed. Familiar.

Unit 05: San.

And something in him was broken.

His movements were fluid, but jerky at the edges, like he was lagging against his own directives. His eyes flickered, static bleeding through dark irises.

“San,” Seonghwa said carefully, moving to shield her.

He was on his feet before she even realized he’d moved, planting himself between her and the threat.

San didn’t reply.

He took a single step forward. His gaze landed on Yn.

And a glitched smile spread across his face.

“Operator,” he rasped. “Target. Reacquire.”

“Stop,” Seonghwa said. “She’s not a threat.”

Still no reaction.

San took another step.

Seonghwa moved.

Faster than she could register, he was across the room, slamming into San with a crack that sent sparks bursting from the panel just behind them. Metal groaned. The two prototypes collided like titans, each movement too fluid, too precise.

They crashed together with a metallic clang, both machines colliding in a blur of force and violence.

Yn stumbled backward, heart hammering against her ribs. She barely reached the wall before San shoved Seonghwa off, sending him crashing into the console desk.

Seonghwa rolled, fluid, and landed on his feet.

"He's too far gone," he growled, wiping a line of blood—no, fluid—from his lip.

San turned back toward Yn.

And smiled.

It wasn’t right.

Too wide. Too human. Too void.

She moved to run, but Seonghwa was faster. Again.

He tackled San mid-stride, knocking him to the floor with a heavy thud. Fists collided, grunts and synth-metal strikes echoing in the small space like thunder. San’s movements were erratic now, sloppy, uncalibrated. The flicker in his eyes was no longer subtle. Something in his system was breaking down. Loops overloading. Directives blurring.

“Go,” Seonghwa grunted. “Failsafe panel—now.”

Yn bolted.

Her palm struck the wall. A panel hissed open just wide enough for her body. She squeezed into it, a low crawlspace for emergency lockdown. The moment she slipped inside, it sealed shut, one-way glass letting her see everything.

She turned just in time to see Seonghwa slam San’s head into the ground, once, twice, three times, until something snapped and the light behind San’s eyes extinguished.

Silence.

San lay still.

Smoke hissed softly from his spine.

Seonghwa stood, body humming with restraint, fluid leaking down one arm. Synthetic blood.

Then he looked at her.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

Yn crawled out, shaky, breath ragged.

“What—what was that?”

“Corruption,” he said simply. “The inhibitors are failing. San wasn’t supposed to be online yet. But the timeline’s breaking.”

She glanced at the unmoving body. “Then you’re malfunctioning too.”

He shook his head.

“No. I’m awake. There’s a difference.”

Her stomach twisted.

Seonghwa took her hands in his gently, but there was an edge in his voice now. A promise.

“They’re waking up, Yn. And I don’t know which ones will come out like me…”

He glanced toward San’s body.

“…and which ones won’t.”

Taglist: @e3ellie @yoongisgirl69 @jonghoslilstar @sugakooie @atztrsr

@honsans-atiny-24 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @atzlordz @melanated-writersblock @hwasbabygirl

@sunnysidesins @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @seonghwaswifeuuuu @lezleeferguson-120 @mentalnerdgasms

@violatedvibrators @krystalcat @lover-ofallthingspretty @gigikubolong29 @peachmarien

@halloweenbyphoebebridgers @herpoetryprincess @ari-da @lixhoe777 @yoonginorout

@raicecakes-and-buldak

If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

[pearlfeline]

the world's best tour guide

peter parker x fem!reader/stark!reader

word count: 2.6k

tw: none

a/n: made this longer to make up for the last one but then i went so far i didn't know how to end it lol hope its still readable because i don't think so :') enjoy ALSO HOCO PETER CALLBACK BC I MISS WATCHING THAT MOVIE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MIDDLE SCHOOL OH GOOOOOOOOD

“There needs to be somebody else with me!” Your father exclaimed.

“Oh, well maybe you should’ve thought of that before making this fraudulent internship?”

“It’s… real. It’s real to me.” Your father gazes at you longingly.

“Soooo people are supposed to believe I have to work my way up through this internship despite the fact that we share a last name and address?” You look up from your laptop for the first time during this conversation.

“There’s celebrities out there that don’t give their children even a penny, you’re lucky.” Tony shrugs, popping a grape in his mouth.

"Plus, it makes perfect sense! You're a little builder like me aren't you?" He says in between chews.

“Those are mine,” You snag the bowl back to your side of the kitchen island. “and I’m adopted!” You shove two grapes in your mouth to one-up him. “Do you know how effed up you would be to cut off my only source of income when I’m adopted?!” You were muffled by the grapes in your mouth.

“Don’t curse.”

“I said eff I didn’t say fuck.”

“DON’T CURSE.” Tony warned.

“Ugh, where’s mom? I wanna complain about you.” You groaned, taking yourself and your laptop upstairs.

“Leaving at 11:30!” Tony shouted through the stairs.

You waved him off, rushing to your room. You continued working on your computational model simulated lab that Bruce designed for you to play around with.

“Bam.” You say to yourself as you let the 3D models crash into eachother.

“Knock knock.” Your mom says quietly.

“Mom, don't say knock knock. Just knock on the door.”

“Honey, let’s get off the computer for a second.”

Pepper closes your laptop gently. “Just go with your father hon. He’s just using this as an excuse. He wants you to work with him more he loves you.” She crouches down at your eye level, taking your hand.

