#Cluster Computing Market

[shouyuus]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

[sirfrogsworth]

Smartphone cameras are NOT getting worse. (See below for phone photography tips)

I've now seen 3 pro photographers reviewing the iPhone 16 and complaining the cameras are "worse" and blaming Apple for not including revolutionary new camera technology.

And I suppose this is partly Apple's fault. Their marketing and hype machine always goes overboard. But also, that's just how marketing works. Samsung has a "200 megapixel" sensor and Sony has a "Zeiss" lens. And I think it is unrealistic to expect smartphone companies to say "This product has entered the iterative phase and each new model will only be marginally improved over the last one."

Smartphones (from any brand) have become an appliance. You don't buy a new model of microwave every year. And you don't expect every new model of microwave to have new revolutionary technology. And that is pretty much the expectation you should have with most computer hardware from here on out.

And in some ways, that is a good thing. That means the design of the phone has pretty much been perfected and it will last you a long time if you take care of it. You will not be left behind and your phone will be able to handle any new software for most of its lifespan.

So, is Apple getting lazy or is there a reason their hardware is stagnating?

It seems that neither money nor marketing can change the laws of physics.

They cannot make transistors much smaller. Phones and computers are about as fast as current hardware designs can make them (unless there is a shocking scientific breakthrough). From here on out, heavy compute tasks that are beyond your phone or computer will be done in the cloud on giant computer clusters. Thankfully computers and phones seem to be plenty fast for the majority of tasks we ask of them.

I remember Katrina telling me her new computer didn't seem any faster. And I explained the computing tasks she does regularly were not really affected by the increased power and speed of her new computer. If something took 0.1 seconds before and now it takes 0.05 seconds, that is twice as fast. An increase in speed that looks fantastic in advertisements. But it is hard for our brains to perceive. She just didn't do anything on her computer that took it long enough for her to notice. But having a faster and more powerful computer/phone will increase its lifespan and resale value, so it is still prudent to get the best things you can afford at time of purchase.

And I'm afraid smartphone cameras are hitting their own hardware limitations. They can't make the sensors much larger to get better depth of field and low light performance. And cramming in more megapixels doesn't actually add much more detail, if any.

It's physics.

Again.

You cannot get any more performance out of a small plastic lens. Why do you think pro photographers haul around 10 pound lenses still?

There is a formula for detail that never seems to be explained in any camera marketing.

Here is the simplified version...

Detail = Sensor x Lens

Let's say 1 is perfection. You have a sensor that performs at 0.5 and a lens that performs at 0.2.

The total detail will be 0.1.

But in the new model you increase the performance of the sensor to 0.8. WOW! That's so close to 1!

The total detail will be... 0.16.

Now let's imagine we've discovered a magic, physics-defying tiny plastic lens that performs at 0.8 as well.

The total detail jumps to 0.64!

But we all get sucked into a wormhole because we violated the laws of the universe.

Even if you were to design a near perfect (perfect is impossible) sensor that scores 0.99.

Without that magic plastic lens... 0.198

This is why I put Samsung's "200 megapixel" sensors in quotes. Because when paired with the same tiny plastic lens, there isn't much improvement. And that's why a 12 megapixel DSLR from 10 years ago with a giant honking lens can still capture more detail.

Most of the quality from smartphone cameras comes from the computational software processing. Phones actually take many photos at once and combine them to get you a decent image.

While that is still improving a little bit each generation, those improvements are stagnating as well. Until image processing can do a better job of inventing more detail realistically, smartphones are going to have to obey the laws of physics.

So... why are photographers saying the iPhone cameras are worse?

First, the ultra wide angle lens looks softer in low light.

And if you zoom between 1x and 5x, the images look less detailed.

But neither of those things make the cameras *worse*. In fact, the cameras are better for the most part. It's just that Apple decided to compromise on one aspect to improve another. Probably due to market research telling them most people prioritize certain things over others when taking photos.

They increased the resolution of the ultra wide angle sensor to match the detail of the main sensor, but that seems to have lowered the low light performance of the ultra wide. So in good light, you will see an improvement in sharpness. But they could not increase the sensor size to compensate and smaller pixels can have trouble with dim conditions. They probably discovered that people mostly use that lens in good light and they would appreciate the bump in detail more.

But pro photographers often photograph in more challenging lighting conditions because you can capture a more artistic shot. I don't think I could have gotten this shot on a smartphone.

But photo normies are just taking pics of their kids doing weird kid shit.

They aren't really trying to push the limits of their ultra wide angle lenses.

And they increased the zoom of the telephoto lens to 5x from 3x because most people never used the 3x. So images at 5x look great now, but unfortunately if you use anything between 1x and 5x, your image will be *digitally* zoomed. Which is never as good as optical zoom. They basically crop the photo, zoom in, and add sharpening.

So they prioritized people having longer reach and more zoom at the expense of that middle zoom range. Every camera system makes tradeoffs and compromises.

And I hate that I always feel like I am defending Apple, because they do have misleading and dishonest marketing regarding a lot of aspects of their tech. But hating on Apple gets more clicks so content creators also make misleading and dishonest claims.

And so we are just surrounded in a circle of hyperbole from all sides.

Now, if you know these limitations, you can change your approach to photographing stuff to keep them from being an issue. You can reap the benefits without dealing with the new compromises.

Here are some tips to help owners of the new iPhone, but also everyone else too.

Smartphone Photography Tips

Whenever possible, try to use the main 1x camera at only 1x zoom. This has the largest sensor with the most detail and works best in the lowest light. Only use the ultra wide or telephoto if you cannot get the photo otherwise. If you aren't sure you have enough light for ultra wide, take the photo, and then as a safety, take two photos with the main camera side by side and stitch them later with a pano app.

"Zoom with your feet" and don't use "in-between" zooms. Let's say your lenses do 0.5x, 1x, and 5x zoom. Even though you have the option to use other zooms, like 2x or 3x, that is going to compromise your picture quality. It is essentially going to crop your photo and enlarge it, which causes a loss of detail. If fact, if you use 4.5x instead of 5x, your picture will probably look like trash. You are always going to get better results if you can move closer or step back so that you are using the native focal length of your chosen lens. For example, let's say you are taking a photo and you judge the best framing to be at 4x. But you still have 10 feet of space behind you. If you back up and then zoom in to 5x, the phone will switch to that lens and you will get a much clearer picture.

Rule of thumb...

1 to 3x... try to move closer.

4 to 5x... try to move back.

If you hit a wall and end up at 4.5x, you might see if you have a panorama mode and try that instead. Switch to your 5x and do the pano. Or you can take two photos and then stitch them together with software later on. (Stitching panos with an app later will give better quality than pano mode, especially in low light.)

Low light needs stability. Get some sort of stabilizing device for low light photos. Either a phone case that lets you stand up the phone on its own or a mini tripod.

This thing folds to the size of a credit card.

Your phone will detect when it is stable and not being handheld. It will then automatically extend its shutter speed allowing it to drink in more light and give you a better picture.

Tripods are photography magic and will improve your low light photos quite a bit. Motion blur of moving subjects can still be an issue, but photos of a cityscape or landscape will look great.

For selfies, shoot a little bit wide and then crop in. This goes a little contrary to my earlier advice saying cropping lowers detail, but this is specifically for shooting a face. The 0.5x and 1x lenses on smartphone cameras are fairly wide angle. This can cause unflattering proportions with human faces. Wide angle lenses exaggerate distance. Near things look very near and far things look very far. To a wide angle lens, the tip of your nose looks like it is super close but your ears seem like they are a mile away. And that's why you may look a bit "alien" in your selfies.

People's natural instinct is to "fill the frame" with a face. The outer edges of a wide angle lens are more distorted than the very center. So try to keep faces away from the edges of the frame.

And one other trick you can do for selfies and pictures of faces is step back a few feet. Sometimes this is hard, especially with selfies, as your arm is only so long... but if you can take your face photos from just a little bit farther back, you will almost entirely eliminate unflattering distortion. In some cases, just stretching out your arm as far as it will go is enough.

Then you just crop the image with the framing you originally wanted, and your facial proportions will look great.

An example...

Here the distortion is bad because I am not in the center and the lens is too close to my face. The lens thinks my nose is really close and my ears are in Canada.

But when the lens is farther back the edge distortion is less prevalent and my nose and ears (relative to the lens) seem roughly the same distance away. So my proportions look great, but I don't quite have the framing I want.

But with a little cropping...

For social media there is still plenty of resolution to crop in. Cropping isn't bad, it's just always better to use it as a last resort or in a special circumstance like this. I get roughly the same framing as in my wide angle shot, but I don't look like I'm behind a door's peephole trying to sell you the Good News.

I wish they made a "mini" selfie stick that only extended a foot or so. With the main camera that is usually all people need to undo any wide angle issues. I have one of those mini tripods and that works well, but there is no activation button so I have to do a timer. Mirrors work great to help you get some selfie distance.

In any case, all cameras have limitations and compromises. Clickbait titles saying something is WORSE THAN THE OLD ONE are frustrating and wrong.

And people upgrading phones every year are silly. All current name brand smartphones have promised at least 5 years of software updates. I think Google and Samsung are offering 7 years on some models. And Apple has always just let you use your phone until it literally will not work with new software. Which has worked out to 8 years in some cases (with a battery swap).

Phones are now appliances. For now, hardware will improve 10 to 15% from generation to generation until physics breaks. So if you want a 50% improvement, wait 5 years and you'll think your new phone is awesome. If you upgrade every year, it is going to be difficult to see the change.

I hope to be starting a little course on smartphone photography in the near future. All modern phones are capable of taking amazing pictures. And as long as you understand their limitations you can mitigate or avoid them. And that is what I plan to teach.

[txttletale]

I don't quite understand your analogy of generative ai as a magic eight ball. I also thought you wanted to avoid being too reductive toward the topic?

so it stems from a post i made about AI a bit ago to illustrate the divide between "AI", the cultural object, and "LLMs" (and indeed, more broadly "machine learning"), the actual cluster of technologies. obviously, i think LLMs are obvsies more impressive technologically and probably have more legitimate uses than a magic 8ball -- but the point of the analogy is that, like, the cluster of claims about and social effects of "AI", the cultural object, are completely detached from its real capabilities and so arguing over the tech itself as though the connection is actually substantive is vacuous.

like, to kind of put this into practice: for any given problem being 'caused' by chatGPT, you can substitue 'chatgpt' for 'a magic 8ball', then think about if the problem would still exist if magic 8balls had billions of dollars in marketing telling you theyre super smart and theyre gonna take over the world. stuff like "people aksing chatgpt for help with high stakes things that it fucks up because its a silly talking computer", yknow, that is really not on anything about LLMs inherently (although i would note that ofc the tendency of the mass-market ones towards sycophancy and confidence exacerbates this) but simply what happens when you extensively advertise a technology as having the capability to advise you on or even make decisions. does that make sense?

[sapphicandgraphic]

The Girl Next Door—Chapter 9

Synopsis: A new neighbor turns Melissa’s world upside down. 

Chapter: 9/10 (The Full Moon)

Series Warnings: Slow burn, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective Melissa, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Descriptions of panic attack, parental death, attempted self-harm (non-graphic), round 1 of makeup sex (very graphic), yeehaw 🤠

“You always this quiet?” 

It was almost dawn and you were cruising through the glassy streets of downtown Philly with a paramedic named Dom. He was burly, with a little beer belly that pressed up against the steering wheel. 

You shrugged. “I guess?” 

Your tone made it clear—you didn’t feel like chatting. Dom nodded, lapsing back into silence.

You’d woken up in the backseat of your car almost 24 hours ago, hungover and miserable. Ignoring several missed calls from Melissa and Boone, you grabbed a hot cup of coffee at a nearby diner and then went straight to work, electing to pick up a double shift instead of going home. 

“Man, I feel bad for the poor bastards working tonight,” Dom continued, making another valiant attempt at small talk. “The full moon always brings out the crazies.” 

You made a noncommittal noise in the back of your throat, privately wondering if you could convince the station manager to put you on call again. You were exhausted, but going home was the last thing you wanted to do. The possibility of running into Melissa had once been the brightest part of your day—trading soft smiles and quiet hellos on the stairs—but now the thought of seeing her was too much, too overwhelming. 

The police scanner erupted with excited chatter and you leaned forward, turning up the volume. 

“Pedestrians report seeing a white male on the ramparts of a building on the 6500 block of Market Street, units in the area please respond.” 

You looked at Dom, who immediately shook his head. 

“They ain’t requesting paramedics,” he said. 

“We’re right here, though,” you said, jabbing a thumb toward the street. “Let’s at least check it out.” 

It was still early and there was barely any traffic downtown. Dom kept the sirens and lights off, edging toward the tower with his face pressed against the windshield. 

“I can barely see anything,” he grumbled, coming to a stop directly in front of the building. “Where is this guy?” 

“There,” you said, pointing to a small figure silhouetted against the grayish predawn light. You unbuckled your seatbelt and hopped out of the cab. The wind was picking up. Large droplets of water smacked down on the sidewalk. You jogged toward the entrance and stepped through the revolving doors. 

“First responder,” you said, identifying yourself. “What’s the fastest way to get to the top of this building?” 

The security guard looked at you uncertainly, so you slapped your palm down on the desk in front of him.

“We have a possible jumper, I need to get up there now.” 

That did the trick. He leapt out of his chair and hurried to the freight elevator. Swiping his key card, he pressed 54 on the panel of circular buttons. Music played on tinny speakers. 

“Who would be in the building this early?” 

The guard frowned thoughtfully. “Usually just maintenance people.” 

The elevator arrived at the top floor and the doors slid open. The space was vacant, with just a few computer chairs and desks scattered in random clusters. A cold breeze whipped against your face. Looking around, you quickly spotted the only open window. 

“Go back downstairs,” you said. “My partner will be wondering where I am, you can send him up.” 

You didn’t wait for an answer, striding across the room and cautiously poking your head outside to look around. 

The man was standing on a narrow ledge, gripping the closest concrete beam with white knuckles. He looked to be in his early fifties, dressed in a navy suit and matching necktie that was flapping furiously in the wind. He glanced over when you appeared. 

“S-stay back,” he stammered, shivering. 

You raised your hands, assuring him you wouldn’t come any closer. “I just want to talk.”

You leaned a bit further out the dormer, trying to get a sense of your options. The ledge directly beneath the window was about two feet wide. You glanced down at the street far below and a wave of queasiness washed over you. 

“What’s your name?” 

When he didn’t reply, you introduced yourself and he finally looked at you properly, a glimmer of faint surprise on his face. 

“Ben,” he answered, then added, “You and my daughter have the same name.” 

“No kidding? Small world.” You knew enough to keep him talking, but didn’t have much more than basic de-escalation training to rely on for whatever came next. “How old is she?” 

“S-seventeen,” he said. “She’ll be eighteen in a month.” 

Down on the street, a pair of police cruisers had just arrived. You could see this development making Ben more agitated. 

Casting around for ways to distract him, you suddenly heard yourself say, “My dad died when I was about her age.”

He looked up. Encouraged, you kept talking.  

“He was a lot like me. Stubborn. Intense. That morning, we had argued about something stupid. The last thing I said wasn’t…”

You suddenly found there were tears clouding the edge of your vision. You swallowed around a lump in your throat before you could continue. “It wasn’t very nice. And then I walked out the door and never saw him again.”

 You locked eyes with Ben, pouring every ounce of sincerity you could muster into your next carefully chosen words. 

“Worst day of my life, losing him,” you said. “Please don’t put your daughter through that.” 

Ben opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted as a news helicopter buzzed overhead, swinging low and circling the building. He swore softly, flinching and swaying a little as the sound intensified. 

You clenched your fists, feeling useless. If he wouldn’t come to you, the only other option was to go to him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard a voice that sounded an awful lot like Melissa Schemmenti. Idiota.

“Fuck it,” you growled, pushing that cautionary voice aside. 

In one smooth motion, you swung your legs out the window, planted your feet on the ledge, and stood upright before you lost your nerve. Jesus Christ, it was a long way down. You shuffled toward Ben and he finally looked over again, alarmed to realize you had joined him on the precipice. 

“Stop!” His voice was desperate. “Go back inside!”

Slowly, carefully, you extended your left hand. “Not unless you come with me.”

He glanced down at the street, pain swirling in his big brown eyes. You deliberated for a half second longer. Then, closing the distance between you, you gripped his shoulder, effectively anchoring yourself to him…and hoping you hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of your life. 

                                                                ***

Melissa was awoken from a fitful sleep by the sound of her phone ringing. It was raining outside, and the walls of her bedroom were bathed in a stormy, slate gray light. She answered, mumbling your name into the speaker. 

“Melissa?” A man’s voice asked, vaguely familiar. “It’s Boone.” 

Melissa hadn’t seen or heard from you since Friday night. At this point, she was sick with worry. The last look you’d given her before walking away—so hurt, so lost—was seared into her memory. She’d called, texted, banged on your door. But you were gone.  

“Boone?” Melissa croaked, confused and still half-asleep. Something in his voice put her on edge. “What’s wrong? How’d ya get this number?” 

“Turn on Channel 12,” he said grimly. “They’ve been playing it all morning.”

Melissa felt the icy fist of fear plunge into her chest, painfully gripping her heart. She shot out of bed, wide awake, nearly falling over the shoes she’d left in the hallway. Grabbing the remote, she clicked the TV on. The local news station was in the middle of a report. 

“—harrowing scene underway earlier this morning in downtown Philadelphia as a first responder attempted to coax a troubled man off the ledge of a skyscraper. This clip from our correspondent captures the drama playing out in real time. Just a warning, some viewers may find the footage distressing.” 