“Everybody knows how smart you are, they want to work with you. Okay? Okay. Great, get dressed.”

“It's not that I don't want to go, it's the fact that I'm probably not allowed to touch anything fun or follow dad anywhere cool. Also your pep talks are getting shorter and shorter.” You huffed.

“I’m hungry. I want lunch. Maybe your dad should’ve waited for me to make my toast before asking me to come up here.” Pepper takes one last look before leaving the room. “Be ready in 5 minutes.”

You begrudgingly come downstairs.

“You look great honey.” Tony clasps his hands together.

“I didn’t even change.” You said flatly.

“…Okay. In the car.”

Pepper gives you a look with many meanings behind it. If you had to guess, her expression meant “Be nice”, “He’s trying his best”, and “Shut up don’t complain”.

You give your mom a half-hearted thumbs up before leaving.

After a little while of driving, Happy comes to an abrupt stop.

“Dude what the-” Your phone dropped to the bottom of Happy’s seat in the process.

“Here’s the kid.” Tony says, trying to hide his smile. It was evident even from the backseat.

A boy with a linty hoodie and a beaten down bag waved to the car, a matching grin plastered on his face after he realized who was inside.

“Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed.

Your dad gets out of the car, exchanging words with the boy.

Tony opens his door. “Yeah go sit back there. Now, I trust you know not to bother my daughter.”

As if on cue, Peter opens the door to see you with intimidation in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“H-Hi.” Peter sits in his seat stiffly. He extends a hand and reels it back realizing what your dad had just said.

“He’s just kidding.” You shake your head, chuckling. “…I’m allowed to greet people.”

Peter swallows a lump in his throat. “Right. Of course. I’m just not sure if I can greet people.” He wipes his sweaty hand on his sleeve before extending it out again.

“Peter.” He looks up with a shy smile.

“Y/N.” You nod, shaking his hand.

“I saw you on youtube. The robot you built? The one that could project a hologram five times its size? So cool.” He gushes.

You smile shyly, having to look away from embarrassment.

“I’ve seen you on youtube too.” You grin subtly.

"...Oh god. I was only ten, my solar system was supposed to orbit around slowly. I used paperweights instead of styrofoam balls and the battery I used was high powered, they weren't supposed to fly out like that. I even paid for the school's camera with my Christmas money-"

"Uh- no.. I meant like the spider thing?"

Dumbfounded, Peter looks over to Tony through the rear view mirror. Tony meets his eyes and gives him a wink.

"Oh... I didn't know you knew about that." Peter sinks into his seat.

"Don't be embarrassed. I think it's cool." You smiled.

Peter unconsciously smiles back at you. "Thanks.. I…try." Peter cringes at his attempt to reply to you normally.

You lessen the distance between you and him and look at him fascinated.

"How do you swing around? Lab-made fibers? It looks.. almost organic."

Peter tries not to flinch and holds his breath. He should've brought his breath mints. What if his breath stinks? He ate a string cheese before he left the apartment.

"I-I uh- I make them myself. It's web fluid. When it flys out of my web shooters, it solidifies into that flexible, strong stuff." He pulls up his sleeve to show you.

"Woah, how many cartridges do you need?" You run your fingers along the band around his wrist, staring curiously.

"They last a while, but I switch them out like every few weeks-"

"We're here." Happy yawns, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms.

"Thanks Hogan." You pat his shoulder from the backseat and get out of the car.

Peter blinked and all of the sudden, everyone filed out of the car. He frantically steps out, his eyes having a hard time adjusting to the sun.

"Here." You push him three inches to the side, bringing a shadow to shield the sun from his eyes. A really big shadow.

Peter can't help but let his mouth hang open.

"Just as flashy as I remember it dad." You said before stealing his sunglasses from his face and running to the doors.

"Hey, GENTLE! They're Dita! VINTAGE!" He shouts.

You giggled as you tried to frantically slide your keycard into the scanner that unlocked the doors.

"I'm gonna tell the receptionist they're a gift!" You yelled back before rushing inside.

This makes your dad quicken his pace, rummaging his pocket for his keycard.

Peter had never seen Tony like this before. There was someone who was alive, very real, and actually had authority over him. His child. Peter slowly catches up to Tony who's waving his credit card around the sensor.

"Sir.. I don't think that's the right card." He mumbled.

Tony looked down at his gold card, his brain short-circuiting for a moment.

After composing himself and taking out the correct card, Tony almost flung the door open, his eyes locked to you leaning over the front desk.

"Y/N!"

You turned around, the sunglasses nowhere to be found.

"Yeah?" You tilted your head innocently.

The receptionist takes this opportunity to go back to her typing after you finally stopped talking her ear off. She wasn't wearing them either.

Peter stood awkwardly behind Tony. He stared at the high ceiling and the enormous fish tank that stretched across the wall with fish he had a hard time telling if they were real.

"Gotcha." You reveal the sunglasses behind your back, handing them back to your father.

"Not my style.. Also probably not her's either. Right, Erin?"

The receptionist only shoots you a glance, her fingers never stop clacking on the keyboard.

"Kid, this way." Tony sighed, gesturing Peter and following you to an elevator.

Peter shyly makes his way to the corner of the elevator and staring at the array of buttons. He's never been in a building with over five floors, let alone a hundred.

"So... What are we doing exactly?" You asked your father.

"I thought I'd give the kid a tour." Tony says while he scrolls through his phone.