The screen transitioned to a news helicopter feed, which showed two figures—a man dressed in a navy suit and a paramedic—standing on the narrow exterior ledge of a tall building. Melissa sank onto the sofa, not believing what she was seeing.

Boone said something on the other end of the line, but Melissa couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The phone slipped out of her hand, fell to the floor.

“It appears the first responder is trying to reason with this man, who is clearly in crisis, and prevent this from escalating,” the reporter said. “The rain and wind are certainly making an already very precarious situation that much more dangerous, I’m told that gusts are up to 35 mph right now and they are hundreds of feet in the air.”

Melissa could see your lips moving as you spoke, a nervous smile flickering across your features.

“We don’t know much about either of these individuals at this time and we don’t know what led up to this moment, but there are emergency services on the ground cordoning off the block, attempting to formulate a strategy in the event of a worst case scenario.”  

Melissa watched as you extended your hand, moving further out along the ledge. Every fiber of her being was willing you to stop, step away, protect yourself, get back inside. 

“Don’t,” Melissa moaned, easily reading the determined look on your face. “Don’t do it.” 

Almost defiantly, you closed the distance, outstretched hand landing on the man’s shoulder. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then the man bowed his head. He seemed to be crying.

“Something is happening. The first responder has made contact, and appears to be negotiating.”

Several tense seconds slipped by before the man finally nodded, turning back toward the open window.

“It looks like both parties are slowly moving to safety, they need to be very careful and they certainly aren’t in the clear quite yet, but this is just an incredible outcome that — oh my god!”

Suddenly, the man’s back foot slipped off the wet ledge of the building and he lost his balance, pitching sideways. You turned reflexively, wrapped an arm around his torso to steady him, and the video feed went dark. 

“No!” Melissa screamed. 

The station anchor appeared on screen again, looking extremely grave. “Now, we apologize for that interruption, our feeds run on a 5-second delay and our producer initially made the decision to cut because he was uncertain of the outcome. But take a look at what happened next.” 

Melissa felt like the world was sliding out of focus. She realized she was crying, that she had been crying for some time.  

The helicopter feed resumed. Somehow, against all odds, you had caught the man in the navy suit, pulling him back from certain death. You both clung to each other in a tight embrace, leaning against the facade of the building. For a moment, you stood there catching your breath. Then, hand never leaving his, you guided him carefully toward the open window, helping him duck back inside and finally hopping through the dormer yourself. 

“I’m happy to report both individuals were treated for minor injuries at the scene but are expected to make a full recovery. Stay with us for more details on how this incredible story unfolded and an interview with the chief of police after this commercial break.” 

Slowly, Melissa came back to her senses. Alive, alive, you were alive. 

She retrieved her phone from the floor with numb fingertips. Boone was still rambling on, working himself up into a proper outrage. 

“—don’t know what went down between you two, but if you see her before I do, tell her I’m going to kick her ass up one side of this city and down the other!” 

There was a faint shuffling noise in the hallway, the soft sound of tired footsteps dragging across the floor. Melissa’s ears, which had been hyper-focused all weekend hoping to intercept you, suddenly perked up.

“Way ahead of ya,” she growled, jumping up from the sofa. 

Melissa flung open her door just as you were unlocking yours. For a beat, you simply stared at each other. The telltale hum of attraction flickered to life in your chest as you looked at her, wearing nothing but a pair of boy shorts and an oversized tee. 

“Well,” you said hoarsely, the ghost of a smile flickering across your tired face. “Looks like I finally know what Melissa Schemmenti wears to bed.” 

Her voice was little more than a snarl as she advanced, pushing you backward into your apartment and gripping your arms. 

“You got a death wish or something?”

She shook you a little, as if to confirm you were really standing there in her arms, whole and alive and unharmed. Up close, you could see that she’d been crying. 

“I take it you saw the news,” you guessed quietly.

Melissa paused, concerned by your flat, disaffected tone.

“You almost - you could have d-died!” she choked out. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

You didn’t know what to say. Aftershocks of adrenaline were still crashing through your body. You felt feverish, strung out. Now Melissa was suddenly here, soft hands running up and down your arms, looking just as wrecked as you felt. It was too much. 

“I can’t - I can’t do this,“ you gasped, anxiety racing through you.

You didn’t have any energy left to regulate your system. The first thing to go haywire was your breathing. You opened your mouth to elaborate, and found yourself hyperventilating. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Melissa stepped even closer, placing her hands on your hips, carefully guiding you to the sofa. You sank into the cushions without a word and the redhead knelt between your legs. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, though she had a hunch. “Talk to me.”

You laid a trembling finger on your pulse point. The rhythm was wild, erratic. “Panic attack,” you guessed, desperately trying to regain control. But your gasps kept coming in big shaky gulps, you were trembling, and you couldn’t seem to get out of your own head. 

Suddenly, a warm palm cupped your jaw, breaking through the terror. You leaned into the touch, even as you told yourself it meant nothing. 

“Can you try something for me?” Melissa asked, remembering some basic first aid training she’d taken last year. You gave her an uncertain look. “I just wanna help,” she said, tone close to pleading. “Let me take care of you.” 

You nodded, rubbing a shaky hand across your chest, trying to ease the tightness there. 

“Tell me 5 things you see right now.”

“Table, coffee cup…” You swallowed thickly, casting your eyes around the room. “Table, coffee cup, magazine, record player, houseplant.” 

“Very good,” she said, keeping her voice low and even. “Now tell me 4 things you can touch.” 

“Sofa, throw pillow, blanket.” Your fingers twitched, almost reaching out for the other woman.

“One more,” she coaxed. 

“…a very bossy redhead.” 

Melissa rubbed her thumb against your cheek, smiling crookedly. You flushed ever so slightly when she praised you again. “Great job, sweetie. Now tell me 3 things you can hear.” 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you listened, surrendering to the comforting rumble of her voice. The lull of obedience grounded you, the rest of the world slowly fell away. 

“Traffic, fan, ice-maker,” you recited. 

She chuckled and the sound was warm. You felt the vibration through her fingertips, which were still brushing against your face. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” she said, noticing that your breathing had started to even out. “Just a couple more questions. Can ya tell me 2 things you can smell?” 

You frowned, cocking your head slightly to one side. All you could smell was Melissa, a mix of her shampoo and something spicy like peppermint, something earthy like tea leaves. 

“Hon?” She prompted. 

“Cloves,” you said finally. “And vanilla.”  

“Good girl.” A pleasant shiver rippled down your back at those words, a bolt of arousal igniting your core. You took a deep, slow breath, anchoring yourself in the moment with her. 

“Now tell me one thing you can taste.” 

Your eyes snapped opened, glancing down as her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. That familiar tension settled between you, charged with longing and uncertainty and need.

Apologies had never been Melissa’s strong suit. Sometimes they took hours to come, sometimes days, usually arriving too late to do much good. Here on the floor, kneeling between your legs, she realized how close she had come to never getting the chance to deliver this one at all. The thought twisted like a knife in her gut. 

“Taste,” you repeated, coherent thoughts evaporating as she slowly rocked toward you, giving you plenty of time to pull away. You didn’t dare move, whimpering as her lips finally brushed yours. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, murmuring the apology in between feather-light kisses. “I’m so, so sorry—I never wanted to hurt you, and I never shoulda said what I said.” 

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear tenderly, scanning your face with bright, worried eyes.

“I been so scared all weekend,” Melissa continued with her hushed confession. “Then this morning—“

Her breath caught, and a few tears spilled down her cheeks. You leaned forward, resting your forehead against hers, letting her words sink in, slowly soothing that aching spot inside your chest.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” she said softly. She kissed your throat, your jawline, the corner of your lips, looking mesmerized and reverent. “If something happened to you, I couldn’t—“

She shook her head slightly, words failing. Running the pad of her thumb over your slightly parted lips, her eyes darkened with sudden inspiration.

“Let me show ya?” 

You sighed, unable to resist everything she was offering. “Show me,” you agreed.

Melissa groaned as you licked into her mouth, desire and relief pulsing through her. You pulled her up into your lap so she was straddling your hips, then guided her down until she was grinding against you.

“Take this off,” you said, slipping your hands under her shirt and nuzzling your face against her chest. “I want to look at you.”

She slipped the shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Her hair, still tousled from sleep, spilled over her shoulders in a messy curtain. Wearing nothing but her boy shorts and a shy smile, Melissa was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

Her head tipped back in pleasure as your hand slipped between her legs, lightly circling her clit through her underwear, running your fingers back and forth until you could see the damp flood of arousal forming a wet spot on the thin fabric. 

“So pretty,” you murmured, hypnotized by the sight of this woman dripping through her underwear for you.

She swore, bucked her hips in desperation. “Need you inside.” 

“Not yet.” 

You wanted to savor this a little longer, licking the creamy skin of her breasts, taking one rosy nipple into your mouth and sucking until it was a hard peak. She arched into your touch with a whine, but seemed to accept the slow, punishing pace you were setting. Her face scrunched up in an adorable mix of frustration and anticipation.

You slid her underwear to the side, swiping your fingers through hot, swollen folds. Melissa’s hips stuttered forward, chasing the friction. 

“You like that?” 

She nodded, unable to form words as she stared down at your busy hands. “Uh-huh.” 

Melissa watched you withdraw two glistening fingers from her pussy, coated in wetness, then fuck her arousal deep into your own mouth. You licked and sucked your digits greedily, eyes rolling back, expression blissed out and slack. She clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled up by you. 

“Please,” she said, fisting a hand into the front of your shirt, voice shaking. The profound emptiness she felt was painful. You lowered your hand to her leg, chin glistening with a mixture of your spit and her slick. 

“Please what?” You smiled lazily, watching her squirm as you traced circles on the inside of her thigh, edging closer to where she wanted your touch most desperately.

“Please fuck me.”

You pushed two fingers inside her, easily slipping into warm, wet heat. She moaned brokenly and sank down on your hand, taking you as deep as she could, rocking against your lap. You surged forward, kissing her and swallowing her desperate sounds.

“Perfect,” you breathed, adding a third finger and feeling her walls clench at the pressure. “You’re perfect.” 

Tears pricked the corners of Melissa’s eyes as she stared at you, nodding wordlessly, totally captivated by the look of desire on your face. 

You drove your hand up into her again and she breathed your name. It was better than she’d dreamed it could be, better than all her fantasies. Warm waves pulsed out from between her legs, where she was so deliciously full of you. Her entire body was enveloped by the toe-curling pleasure. You brushed your palm over her clit and she shuddered.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Never stop.” 

You could tell from the flush in her cheeks, the heaving in her chest, the wetness coating your hands. Melissa was already so close to falling apart. 

“You want it?”

She nodded, eyes glassy and unfocused as you circled her hard clit again and again and again. “Please, please, please, please, please,” she chanted, matching the rhythm of your hand pounding into her. 

“Then take it,” you grunted, using your hips to thrust your fingers up even deeper inside her. 

“Oh my god,” Melissa groaned, head tipping back in total surrender as she stilled above you. Then a gush of wetness coated your hands and she cried out, repeating your name. You watched, transfixed, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from her body, certain you would never be able to get enough of this feeling.

Melissa finally slipped off your hand, slumping in your lap sweaty and spent. You guided her gently down onto the sofa, tucking her against you. 

“Thought I was s’posed to be the one makin’ you feel better,” she slurred. You chuckled, planting a soft kiss on the side of her head. 

“You did.”

Melissa hummed, wrapping her arms around your waist, eyes fluttering shut. Outside, the rain was still falling in heavy sheets. Pulling a blanket down from the back of the sofa, you realized the exhaustion from the weekend was catching up with both of you—and for once, you didn’t feel the need to keep running. 

[hellfiresky]

How to Grow a Mangosteen Tree

Season: Spring - Clone × Reader Prompt-a-thon - @cloneficgiftexchange

Image source: my pride and joy, my own garden lol.

Summary: You let a Republic Commando into your garden with a 50/50 chance of ending up a dead body - and instead, he’s fixing your overwatered orchids, roasting your plant choices, and dropped war stories over iced caf.

Prompt: Using downtime to help X plant or maintain their garden

Pairing: Captain Gregor x GN!Reader Word count: 4105 Warnings: Lots of curse words

Taglist: @orangez3st @msmeredithrose

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

There was nothing better than sitting on your balcony garden in the morning. Especially at 0600 where the city hadn’t fully woken up yet, and the air wasn’t clogged with speeder exhaust smoke. Chores done, caf brewed, portable computer open, inbox overflowing. You typed out a few replies, shot off a couple invoices (clients still pretending ‘exposure’ pays the rent - get fucked), all while keeping an eye on your alocasias. Because of course, the mealybugs and spider mites were back. You clicked your tongue in irritation, fingers brushing the velvety leaves. The bastards had a personal vendetta against you, you were sure of it. At least the tomato plant was thriving! Because the smell of its leaves mixed with the earthy scent of damp soil was delightful. The spinach was almost ready for harvesting, same with the cabbage. The aubergines? Yeah, another fucking failure. Tricky little shits.

You stretched and yawned in your chair. Yeah, you made the right choice renting this apartment. Corner unit, bigger-than-average balcony, perfectly positioned to catch the morning light. A rare find in Fobosi District, a neighbourhood that still had character despite being just a few tax hikes away from gentrification. You’d have to head down to the farmer’s market soon - your aubergine vines needed new sticks to climb, and even though they probably wouldn’t produce anything you weren’t about to let them tangle into a mess again. Then, ping. Inbox. Meeting in an hour.

"Great. Just fucking great." You ran a hand on your face. Working as a freelance interior designer on Coruscant was its own kind of battlefield. You might not be out there blasting droids, but at this point, you’d take a firefight over negotiating with clients who thought ‘friend prices’ applied when they met you once at a networking event. "Bro, we didn’t even know each other a year ago!" You muttered at the screen.

A cough cut through your morning grumblings.

You craned your neck, peering through the thick curtain of greenery - Monsteras and Philodendrons lightly dancing in the breeze, spiky fire pineapples nestled in their pots, clusters of bluebell squish spilling over the railing. The voice had come from the street below, somewhere past the leafy barricade.

“Hey, are those millaflowers and—wait, is that a mangosteen tree?”

Standing up, you squinted through the gaps in your plants. Below, a man stood on the sidewalk, looking up at you. A familiar face - because, yeah, there were millions of them running around. He had the look of a soldier on leave with that GAR-branded black compression shirt, joggers, hair slicked back with fades on the sides. But still carried himself like an active duty trooper. “Hey, there you are,” he called again. “Are those millaflowers and a mangosteen tree?” He pointed. You followed his gaze to your millaflower bush spilling out of its hanging planter, and the sad little baby mangosteen in its polybag, no taller than a five-year-old. “Ah, yeah,” you replied, leaning against the railing. “Got them from a friend who just got back from Naboo. And the mangosteen was from…” You did a quick glance over your shoulder, and dropped your voice to a conspiratorial tone. “A pirate who just came back from Toshara.” You winked.

The man let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “Heh. S’alright. Not gonna tell anyone.” Then, instead of moving on, he stepped a little closer, tilting his head to get a better look at your balcony. “Are those Kolvissh from Kashyyyk?” His eyebrows raised. “Wait, and those are pitcher plants?”

You lifted your caf cup to your lips, masking your grin. Yeah, this guy wasn’t just passing curiosity. He had his clone trooper tactical assessment going on - except instead of scanning enemy formations, he was cataloguing your fucking plants. “Yes and yes,” you took another sip. The cup was patterned with little illustrations of jaw plants - one of your favourite carnivorous species. If they weren’t deadly, you’d have smuggled some for the balcony. The man hummed, folding his arms. “You keen about plants?”

“You could say that. You?”

“Mhm.” He smirked. “Used to help my boss with his garden. Back when I worked at a diner.”

"A diner?" Your eyes widened at the unexpected statement.

He laughed at your expression. “Yeah, long story. Also, didn’t know shit about decorative plants until my missions to Kashyyyk. And that one special op on Koboh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That was… a weird mission.”

You raised an eyebrow. He only grinned, not elaborating. Moving his attention to your vegetable patch, he chimed again. “Your tomatoes are ready to harvest, by the way. And the red spinach is starting to bolt, you gonna let that happen?”

You looked over your shoulder. He was right.

“Huh. Good eye.”

“Got some time?” he gestured vaguely at the balcony. “Could use something to do on my day off.”

“Oh, so you’re volunteering for gardening duty?”

“Heh. Could say that.” Another grin that gave way to a couple of boyish dimples stretched across his face.

“Are you gonna murder me, frame it as a robbery, and kidnap my exotics from the plant room?” You squinted at him, tapping your fingers against your caf cup. The sunkissed trooper barked out a laugh. “Damn. Y’got the whole crime scene planned out already? Heh.” He folded his arms. “Listen, if I was gonna rob you, I’d be way smarter about it. Wouldn’t be out here admiring the greenery in broad daylight. That’s amateur.”

“Oh? And you’d wait ‘til midnight?”

“Nah, nah, that’s when people expect criminals.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he was disappointed in your lack of tactical thinking. “See, the real move is to dress up as a delivery guy. Y’know, wear a vest, carry a clipboard. People see clipboards and vests, they don’t ask questions. ‘Oh, he must be official. He’s got paperwork.’ Then, boom - plants are gone, and nobody even remembers seeing me.”

You stared at him.

“Dude.”

He gave you a wide, shit-eating grin. “Yeah?”

“That’s… way too specific.”