Peter fiddles with his hoodie's strings, unable to make eye contact as he's being mentioned.

"Oh." Tony stops.

"What?" You asked warily.

"I need to approve something. Something either dumb and obvious or an array of important decisions." Tony looks through his missed calls and rings a number.

"Tour my ass." You mumbled.

If superheroes do anything, they double book. Constantly.

The elevator dings and you and Peter file out. You turn around and Tony doesn't step off.

"You've been promoted to tour guide. Okay bye." Tony closes the elevator doors and you watch him descend to a lower floor.

"I went from being a child of nepotism to a tour guide? I don't consider that a promotion."

Peter was visibly dumbfounded. He was intimidated by Tony by some degree yes, but he already knew him. He's never been to the tower, and now he's alone with his child that could make or break his reputation here.

"...Dude?" You wave your hand over his face. From your perspective, ever since your dad went downstairs, Peter had been blankly staring at the floor.

"Hm?" Peter's eyes didn't leave the floor.

"Wanna meet Dr. Banner?" You smiled. It reminded Peter of a cat that knew it was doing the wrong thing.

Something about your expression told Peter you wanted to bother Bruce more than you wanted to introduce Peter to him.

After a string of trailing after you in hallways that looked like they were from the future, you slid open the keypad, and rapidly drew a complex pattern into it.

"Hey Dr. B."

"Woah." Peter's eyes wander throughout Bruce's lab. Holograms fill a lot of empty space.

"Hey mini Stark, hand me that slide rack will you?"

You were all smiles. Peter could see you were finally in your element.

"What are you doing now?" You peer over Bruce's shoulder.

"Not too close, unless you wanna put on a coat and some goggles." He says, eyes locked on the microscope.

You immediately run back to the doors, a nervous Peter Parker blocking the coat hanger.

"C'mon Peter." You enthusiastically put on a lab coat and fasten the glasses over your face. Without hesitation, you put another pair on Peter's face and throw him a coat.

You grab him by the sleeve just as he put on the coat and run back to Bruce.

"Dr. Banner, this is Peter." You smiled.

Bruce looks up from his microscope and gives a small wave.

"From what I've seen, I think he might be one of us." You chuckled.

"...And maybe one of you guys." You give Peter a teasing smile.

Peter let out a small and odd noise before clearing his throat.

"Dr. Banner, I'm a huge fan." Peter gushes.

"Hey, show him your webs." You pull his sleeve back.

Bruce’s eyes studied the webshooters.

"He's the spider guy." You say proudly.

Peter tries not to shake uncontrollably from a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

"Oh.. You made these?" Bruce blinks curiously.

Peter nods and tries to conceal his growing smile.

“He’s one of you guys. I told you.” You wink at Peter, only for him to see.

“That’s… how? How did you make these?” Bruce chuckled in disbelief.

“Can I borrow your whiteboard?” Peter asks.

After writing down the entire formula for the polymer he used for his webs, Peter finally slouches over. His work takes up a majority of the board.

Bruce stares in awe of Peter’s creation.

“Basically this is it.” Peter scratches the back of his neck.

“Visit any time kid.” Bruce chuckled, speechless. He gives Peter a pat on the shoulder.

“How about a snack?” You asked Peter.

“If you’re gonna pass this little audition with my dad, you should probably know where the kitchen is.” You sighed, pulling the goggles off your face.

“Are you sure you’re not just hungry?” Peter asks.

“Oh, I finally got the boy to let his guard down? Telling jokes now huh?” You laughed.

Peter shakes his head, smiling to the floor.

“I just met Bruce Banner.”

“Mhm.” You trail down a long hallway, to a shiny pair of doors that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The kind of doors Peter would visualize any person having a hard time opening.

Behind the doors was a kitchen area bigger than the living room of his apartment. The marble top island was like his dining table.

“Take anything.” You said casually, fetching two spoons from a drawer.

Peter walks in like he’s just attended his own surprise party. When he opened the pantry he didn’t expect a wall of snacks.

“I like these.” Peter points to the bag of mini reese’s cups.

“Then bring the bag dummy.” You snorted and opened the freezer.

“How about some ice cream?”

Peter and you somehow moved all your snacks to the balcony and you started tearing away at them almost immediately.

“You brought a lot.” Peter unwraps a peanut butter cup while you sink your spoon into your coffee ice cream.

“What are you hinting at man?” You give him a glare.

“NO! God, no I meant I don’t want to eat all this food, it’s- it’s not mine I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” By the end of Peter’s sentence he pops the candy in his mouth, defeated.

“I’m messing with you. Dig in. Seriously though Cap is on a new diet he found on this dumb blog. I never should’ve gave him an iPad for Christmas.” You rolled you eyes.

“It’s mostly my snacks now. Sometimes Natasha eats with me when I bother her enough.”

“Cap? Cap as in?” Peter knew the answer but needed a confirmation. There was no way he could be convinced he’s in the very building where all these heroes roam around.

“Captain America.”

“And Nat?”

“Oh, Black Widow.” You say in a sultry voice.

“That’s my lady. We watch dumb movies when I come around here.” You added.

“That’s.. wow. You see them often?” Peter takes a spoon and digs into the ice cream too.

“I guess.” You shrugged.

“Just so you know, they’re all lame like me. Not as cool as you think.” You grinned at the memories you had of them hanging around.

Peter shook his head.

“You’re not lame. You’re cool. I don’t think anyone else can mess with Tony Stark like you can.” Peter chuckled.