The man let out another laugh. “Alright, alright - relax, I ain't stealin’ your plants. I just spent months gettin’ shot at, pretty sure I can find a better way to spend my time off than committing horticultural heists.”

“Good. ‘Cause if you did steal from me, I’d track you down.”

“Oho, that I don’t doubt,” he pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got that I will find you, and I will fuck up your whole day energy. Respect.”

“Damn right.”

There was a comfortable pause. A speeder whooshed by in the distance. Somewhere down the street, someone was shouting at their droid about a delivery mix-up. The trooper in front of your balcony’s railing shifted his weight onto one foot, looking back at your balcony.

“So,” he drawled. “How do I prove I’m not about to rob you blind? Y’gonna make me take an oath? Sign a contract?”

“Mm. Nope. You gotta pass a trial.” You actually considered that. 

“Oh, a trial? Damn. Alright, hit me. What’s the challenge?”

You pointed to the mealybugs infesting your alocasia.

“Fix that without killing the plant.”

The trooper followed your gaze, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. You weren’t kidding. That’s an infestation.” He narrowed his eyes at the fuzzy white clumps, rubbing his chin. “Aight. No killing the plants.” He clicked his tongue. “Okay. Soap and water’s good, but a little isopropyl alcohol on a cotton swab’ll knock ‘em out faster. Plus, gotta check the soil. Could be eggs in there. Heh.”

You crossed your arms. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“That’s… correct.”

He smirked. “Told ya. I know my shit. I’m Gregor, by the way.”

You exhaled, checking the time on your chrono. Shit. Less than an hour before your meeting. You downed the rest of your caf, wincing as it burned your tongue, then set it back down on the transparisteel table.  “I have a meeting in an hour,” you rubbed your temples. “I have to negotiate with a client so they actually pay me in full - which, in your world, is probably like taking over a Separatist base.”

“Oh, so we’re talking full-blown siege tactics. Are they holed up behind bullshit excuses? Holding the ‘we’re like family’ line? Or are they playing the long game, pretending they never got the quotation?”

“The second and the last one. Absolute cowards.” You groaned, scratching the back of your head in frustration. He whistled. “Yeah, you’re in for a slog. Best move is to cut off their supply lines - constant follow-ups, relentless pressure. No mercy.” He tapped his temple. “You gotta think like a strategist. Exploit their weaknesses.”

You arched a brow. “And what, pray tell, is their weakness?”

“They need your work, right? Make ‘em sweat. Pull the ‘oh, sorry, I got other clients who actually pay full and on time’ move. Nothing sends a cheap bastard into panic mode faster than the threat of losing good work.” Gregor smiled, looking smug at his own suggestion. 

You stared at him. “...That’s actually solid advice.”

“Told ya. I know my shit.” He smirked, pointing at himself. “And, worked at a diner, so I know a thing or two about clientele.”

“So here’s the deal: I’ll open the door, you help me with the alocasia, and since you clearly have opinions, the bolting spinach too. Deal?” You jerked your chin towards the spinach planters on the other side of the balcony.

“And probably those overwatered orchids,” he added under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon, I know you got at least one in there drowning in too much love.” He grinned. You huffed, rolling your eyes, but… yeah, he wasn’t wrong. Snapping your fingers, you pointed at the entrance to the building just across the street. “Alright, smartass. That’s my apartment building’s door. I’ll buzz you in.” And almost immediately, Gregor gave you a lazy two-finger salute. “Copy that.”

You disappeared inside, grabbing your portable computer on the way to the door console. A few taps later, the buzzer rang, and within seconds, you heard footsteps in the hallway. When you opened the door, Gregor was standing there, arms behind his back, towering. No, seriously, this guy was huge. He was at least thirty centimetres taller than you and shoulders broad enough to cover your entire door. “Gotta say, wasn’t expecting to be recruited into gardening duty on my morning run,” he stepped inside.

“And I wasn’t expecting a literal clone trooper offering to assess my plants, but here we are.” You shut the door behind him. 

“Nice place. Cosy.” His eyes roamed around the living area, where even more plants were clustered - some on shelves, some hanging in macramé holders, some in pots crammed onto every available surface. “Damn. Alright, yeah, this makes sense now. You got a whole ecosystem in here.”

“Told ya. I know my shit.” You copied him, earning a loud bark of laughter from Gregor. “Alright, alright - where’s the alocasia?”

“Right this way, trooper,” you jerked your head towards the balcony, and led him through the apartment, past the cluster of shelves and stray pots scattered across the floor. Behind you, you could feel Gregor slowed his pace as he scanned the walls, the corners, well, the overall lived-in chaos of the space. As you passed the small exotic plant room. The trooper behind you stopped.

“…No shit,” he muttered.

You smirked, watching as he peered inside like he’d just stumbled across a classified bunker. The room wasn’t big, barely more than a pantry closet, but it was packed. Hanging grow lights bathed everything in deep violet and pink hues, creating an otherworldly glow against the transparisteel of the paludarium - a self-contained ecosystem of mist-covered moss, creeping vines, and a trickling water feature. Inside, your carnivorous and protocarnivorous plants thrived, stretching their delicate leaves towards the light. Bladderworts, sundews, even a few stone flowers from Felucia. Tiny semi-aquatic species rovered in the damp soil, waiting to be their next unfortunate meal.

Gregor let out a low whistle, gazing from one plant to the next, his expression caught somewhere between impressed and deeply concerned. “Alright, I thought you just had a couple houseplants aside from the forest outside. But this is some next-level shit.” He stepped closer, peering over the glass. “Is that a Saava? Thought those things were illegal.”

“They are. Technically.” You leaned against the doorframe, eyeing one of your most prized possessions. The Saava plant sat in its own reinforced enclosure, its thick leaves and flowers unfurling under the glow of the grow lights. In the wild, a fully matured Saava could grow as big as a juggernaut - wide, gaping maws hidden beneath its deceptively lush foliage, lying in wait for unsuspecting creatures to wander too close. It didn’t discriminate. If it moved, if it breathed, if it was meaty, the saava could and would consume it whole. Of course, in a controlled environment, it wasn’t nearly that dangerous. It only required… well. Small rats.

“You smuggling actually dangerous carnivorous plants now?” He jabbed a thumb at the plant. “I mean, I get the pitcher plants outside, but, this?”

“Smuggling’s a strong word,” you mused. “I prefer relocating.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re definitely on a watchlist.”

“You think the Republic’s got time to monitor illegal plant trade?”

“They should,” he muttered. “Shit like this could take out a whole squad if you let it grow too big.”

You waved a hand. “Relax. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Uh huh.” He shot you a deadpan look. “You got, like, an emergency protocol if this thing decides to crave for something bigger than a fist?”

You smirked. “Don’t fall in.”

“Great. I came here to help with your alocasia, not get eaten by a damn murder plant.” Gregor groaned. You clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “C’mon, trooper. What happened to all that battlefield courage?”

“This thing got a security system, or do you just let ‘em do their thing?”

“Oh, they do their thing,” you winked.

As if on cue, a wet snap echoing from the Saava’s enclosure as it devoured some unfortunate insect. Gregor blinked. “…Noted.”

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

The meeting dragged on, a slow, agonising war of attrition. You had to push, hard, to get your client to pay you in full, all while biting back the urge to just flat-out call them a cheapskate. They relented in the end, of course - what the hell else were they gonna do? Hire a full agency to design the interior of their tiny tapcafe in CoCo Town and end up paying triple what they owed you? Yeah, fucking right. When it was finally over, you shut your portable computer with a sigh, rubbing the tension out of your forehead. You swept your gaze around the apartment, and then… Oh. Gregor was still there, crouched on the balcony, utterly absorbed in what he was doing. You hadn’t even heard him move around during the call - he was just there, like he belonged.

He’d already taken care of the alocasia and fixed the overwatered orchids, but now he was gently trimming the wilting Monstera obliqua. A fresh mix of soil sat behind him, along with a pile of roots and bark. Oh, he must be repotting some of your root-bound plants. This man… this Republic Commando, if you heard that correctly before your meeting started, this trained soldier who had definitely blown things up for a living, was currently kneeling on your balcony, humming very softly under his breath as he patiently worked through your plants like some kind of professional gardener.

And maybe it was the exhaustion from the meeting, or the fact that you hadn’t had a real break in weeks, but something clicked in that moment. He was adorable. Like, genuinely, infuriatingly adorable. The way he was so fucking focused, the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his rough, calloused fingers somehow perfectly gentle with the fragile roots. You had let this man into your home with a 50/50 chance of ending up a dead body, and instead, he was here, quietly fixing problems you had been putting off for months. And for the first time in a long time, you felt grateful you’d taken a risk on a stranger.

Maybe you should take some damn time off. Fix up the bigger plants, catch up on rest, actually enjoy your own space instead of running yourself into the ground. Oh, the joy of being freelance - become your own boss, and suddenly you’re working 24/5. Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you got up, stretching, and poured a fresh cup of iced caf. The least you could do was return the favour.