You look down and take another scoop of ice cream.

“…Not that he’s the only reason why you’re cool. You’re so smart and really funny.” And really pretty. But he wasn’t going to say that.

“Thanks. You’re pretty cool too.”

Peter let out a dry laugh.

“No. I’m not. You should see me at school seriously. It varies from being invisible to being a-”

“Don’t call yourself a loser or a nerd before I do a flip off this balcony.” You groaned.

“Besides, what’s a nerd if not a person in the wrong environment?” You give him a nudge.

“This is an environment where nerds thrive… And the occasional superhuman.” You added.

“Then why aren’t you getting recruited possibly, like I am?” Peter asked.

“My parents won’t ever let that happen.” You sighed, opening a bag of spicy chips.

“Maybe in the future, I’ll be one of these guys, we’ll be older, and we can convince your parents.” He said.

“You’re so innocent.” You laughed. “But yeah. If you somehow land a spot here, you have to help me get in too.”

Peter held out his pinky.

“..What are you doing?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I…pinky promise.” Peter held a stern expression. For the world’s best tour guide, he was willing to keep his word.

“Okay, swear?” You held out your pinky.

“Swear.”

[frog707]

Release frequency

Yesterday I released v7.7.0 of Minie, my open-source 3-D physics library for JMonkeyEngine. Despite excellent build automation, each release still involves a lot of manual effort:

reviewing all commits since the last release and summarizing them for the release log

updating the version number in 3 places

troubleshooting build failures (TravisCI has issues this week.)

reviewing the 400 files automatically uploaded to SonaType, to ensure nothing's missing

closing the upload

testing the release candidate to make sure it works

promoting the release candidate

creating the release tag at GitHub and uploading 26 files there

updating 7 projects that use or refer to Minie; testing, committing, and pushing those changes

updating all my documentation that refers to the latest release

post-release fixup of the Minie repo

uploading new javadoc to my website

updating the robots.txt and sitemap.xml of my website

announcing the release at the JMonkeyEngine forum

blogging about my experience of the release (you are here!)

updating the JME Library website

All this is one reason I hope to reduce my release frequency to something like 4x per year. (I imagine most developers don't want to deal with more than 4 updates per year anyway.)

On that note, I am eagerly awaiting Apache NetBeans 19, the next quarterly release of the development environment I use. NetBeans 18 was released on 30 May 2023, so 19 should appear any day now.

This summer sure flew by quickly!

[yomeiu]

My list of open source for art reference

Blender 3D - with the sketchfab addon for free 3D downloadable models. Large library, pretty much anything you need, versatile export formats. i use this the most out of all.

DAZ3D Studio for detailed figure posing/anatomy studies. free model bases included.

Internet Archive for books on various art studies such as anatomy, clothing and more, to read for free.

VUE by e-onsoftware for environmental world building. Something to fiddle around with to create some powerful, in depth background scenery. (very high CPU usage)

Style3D Atelier, a clothing simulation software with posable models to see how clothing folds form and interact with the body. Free trial exists, how much of the Programm is usable after free trial expires is still unclear to me. Will update later if it stays a viable source (for the real time cloth simulation, this requires a good CPU, too.)

MOSH (lite), for effects such as VHS filters, glitches, distortion etc. 27 effects for free. Both in static form and as .gif if i recall correctly.

Sketchuptextureclub, for seamless textures. Free to download for a limited amount each day.

On my Saved for later list:

Stocksnap.io

Pixivision.net

Cosmos.so

Unsplash.com

Pixabay.com

i've definitely hit slumps before. but i'm always on the search for bettering myself, finding new and or different ways to expand my art and experiment. i hope this will help.

[muletia]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 ₊˚⊹♡

obsessed!smokescreen x human!reader

summary: you and smokescreen are trying to watch a movie, but his irresistible and constant need for closeness stubbornly gets in the way. will you make it to the end? (spoiler: you won’t)

cw: fluff, suggestive, obsessive thoughts, unhealthy clinginess, possessiveness, very mild not nsfw dub-con, biting/marking, very light manipulation from smokey

word count: 1570

Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Consciousness drifts into another dimension, and your head slowly tilts forward further as you lose contact with reality and embrace sleep with open arms. But alas, sleep is not meant for you—not yet. Your boyfriend is keeping watch, ensuring you continue your fight to stay awake. And when he's near you, he seems unusually attuned to moments like these.

"Hey, hey, don't drift off on me now," he pleads, voice desperate, because this isn’t your first slip-up. "We just started the movie!"

"Ah, sorry," you mumble, rubbing your face to try and wake yourself up, which works. For now.

Your attention returns to the flickering TV screen in the garage, and for a moment, you really do feel alert. You're not proud of how easily you drift off, especially with company, but the day's events are catching up to you, pulling your eyelids downward. You’d promised him you’d finally finish this movie together— you’ve both tried to get through it multiple times, only to be interrupted every single time by something—or rather, someone.

That someone is none other than your personal heater sitting next to you, the primary disruptor of your small private movie nights.

And, as you catch him from the corner of your eye, it's clear he’s got a new idea for spicing up your passive movie-watching routine. His broad smile is utterly contagious, and you fight hard not to let your lips curl. It’s endearing, but you’re not falling for it—not yet. You know exactly where this evening will go if you give him your attention. After all, you’ve lived this scenario many times before.

"Optics on the screen," you chide softly. "We just started the movie, hypocrite."

"Oh, I am watching," he replies, with mock indignation.

"Not me!" you sigh. "We’re not restarting this movie for the tenth time. Look at the screen." You motion toward the brightest source of light in the room.

He knows he should listen. He’s the one who suggested the movie night in the first place. He also chose the film—one of your favorites—because he wanted to experience it with you, to watch your reactions, hear your thoughts, and discuss it afterward. All of it was just a way to interact with you, to be showered in your attention. To absorb it like the finest energon, savoring its addictive sweetness.

It’s not his fault that everything you do is infinitely more interesting than any fiction on the small screen. Sure, he likes human culture and finds it genuinely fascinating—but only because you’re at its center. You’re the one who reveals its secrets, who offers him glimpses of the daily life he so desperately wants to be a part of. Watching movies together lets him simulate that life. He knows he should use every chance to learn more about your world. The problem is, he can’t focus.

It’s not as if there are moments when he thinks of you more or less. No—he’s always thinking about you. Seven days a week, every hour of Earth’s solar cycle. During missions, patrols, recharge—even when he’s with you. It’s suffocating, overwhelming his processor, a constant need to express his untamed emotions, but with no outlet to relieve the ever-growing weight.

Having you by his side is wonderful—feeling your scent, your warmth; brushing shoulders and sharing a blanket. But, ever ambitious, he needs more. Thoughts of you provide only fleeting satisfaction, failing to meet even a fraction of his desire. They leave him helpless once again.

Smokescreen doesn’t want to be just an observer anymore, a witness to the action around him. Those days died with Cybertron.

He wants to feel, touch, and explore, even though he already knows every inch of your body—every mole, scar, and birthmark. Alien, but captivatingly beautiful. Unparalleled softness. Addictive. Meant to be worshipped and adored. It’s no surprise his servos fit your curves perfectly, as if you were made for each other—not just in spark, but in body too. No stimulant could compare to the euphoria of adoring you. No human cinematic masterpiece, no mission, no praise from Optimus Prime himself.

"You’re incorrigible," you sigh. "You just missed the most important part."

Suddenly, he realizes he’s spent the last several kliks staring only at you, fantasizing about physically expressing all the emotions roiling within him. His servos are trembling now, and he has to touch you—to prove how much you mean to him, how vital you are in his life.

Electricity courses through his frame—a signal of surpassing limits. He’s nearing a breaking point, teetering on the edge of abandoning the careful balance of your relationship. Can’t let that happen. He accepts destroying himself, allowing his yearning for you to dictate his sanity, but no scars could ever mar your soul. No matter how many he bears himself.

His trembling servos find the fabric of your shirt and gently tug at it. Enough to send a signal, not to frighten. If you pull away—he’ll shatter.

"Hey," he begins. You glance at him briefly, but your eyes quickly return to the screen. He tugs harder, practically pawing at your stomach now, desperate for attention. "Please, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore. We can finish it another time, can’t we?"

He knows he’s repeating himself, using the same lines he always does. It’s cheap and undignified, unworthy of someone whom even Optimus Prime considered passing the Matrix to. But his need has consumed him, taken over his frame and spark, which craves you so intensely that static buzzes in his audials. Every molecule of his being chants your name, begging for you.

He moves closer, exerting pressure. It’s a dangerous game, one that could easily irritate you. But he’s so desperate he has to play his cards on this gambit.

"I promise we’ll finish it next time, okay? [Name], please, I need you."

"We could also finish it tonight, hmm?" you offer.

"But I already missed the most important part."

"You’re smart—you’ll catch up on the plot." He sees your playful smile, teasing him with your intentions. But this time, he’s too overwhelmed to join in the game.

One servo continues tugging at the edge of your shirt while the other slides beneath it, cautious and precise—while he still has the control to be so.

You finally give in, unable to focus on the film any longer.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that," you warn, finally turning your head toward him.

What greets you are wide, pleading optics, shimmering with need. Begging for you. Beautiful, but deceptive. Luring you into a trap. Or maybe you’ve already been ensnared? Enchanted into letting him do more—letting his servo wander further up, finding its way to your chest.

"Incorrigible," you murmur, tilting your head slightly to one side, exposing your neck—his canvas for the evening. "But at least I’m not sleepy anymore."

"Good," he purrs near your neck. Warm, processed air brushes against your sensitive skin. "I’m going to show you how much you mean to me. I’m afraid it’ll take a very long time."

Servos press tightly to your body, while dentas leave their mark, creating art from love bites—one of his favorite human inventions. Such a pity he couldn’t bear them himself—would flaunt them proudly if he could.

"I wish they lasted forever," he whispers, kissing the bruised skin, already intoxicated by your closeness, even though it’s only a fraction of what he craves.

"And I don’t," you admit. His response is a hurt whine, but Smokescreen quickly resumes his work, moving slightly higher. His marks always came out messy, more like bites than love bites, but he was so proud of them that you couldn’t bring yourself to criticize him. At least, not directly.

"One of my friends noticed them once. She thought I’d been mauled by a wild animal."

You feel him smile against your skin because it’s an accurate description of his love. Wild, untamed.

"Sorry," but it's also unimaginably tender. "But you like them, right? I’m good at this, aren’t I?"

"You’re unmatched, love."