You stepped out onto the balcony, crouching beside him, and placed the cup down next to him.

“How’s the garden?” you asked.

Gregor glanced at the caf first, nodding in thanks, then assessed the balcony with critical eyes. “Well,” he drawled, wiping some soil off his fingers, “the alocasia’s handled, the orchids aren’t drowning anymore, and this little guy—” he gestured at the Monstera obliqua, “—needed some tough love, but he’ll live.”

You huffed a small laugh, watching as he took a sip of the caf.

“You really know your shit, huh?”

Gregor grinned, setting the cup down. “Heh. Told ya.”

“So, off day huh? Work starts again tomorrow or you’re on an actual leave?”

“Heh. Actual leave. Mhm.” Gregor patted down the soil around the Monstera obliqua, giving it one last firm press before returning the pot to its corner. He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension of being hunched over. “I get to take extended leave after every mission until I fully recover from my PTSD,” he said, voice dipping dry. “Which is probably never, heh.” He let out another laugh - that laugh. That raspy, semi-choked heh-heh-heh that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. Like something had once punched all the air out of him, and now his laughter was permanently stuck between a chuckle and a wheeze. It was rough, a little wild, but - fuck, you kinda loved it.

“A bit TMI,” he continued, dusting the soil off his hands, “but I got separated from my squad, suffered amnesia, ended up as a dishwasher in a diner run by a real piece of work. Then helped Colonel Gascon and his squad get off-world and, uh—” he made a small explosion motion with his hands, fingers splaying outward, “—got blown the fuck up in the process.”

You blinked. Jaw slack. Mouth open. He noticed. Gregor raised a brow before his hand shot out, fingers gently pushing up under your chin to close your mouth.

“Careful,” he teased. “You’ll catch flies.”

You swallowed, words failing for a second. “You—you what?”

“Yeah.” He tapped his ears. “Implants, implants, and, uh… something something here—” his index finger drew small circles around his temples and head like he was trying to remember the technical details but had long since stopped caring. “Still fully functional, heh. Still leading troops into battles. But hey, the GAR’s been weirdly generous about giving me extended leave, so… y’know. Lucky me.”

He let out another one of those heh-heh-heh laughs, shaking his head like the absurdity of it all still caught him off guard sometimes. You just stared at him, mind still catching up. This man - who had just spent an hour saving your plants from slow, preventable deaths - had also survived an explosion, suffered amnesia, worked as a fucking dishwasher, recovered from all of that, and was still fighting battles. And here he was, joking about it over iced caf.

You let out a slow breath, watching him sip his drink like he hadn’t just casually dropped the wildest backstory you’d ever heard. “Gregor,”

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“You need a hobby.”

Gregor barked out a laugh, nearly choking on his caf. “This is a hobby! I like gardening.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Back at Power Sliders, my ex-boss - Borkus - grew most of his own veg, like I said. And since he was an asshole and didn’t pay me shit, I spent most of my days out in the garden instead.” He stretched, cracking his neck as he got to his feet. “You could use a way better organic fertiliser for these cabbages and spinach, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah?” You raised a brow. “What do you suggest, expert?”

“Liquid compost, for one. And if you really wanna grow mangosteen in this fuckass climate?” He gestured broadly at the Coruscant skyline, all metal and smog, then pointed at the tiny, struggling plant. “You’re gonna need heat, humidity, and actual soil - not this weak-ass, potting mix you’re using. Actual red soil. It’s a tree.”

You crossed your arms. “So I better just move to Naboo?”

“Nah, but you could rig up a heat mat, boost the humidity, and stop letting the wind batter it to death. Or, and hear me out—” he poked your shoulder blade, smirking, “—you admit defeat and grow something that actually thrives on this shit-hole planet.”

“And miss out on the principle of the thing? Absolutely not.” You scoffed. 

He let out another rough, wheezy heh-heh-heh, as he sat on one of the chairs. “Alright, suit yourself. But when that thing dies, don’t come crying to me.”

“Oh, I will. Just to spite you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another wheezy laughter from him. “Do you want to help me harvest the tomatoes and—”

“And the spinach, some cabbages, carrots, and peppers—” Gregor cut in. “Absolutely. Because those peppers have, I don’t know - maybe two, three days before they go bad.” He shot you a knowing look, hands on his hips like your neglect had personally offended him. 

“Riiiiight…”

“Look, I got eyes,” he snapped his fingers towards the peppers. “And I know how to cook. Which also means I know just the way to use ‘em for brunch.”

“Oh, so now you’re a chef too?” You laughed. Okay. Another damn checkbox checked. It was like someone - whoever the fuck was controlling the entire galaxy - had dropped this man right onto your balcony as some kind of divine compensation for all the Coruscanti dates that had gone horribly wrong. The ones who either were still emotionally unavailable five years after their last breakup, the ones who thought wearing one cool leather jacket made them interesting, the ones who had a whole-ass monologue about why they didn’t believe in therapy, those who were mysteriously allergic to commitment but still wanted to “see where this goes”, those who called themselves entrepreneurs but were really just unemployed, and of course, those who wanted to take things casual.

But no. Instead of another self-important, mid-thirties Core World man-child, here was Gregor. Gregor, who had survived a war, an explosion, amnesia, and a literal unpaid labour abuser. Who could fix plants, crack jokes, cook for fuck’s sake, and probably kill a man with his bare hands before breakfast if the need arose. 

He cracked his knuckles like he was about to really get to work. “Hell yeah, I am. You think I survived Power Sliders without picking up some tricks? Place was a shit hole, but I made a mean shakshouka when I wasn’t stuck scrubbing dishes.” Before you knew it, he plucked a tomato off the vine, and rolled it in his palm to inspect it. “Hand me the trowel behind you,” he cocked his chin towards the bucket near your feet. “Gotta check the roots after we harvest - see if they need fresh compost. And please tell me you’re not just relying on impatiens for your veg patch. Heh.”

“Excuse me?”

Gregor sighed. “You need some cosmos in here. Maybe some broad beans. Good companion plants. Can’t just let the soil get all depleted and expect a good yield.”

You just stared at him. Okay. Great. He was handsome. Smart. Funny as fuck. He cooked. He gardened. He knew his way around a battlefield and a fucking tomato vine. And - oh, this was unfair - he looked up at you with that smirk like he knew exactly what was going through your head.

“When does your leave end again?” You huffed, shaking your head with a grin.

Gregor caught the tomato he’d just tossed in the air, his smirk widening. “Why?” he drawled, voice dropped just enough to make flowers grow in your stomach. “You trying to keep me?”

[xoheisse]

stories of children whose lives were taken by russians

1. Marharyta from Kharkiv region, 8 years old.

On June 21, cluster munitions fell in the yard of her family's house. Marharyta died instantly, her heart was pierced through. The girl's father, at the age of 36, has become completely gray. The mother cannot describe in words how she feels after losing her child.

2. Kyrylo from Kherson, 8 years old.

In April, the family evacuated from Kherson to Vinnytsia. On July 14, russia shelled the city, Kyrylo was in the car with his uncle. The boy died immediately from a fragment hitting his head, then an explosion occurred. The body was searched for several days. It was identified only through DNA analysis.

3. Daryna from Kharkiv region, 15 years old.

On March 13, a russian missile hit the family's house. When the father got to the hand of his dead daughter, he said: "Our Daryna is no more". She was buried in her native Dergachi. Mom recalls that the missiles flew over the people here and there. "Daryna, this is a farewell salute to you." said her father.

4. Polina, 8 years old.

On March 13, Polina and her mother wanted to evacuate Mariupol. As soon as they took a few steps outside, the russian military started shelling with mortars. Nadiya's mother died instantly. Both of Polina's legs and arms were broken. The girl was operated on in the city hospital. But on March 16, Polina's kidneys failed and she died. Polina was shooting videos on YouTube, dancing. She liked to change into different costumes and perform on stage.

5. Anna, 9 years old.

On March 19, an enemy shell hit near the house where Anna and her mother Yana were hiding. They went down to the basement. In the morning, slag began to fall from above. Several basement floor slabs fell on people. The mother rushed to help her daughter, but she could not pull her out from under the rubble on her own. Anya and other people remained buried in the basement. The girl liked to work with computers. Her mother promised that when Anya turned 10, she would enroll her in programming lessons. However...

6. Denys, 9 years old.

On September 3, the twins were walking in a park in Dnipropetrovs'k region. Suddenly, MLRS shells started flying. "I felt the space around me with my hand. He was at my feet. I went to him: "Danya, Danya ... ", but he was silent. Although they told me to lie down, I started crawling to my son. Ruslan was screaming next to me," the boy's mother recalls the shelling. On December 22, Denys was supposed to celebrate his birthday.

7. Oleksandr from Chernihiv, 13 years old.

On March 9, Sasha and his mother Tetyana decided to evacuate from Chernihiv. However, a shell exploded near the pedestrian column, and the boy was hit by many fragments. "He couldn't say anything, his eyes were closed, he was breathing heavily, he wheezed three times and died. He remained lying there," Sasha's mother recalls. In 2022, Sasha was an eighth grader. He was interested in the crypto market and dreamed of developing a YouTube channel for an english-speaking audience.

original post : ukraina_topnews

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

New SpaceTime out Monday

SpaceTime 20250203 Series 28 Episode 15

The building blocks of life discovered on the asteroid Bennu

Scientists have discovered the molecular building blocks of life in samples of the Asteroid Bennu brought back to Earth by NASA’s OSIRIS-REx spacecraft.

A new threat to planet Earth

Astronomers have detected a near Earth asteroid which could pose a threat to our planet.

New mission to investigate the moon mysterious domes

NASA is planning a new mission to study a cluster of strange dome like structures discovered on the Moon.

The Science Report

The CIA says COVID19 came from a lab in Wuhan China.

Study says Elderberry juice may be a potent tool for weight management.

Palaeontologists have discovered part of a feathered dinosaur tail preserved in a piece of amber.

Skeptics guide to UFO links with economic circumstances

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States.  The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science.  SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research.  The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network.  Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor.  Gary’s always loved science. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on his career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. He worked as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth.  The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually.  However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage.  Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently.  StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016.  Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through Apple Podcasts (itunes), Stitcher, Google Podcast, Pocketcasts, SoundCloud, Bitez.com, YouTube, your favourite podcast download provider, and from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

[augustablog]

AI, Machine Learning, Artificial Neural Networks.

This week we learnt about the above topic and my take home from it is that Artificial Intelligence (AI) enables machines to mimic human intelligence, driving innovations like speech recognition and recommendation systems. Machine Learning (ML), a subset of AI, allows computers to learn from data and improve over time.

Supervised vs. Unsupervised Learning are types of AI

Supervised Learning: Uses labeled data to train models for tasks like fraud detection and image recognition.

Unsupervised Learning: Finds patterns in unlabeled data, used for clustering and market analysis.

Artificial Neural Networks (ANNs)

ANNs mimic the human brain, processing data through interconnected layers

Input Layer: Receives raw data.

Hidden Layers: Extract features and process information.

Output Layer: Produces predictions.

Deep Learning, a subset of ML, uses deep ANNs for tasks like NLP and self-driving technology. As AI evolves, understanding these core concepts is key to leveraging its potential.

It was really quite enlightening.

[mariacallous]

Some 50 miles southwest of Taipei, Taiwan’s capital, and strategically located close to a cluster of the island’s top universities, the 3,500-acre Hsinchu Science Park is globally celebrated as the incubator of Taiwan’s most successful technology companies. It opened in 1980, the government having acquired the land and cleared the rice fields,with the aim of creating a technology hub that would combine advanced research and industrial production.

Today Taiwan’s science parks house more than 1,100 companies, employ 321,000 people, and generate $127 billion in annual revenue. Along the way, Hsinchu Science Park’s Industrial Technology Research Institute has given birth to startups that have grown into world leaders. One of them, the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC), produces at least 90 percent of the world’s most advanced computer chips. Collectively, Taiwan’s companies hold a 68 percent market share of all global chip production.

It is a spectacular success. But it has also created a problem that could threaten the future prosperity of both the sector and the island. As the age of energy-hungry artificial intelligence dawns, Taiwan is facing a multifaceted energy crisis: It depends heavily on imported fossil fuels, it has ambitious clean energy targets that it is failing to meet, and it can barely keep up with current demand. Addressing this problem, government critics say, is growing increasingly urgent.

Taiwan’s more than 23 million people consume nearly as much energy per capita as US consumers, but the lion’s share of that consumption—56 percent—goes to Taiwan’s industrial sector for companies like TSMC. In fact, TSMC alone uses around 9 percent of Taiwan’s electricity. One estimate by Greenpeace has suggested that by 2030 Taiwan’s semiconductor manufacturing industry will consume twice as much electricity as did the whole of New Zealand in 2021. The bulk of that enormous energy demand, about 82 percent, the report suggests, will come from TSMC.

Taiwan’s government is banking on the continuing success of its technology sector and wants the island to be a leader in AI. But just one small data center, the Vantage 16-megawatt data center in Taipei, is expected to require as much energy as some 13,000 households. Nicholas Chen, a lawyer who analyzes Taiwan’s climate and energy policies, warns that the collision of Taiwan’s commitments to the clean energy transition and its position in global supply chains as a key partner of multinational companies that have made commitments to net-zero deadlines—along with the explosive growth in demand—has all the makings of a crisis.

“In order to plan and operate AI data centers, an adequate supply of stable, zero-carbon energy is a precondition,” he said. “AI data centers cannot exist without sufficient green energy. Taiwan is the only government talking about AI data center rollout without regard to the lack of green energy.”

It is not just a case of building more capacity. Taiwan’s energy dilemma is a combination of national security, climate, and political challenges. The island depends on imported fossil fuel for around 90 percent of its energy and lives under the growing threat of blockade, quarantine, or invasion from China. In addition, for political reasons, the government has pledged to close its nuclear sector by 2025.

Taiwan regularly attends UN climate meetings, though never as a participant. Excluded at China’s insistence from membership in the United Nations, Taiwan asserts its presence on the margins, convening side events and adopting the Paris Agreement targets of peak emissions before 2030 and achieving net zero by 2050. Its major companies, TSMC included, have signed up to RE100, a corporate renewable-energy initiative, and pledged to achieve net-zero production. But right now, there is a wide gap between aspiration and performance.

Angelica Oung, a journalist and founder of the Clean Energy Transition Alliance, a nonprofit that advocates for a rapid energy transition, has studied Taiwan’s energy sector for years. When we met in a restaurant in Taipei, she cheerfully ordered an implausibly large number of dishes that crowded onto the small table as we talked. Oung described two major blackouts—one in 2021 that affected TSMC and 6.2 million households for five hours, and one in 2022 that affected 5.5 million households. It is a sign, she says, of an energy system running perilously close to the edge.

Nicholas Chen argues that government is failing to keep up even with existing demand. “In the past eight years there have been four major power outages,” he said, and “brownouts are commonplace.”

The operating margin on the grid—the buffer between supply and demand—ought to be 25 percent in a secure system. In Taiwan, Oung explained, there have been several occasions this year when the margin was down to 5 percent. “It shows that the system is fragile,” she said.

Taiwan’s current energy mix illustrates the scale of the challenge: Last year, Taiwan’s power sector was 83 percent dependent on fossil fuel: Coal accounted for around 42 percent of generation, natural gas 40 percent, and oil 1 percent. Nuclear supplied 6 percent, and solar, wind, hydro, and biomass together nearly 10 percent, according to the Ministry of Economic Affairs.

Taiwan’s fossil fuels are imported by sea, which leaves the island at the mercy both of international price fluctuations and potential blockade by China. The government has sought to shield consumers from rising global prices, but that has resulted in growing debt for the Taiwan Electric Power Company (Taipower), the national provider. In the event of a naval blockade by China, Taiwan could count on about six weeks reserves of coal but not much more than a week of liquefied natural gas (LNG). Given that LNG supplies more than a third of electricity generation, the impact would be severe.

The government has announced ambitious energy targets. The 2050 net-zero road map released by Taiwan’s National Development Council in 2022 promised to shut down its nuclear sector by 2025. By the same year, the share of coal would have to come down to 30 percent, gas would have to rise to 50 percent, and renewables would have to leap to 20 percent. None of those targets is on track.

Progress on renewables has been slow for a number of reasons, according to Oung. “The problem with solar in Taiwan is that we don’t have a big area. We have the same population as Australia and use the same amount of electricity, but we are only half the size of Tasmania, and 79 percent of Taiwan is mountainous, so land acquisition is difficult.” Rooftop solar is expensive, and roof space is sometimes needed for other things, such as helicopter pads, public utilities, or water tanks.

According to Peter Kurz, a consultant to the technology sector and a long-term resident of Taiwan, there is one renewable resource that the nation has in abundance. “The Taiwan Strait has a huge wind resource,” he said. “It is the most wind power anywhere in the world available close to a population.”

Offshore wind is under development, but the government is criticized for imposing burdensome requirements to use Taiwanese products and workers that the country is not well equipped to meet. They reflect the government’s ambition to build a native industry at the same time as addressing its energy problem. But critics point out that Taiwan lacks the specialist industrial skills that producing turbines demands, and the requirements lead to higher costs and delays.

Despite the attraction of Taiwan’s west coast with its relatively shallow waters, there are other constraints, such as limited harbor space. There is also another concern that is unique to Taiwan’s geography: The west side of the island faces China, and there are continuing incursions into Taiwan’s territorial waters from China’s coast guard and navy vessels. Offshore wind turbines are within easy rocket and missile range from China, and undersea energy cables are highly vulnerable.