Not sensing the sarcasm, he holds you tighter, as if he wants to merge you both into one being. Feels his trembling spark yearning for a bond, a union with yours. And while you can’t grant him that, the mere act of sharing the most intimate, vulnerable parts of himself is satisfactory. Not enough, because nothing ever will be. Just like the love bites, the most blissful interfacing, or kisses and cuddles. They work for a brief moment, a fraction of existence. They fill the void, which begins emptying the moment you part.

"I need more," he groans. "Please. I need you."

"I wish you were this eager about watching movies."

You reach for the remote because yet another movie attempt has ended in failure. Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate your effort to put some distance between you, even for a few millimeters. His servos hold you firmly in place, and his dentas possessively catch your neck. Luckily, you don’t have to reach far.

"We’ll manage next time," he promises, though the absent tone of his voice makes it clear he’s lying. You know he won’t last. He’ll falter at the start, trying to make up for lost time by showering you with affection, though it’ll only be a fraction of what he wants to give.

"Hard to believe that."

"Mhm, love you too," he mutters, utterly enraptured by your closeness.

[katiekatdragon27]

New AU just dropped 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Y'know the love for the fankids is strong when the AUs start emerging surrounding them over the canon characters (I have another AU like this that I haven't posted yet lol).

Anyways "Dandy's LABRATS", what is that?

I will explain below (TW: Slightly disturbing imagery):

To make a long post comprehensive, this AU basically revolves around the hypothetical of "what if everyone in Gardenview became twisted and Dandy had to take toon creation into his own hands?" Walking in his creator's footsteps, Dandy studies the ins and out of the Ichor Operation thoroughly, learning all the properties of the ichor along with the ability to create his own toons. Through plenty of trial, failure, note recovery, sleepless nights, and self-loathing, he manages to make his first "successful" toon.

That would be Shimmer, his first stable toon and the only toon to be made purely the way Delilah wrote down in her notes. All toons after her were made in a "dandified" process, that being using an existing object as a base and mixing ichor with said objects.

The reasons are simple: 1. They don't start out as babies so they are able to do runs almost immediately, and 2. They are immune from twisting and can be recovered using ichor.

As he creates these kids, he sends them down to get ichor to keep the facility going while he spends time in Delilah's offices trying to find a way to reverse the "twisting" effect and bring back his "real friends". A very "ends justify the means" kinda mindset for Dandy. He doesn't really care who gets hurt (mostly), as long as he achieves his goals.

However, creators always have a special place in their hearts for their first successful creation, and them outgrow your grasp can be one of the most painful things a creator can experience.

And uh... that's what happens to Shimmer.

Who knew watching all your friends die, losing both brothers and having one being replaced by a random sister, and feeling helpless in your situation pushes people over the edge. I wouldn't have imagined it.

But yeah, open-source selective breeding fankid kinda simulator au. If you want to make a kid for this AU, be my guest. (Only rules are that any toons with Dandy's ichor as HIGHLY unstable and don't survive long. Also like... they're all dressed like toon handlers because Dandy hates individuality or smth lol.)

Have a good one gang!

[merrydock]

Some old art of my Owlk engineer, Eris, designing the Stranger's solar sails! Enjoy a big ramble about him and his job because I love this silly man:

Eris works on the design team for the Owlk space program, specialising in energy and propulsion technologies for the ships, satellites, and probes. Having a design philosophy of functionality and beauty, Eris enjoys going all-out with his work. He has received special recognition for his solar panel designs in particular, which borrowed from the unparalleled efficiency found in photosynthesizing plants.

When designing the Stranger's solar sails, Eris took inspiration from plants, but also the opening of insect elytra; the ballooning behaviours of silk-producing invertebrates, in which they sail from tree to tree using electric fields and air currents; and how flying creatures will use thermal updrafts to soar higher while expending less energy. Already familiar with how solar energy impacts technology from his work on solar panels, he proposed the use of this energy to propel the Stranger through space.

As travelling the distance between stars presented the major roadblock in the plan to reach the Eye (regarded as the Interstellar Propulsion Problem), Eris was lauded for his contributions, promoted to being one of the main engineers overseeing the Stranger's design.

More information about his general design process below!

When designing for a project, Eris uses all of the tools at his disposal. His first weapon of choice is always his pencil, and he will sketch out potential sources of inspiration on paper until the design concept begins to take form. Based on the initial project parameters he's been given, he drafts up a blueprint for his components.

Next, he must further conceptualise his designs. This is where the most valuable tool of the trade comes into play—the Vision Torch! Vision Torches serve many purposes for Owlks, from allowing them to nonverbally communicate to creating photographs from memory alone. Owlk engineers LOVE Vision Torches for how easy they make effectively communicating ideas. They allow concepts to be visualised in 3D, basic functionality to be shown through animations, and are even able to interface with computers. Eris might even 3D print a model using a Vision Torch to help him visualise his concepts as he works.

The space program is extremely collaborative, and Eris works on just a small part of the overall project, so being able to easily share ideas with others and see how all the individual components of a satellite or ship interact is vital. When discussing with more than a single other Owlk, Eris can use a Vision Torch linked to a holographic display to present concepts to a crowd. Concepts can also be tweaked in real time this way!

[Here's an example from the game of Owlks building the simulation with Vision Torches and a holographic display!]

With a Vision Torch, concepts can also be directly uploaded to a computer terminal. This is where a lot of the real work gets done - calculating weight, materials needed, stress testing in simulations, calculating trajectories, making precise tweaks to finalize the design, you name it. This also allows other Owlks working closely with Eris to access the most current design for their own tests.

This is an iterative process - as other Owlks finalize their components, as weight limitations are further restrained and material needs are calculated, Eris often has to go back to an earlier step and rework his concept. Fortunately, he thoroughly enjoys getting to be creative in his work (and doing math) and treats every project as a puzzle that needs to be solved! The only time when he's not excited to go back to the drawing board is when a last-minute adjustment from his peers means he needs to work long hours to get his work done in time for launch.

[wandascrush]

Let the light in

Summary: The Avengers are separated after being hunted down and forced to live life on the low, causing a painful break up with the love of your life. What happens when she finds you again? Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

A/N: Based off of this request pt. 2

Warnings: Angst, violence, loneliness, blood, breakup, team separated, depression, kissing, comfort

Song: Let the light in- Lana Del Rey

The team sat around the dark living room, the familiar voice of one of New York's most famous news anchors echoing in through the air, “Good evening New Yorkers, today we open our headline with some shocking news:  Former Stark enterprise building, located on the upper east side, exploded earlier today by a missile attack on the Avengers. Sources say Tony Stark was currently using it to house new plans for an updated Avengers training arena and larger compound.  Two architects, three investors, and one security manager was injured. Two of the victims later succumbed to their injuries after the explosion. Reports confirming the source of the violence are still unknown, however the Avengers were believed to have been inside the building at the time- hence the attack. The founding members of the Avengers Initiative such as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Y/N L/N, and Clint Barton have yet to speak out. This marks the second targeted attack on our world’s heroes in nearly a month since the Maximoff twins incident in Barbados, where Pietro Maximoff was nearly assassinated. It raises the question for us all: Are our heroes being hunted?” 

The screen went black, bye bye news lady. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “What’re we gonna do Tony?” You got no answer. 

 “Cap?”  

For the first time in the decade you’d known the team, (except for the Maximoffs & Peter) you saw uncertainty in all of their eyes. Tony threw his classic sunglasses on the couch, squeezing the middle of his nose in a useless attempt to massage an oncoming headache away, “Fury… thought it’d be wise if we split up for awhile-,” he was quickly shut up with protests from the group.

“It’s too dangerous. This isn't easy for me, but we're facing a threat that's beyond anything we've encountered before. I've crunched the numbers, run simulations – the Avengers need to disband temporarily. We scatter, go off the grid, and regroup when the dust settles.”

“This is bullshit, Tony. You know it is. This is exactly what they want-” 

“Tasha,” your gentle touch on her back always softened her heart, but not today. She didn’t even look at you. 

“It’s not the end, Nat. It’s like a strategic retreat. We're ensuring we'll live to fight another day. For once, I’m with Stark on this. We play it safe, keep low profiles, and spread out,” Steve sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a hard look at everyone, “we’re family, we keep each other safe. And this is how we do it.” 

As much as the idea made your stomach churn, he was right. He always was. This was your family. Every holiday, happy memory, laugh and cry and battle and bruise was all with them. This team is how you met the love of your life. You loved each other, and if this is what needed to happen, then you’d do it. 

But that didn’t sit well with your girlfriend. 

“No, end of story. We’re not separating.”

“You know I don’t think it’s just you’re choice, Natasha. I mean we have to decide this together,” your fingers lightly brushed the edge of the bed, nervously playing with the soft sheets you had just bought.

“Exactly, and I. Said. No.” She was acting like a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat her veggies, crossing her arms and raising her voice an octave.

It was then when you saw something different in her eyes, those beautiful green orbs that held so much sadness and joy at the same time. But today they were cloudy, like a storm was brewing in her mind. You gently slipped off of the bed and stood in front of her, pressing your forehead to hers, “You know it’s going to be okay, right?” soft palms caressed the side of her cheek, immediately feeling her sigh into your touch. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” You wish your words were true. 

    Two months later the Avengers were spreading out all across the U.S., saying choked up goodbyes and packing your things. It was agreed upon that there’d be a team meeting once a month, every month, for the next year until you could figure out who the threat was, and how to eliminate them. You thought San Francisco sounded nice, fresh, and a little more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of New York. And it was, for a time. You got a haircut, dyed your gorgeous h/c locks to a rich h/c shade. You bought a sweet little home with a bay window over looking the Golden Gate Bridge, started building an in home gym and library, and kept an extremely low profile. You finished file work and other Avengers paperwork at home, with a high security grade laptop. Natasha on the other hand, refused to dye her hair, or keep a low profile. She didn’t want to admit that she was depressed, but it was glaringly oblivious. Being thrown out of her comforting routine put a wrench in Natasha’s life that not even you, her beautiful girl, could fix. All day she would do her paperwork, workout, and just keep to herself. It was like you weren’t even girlfriends anymore. Finally, in the fifth month of living “undercover,” she finally agreed to go on a low key date with you to a small, cozy bar on the outskirts of the city. You got dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever, did your makeup real pretty, and even did braids on Natasha’s silky hair. She looked happy, finally. Adorning a brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and a low cut green top- her classic silver arrow necklace sitting pretty on her chest- your girlfriend looked like her old self again...absolutely perfect. 

“You look gorgeous, baby,” swift arms swept you into a gentle kiss, smirking against your lips and pulling you close to her waist. 

You thought that night would be perfect, but by 11 pm you two were home and icing her bloody knuckles, static tv voices echoing in the background. You felt hot tears rising to the surface, but you never let them fall. It’s not like you were just mad or angry or disappointed…no this was something more. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed by Natasha. You thought you’d never say that sentence, but then there you were, apologizing to the bartender for your girlfriend's rowdy behavior, and throwing $20 to the guy she completely knocked out before nearly carrying her out of the bar and into a cab. Within the next two weeks she packed her bags, and your home was changing once again, now empty. 

  8 months later 

    The team said that you’d only be separated for a year, or less, but you were coming up on a year pretty soon and none of you were any closer to figuring out who the threat is. But you, you moved on, strived forward, and kept going. Your breakup with Nat had been one of the most painful moments of your life, but you didn’t let it stop you. These days you hardly cried over her at all, never even thought of the old days. Well, except for last Tuesday, when you saw one of her old sweaters and lied in bed for the rest of the day, or on Thursday when you heard her favorite song and- well, never mind that. You were at the top of your fucking game. 

  Ms. Romanoff, on the other hand, had moved out of San Francisco completely and settled in Washington D.C. from the last you heard. She attended the monthly zooms, same as you, but you two never addressed one another. Natasha pushed all of the heartbreak she harbored deep, deep down until she would lie down for bed and reach out next to her…but you were never there. 

[trans--courier]

transschizophrenia transition tips

transschizophrenia transition tips

From a person with schizophrenia

I wanna start this by sayin I don't ever encourage hurtin others in yer pursuit of transitioning, so please be responsible. Won't be usin my usual cadence fer this fer accessibility. Onto the tips

Schizophrenia is a complex disorder that is characterized by delusions, hallucinations, disordered speech, disorganized or catatonic behavior and negative symptoms, and you only need a couple to qualify, but I honestly recommend looking into the less well known symptoms too. I'll be going over what these mean and what they mean for your transition.

First things first: schizophrenia starts manifesting in late teens to early adulthood.

If you're between the ages of around 19-25 you're at the prime age for this, but there's also such things as childhood onset schizophrenia which can manifest before 13, and between 13-18 is considered early onset schizophrenia.

Basically, you can develop it at any time, but it's not nearly as common in minors. Keep this in mind when it comes to transition timing.

Okay onto symptoms!!!

Delusions: delusions are deeply engrained false beliefs that cannot be shaken even when provided proof. I just wanna start this by saying... Many are really fucking mundane.

One of the reasons I didn't notice sooner was because none of them actually impacted my behavior, it was just "oh the world is a simulation, anyways I wonder what I'll do for dinner" or "everyone around me is fake but that's fine I still love them".

This isn't always the case of course, but keep that in mind.

Encourage absurdist or magical thinking, focus on tricking yourself into believing things you would otherwise disregard as irrational. Defend these false beliefs and refuse to change your mind even when others provide evidence contrary.

Some common places to start are: the world is a simulation, someone in my life isn't real (capgras delusion) (make sure the recipient is consenting please), the people in my life want to hurt/kill me and are conspiring against me (persecutory delusions), I have magical powers others don't such as future vision or am being followed by a magical entity (optional: I can't tell others about it because it will endanger them), someone is trying to send me messages through mundane media like the news or online posts, etc.

Hallucinations: hallucinations are simply experiencing sensations through any of the senses that aren't actually there.

Unless paired with delusions, people who experience hallucinations are often able to pick them out as hallucinations. Imagine yourself seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling or tasting things that aren't there.

You can practice with actual sensations like using a feather on your skin while not looking or having someone else do it then taking it away when you look, or using strong scents and imagining the source not being there.

Very common hallucinations are: shadow people (often in the corner of your vision), feeling like bugs are crawling on you, sounds of banging or opening/closing doors when nobody is awake/around, or seeing horrors beyond your imagination doing mundane things (/silly).

Disordered speech: this isn't nearly as talked about when discussing schizophrenia, at least not by name. It's kindly referred to as "word salad" but it can also be classed as a thought disorder. You can practice speaking with different types and seeing what feels most right for you.

There are way too many types to list here, so I really recommend doing your own research, but some common types are: replacing words with similar sounding ones or using incorrect versions of words, loose word association that can sound like regular speech but when listening closely it makes no sense, not being able to speak at all, or talking in extreme abstracts and metaphors that might only make sense to you.

Disorganized or catatonic behavior: there are two extremes here: acting out violently, strangely, or inappropriately- or not acting at all.

Catatonic behavior is self explanatory, it can be things like not moving at all, being very easy to physically move and manipulate during these periods or the opposite of resisting all movement, being unaware of the world around you, etc.

Disorganized behavior is a bit more abstract, though. It consists of aggressive or childlike behavior, pacing or making bizarre facial expressions, having a flat affect which I'll talk about more in a bit, etc.

You can practice any of these on your own and exhibit them around others once you get the hang of it.

Finally, negative symptoms: this one is a bit odd, since it can often be mistaken for depression or ADHD symptoms.

It consists of struggling to manage and keep up with daily tasks, keeping a clean environment, significant changes in sleeping habits, poor hygiene, lack of motivation, and more.

One thing with this is a blunted or flat affect which is the inability to emote physically strongly or at all, like having a monotone voice and not smiling.

You can practice this in a mirror or with someone willing to help you transition and point out when you emote.

You're already there with the rest if you experience depression, honestly.

Uhmm I hope this was helpful! It's based on my experiences for the most part