Government critics regard one current policy as needless self-harm: the pledge to shut down Taiwan’s remaining nuclear reactor by next year and achieve a “nuclear free homeland.” It is a pledge made by the current ruling party, the Democratic People’s Party (DPP), and as the deadline approaches, it is a policy increasingly being questioned. Taiwan’s civil nuclear program was started under the military dictatorship of Chiang Kai-shek’s KMT party with half an eye on developing a nuclear weapons program. Taiwan built its first experimental facility in the 1950s and opened its first power plant in 1978. The DPP came into existence in 1986, the year of the Chernobyl disaster, and its decision to adopt a no-nuclear policy was reinforced by the Fukushima disaster in neighboring Japan in 2011.

“I think the DPP see nuclear energy as a symbol of authoritarianism,” said Oung, “so they oppose it.”

Of Taiwan’s six nuclear reactors, three are now shut down, two have not been brought online, and the one functioning unit is due to close next year. The shuttered reactors have not yet been decommissioned, possibly because, in addition to its other difficulties, Taiwan has run out of waste storage capacity: The fuel rods remain in place because there is nowhere else to put them. As some observers see it, politics have got in the way of common sense: In 2018, a majority opposed the nuclear shutdown in a referendum, but the government continues to insist that its policy will not change. Voters added to the confusion in 2021 when they opposed the completion of the two uncommissioned plants.

On the 13th floor of the Ministry of Economic Affairs in Taipei, the deputy director general of Taiwan’s energy administration, Stephen Wu, chose his words carefully. “There is a debate going on in our parliament,” he said, “because the public has demanded a reduction of nuclear power and also a reduction in carbon emissions. So there is some discussion about whether the [shuttered] nuclear plants will somehow function again when conditions are ready.”

Wu acknowledged that Taiwan was nudging against the limits of its current supply and that new entrants to Taiwan’s science and technology parks have to be carefully screened for their energy needs. But he took an optimistic view of Taiwan’s capacity to sustain AI development. “We assess energy consumption of companies to ensure the development of these companies complies with environmental protection,” he said. “In Singapore, data centers are highly efficient. We will learn from Singapore.”

Critics of the government’s energy policy are not reassured. Chen has an alarming message: If Taiwan does not radically accelerate its clean energy development, he warns, companies will be obliged to leave the island. They will seek zero-carbon operating environments to comply with the net-zero requirements of partners such as Amazon, Meta, and Google, and to avoid carbon-based trade barriers such as the European Union’s Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism.

“Wind and solar are not scalable sources of zero-carbon energy,” he said. “Nuclear energy is the only scalable, zero-carbon source of energy. But the current laws state that foreign investment in nuclear energy must be capped at 50 percent, with the remaining 50 percent owned by Taipower. Given that Taipower is broke, how could a private investor want to partner with them and invest in Taiwan?”

Chen argues that Taiwan should encourage private nuclear development and avoid the burdensome regulation that, he says, is hampering wind development.

For Kurz, Taiwan’s energy security dilemma requires an imaginative leap. “Cables [carrying offshore wind energy] are vulnerable but replaceable,” he says. “Centralized nuclear is vulnerable to other risks, such as earthquakes.” One solution, he believes, lies in small modular nuclear reactors that could even be moored offshore and linked with undersea cables. It is a solution that he believes the Taiwan’s ruling party might come around to.

There is a further security question to add to Taiwan’s complex challenges. The island’s circumstances are unique: It is a functioning democracy, a technological powerhouse, and a de facto independent country that China regards as a breakaway province to be recovered—if necessary, by force. The fact that its technology industry is essential for global production of everything from electric vehicles to ballistic missiles has counted as a security plus for Taiwan in its increasingly tense standoff with China. It is not in the interest of China or the United States to see semiconductor manufacturers damaged or destroyed. Such companies, in security jargon, are collectively labelled Taiwan’s “silicon shield,” a shield the government is keen to maintain. That the sector depends inescapably on Taiwan’s energy security renders the search for a solution all the more urgent.

[luckyroll3]

Unexpected Chapter 16: Magnetic

Unexpected Masterlist Previous Chapter

Mia

Mia’s fingers danced across the keyboard, her eyes scanning the figures on the screen with razor-sharp focus. She leaned forward, a sleek bun holding her curly locks in place, as she dissected the project before her. It was a delicate balance, tailoring marketing strategies that were both innovative and effective, but Mia thrived in the tension between creativity and logic.

Her desk, an organized chaos of reports and charts, bore witness to the countless hours she invested in her role as VP of Operations. Mia had never been one for half measures; it was full throttle or nothing, which was precisely why her phone's insistent ring felt like a sledgehammer to her concentration.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, pressing the speaker button with a sharp tap. "This is Mia."

"Ms. Sharpe, there's someone here to see you," the receptionist's voice crackled through the line, too chipper for the interruption it heralded.

"Hey Maria. Do they have an appointment?" Mia asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. She prided herself on being personable, but unscheduled visits did not align with her carefully orchestrated work calendar. ‘Unscheduled’ was for personal time. 

"Um, no, he doesn’t seem to have an appointment. But he insists it's important," Maria replied, the uncertainty in her tone doing nothing to ease Mia's growing annoyance.

"Tell them to email me," Mia said curtly, her eyes darting back to the clock on her computer. Time was a resource she couldn't afford to squander.

"He says it can't wait, Ms. Sharpe," Maria pressed, her voice edged with a hint of urgency now. “Also, it’s getting a bit… hectic up here.”

Mia wasn’t sure what Maria meant by ‘hectic’. With a sigh, she relented. "Fine. I'll be right there." She stood from her chair, smoothing out her tailored dress, and took a deep breath. 

As she strode toward the front of the office, the click of her heels on the marble floor echoed her internal mantra: 'No nonsense, Mia. You don't take shit from anyone.' Whoever this visitor was, they had better have a damned good reason for disrupting her flow.

Mia rounded the corner, her brisk pace slowing as she spotted the unexpected visitor amidst a growing cluster of bodies. The interns' excited murmurs reached her before she could make out his face, but when she did, understanding dawned. Chris. Here? she thought. It had been 2 weeks since their first night together and about 4 days since their last date. They’d both been busy. Mia tried hard to keep the growing smile from her face but failed miserably. 

"Chris," Mia breathed out, her voice a mix of surprise and admonishment as she approached. She couldn't deny the flutter in her chest at the sight of him, but this was her office, not a backstage meet-and-greet. She noticed Jack standing off to the side, seemingly not worried about the excited crowd of young people currently swarming Chan. Mia gave a curt nod in his direction. He nodded back and shrugged his shoulders as if to signal he had nothing to do with this unexpected visit. 

"Hey, Mia," Chan greeted with that disarming smile, looking up from where he was encircled by eager young faces. Maria, a woman in her late 50s, looked on, bewildered, clearly not recognizing the K-pop sensation in front of her.

"Guys, back to your desks. Now," Mia commanded, though her tone held a hint of reluctance.

"But Mia, it's Bang Chan from Stray Kids!" one intern protested, phone in hand and eyes wide with disbelief.

"Which is exactly why you need to respect his privacy. We have confidentiality agreements in place for a reason." Her gaze swept over them, bright and unyielding. "And unless you want an early end to your internships and a breach of contract on your record before your careers begin, I suggest no photos, no social media posts, no messaging your friends or families about this."

The interns hesitated, but Mia stood firm, her resolve as steely as the look in her expressive brown eyes. She knew how to leverage their desires. "Autographed pictures," she promised, and the buzz of excitement shifted. "If—and only if—I don't see a single tweet or snap about today. And you know I see everything."

"Really?" they chorused, a blend of skepticism and hope, as they looked back and forth between Mia and Chan. Chan nodded a yes. 

"Really," she confirmed with a smile, and they dispersed, leaving Chan grinning at her tactics.

"Nice move," Chan commented once they were alone, his warm eyes twinkling with amusement. "How do you manage to keep them all in line?"

"Years of practice," Mia admitted, though part of her questioned her own control. With him standing there, looking effortlessly charming in his signature black hoodie and black skinny jeans, her heart wasn't quite obeying her strict personal protocols.

"Sorry for dropping in like this," he said, scratching the back of his neck—an endearing gesture that reminded her of their private moments. “I have some... important business to discuss with you.” His grin widened. 

"Right… Next time, give a girl some warning," Mia chided gently, though the reprimand lost its edge as she took in how his hair was combed back off his forehead and the casual way he filled the space between them. "You're lucky I have space in my schedule."

"Guess I am," he agreed, his voice lowering as he stepped closer. "Lucky in more ways than one."

Mia's breath hitched, her disciplined exterior warring with the pull of his proximity. She saw Maria watching them closely, her impeccably waxed eyebrow raising when Chan moved closer to Mia. 

Maria was often the bone collector of the office; she saw and heard everything, and was usually the source of (or the person confirming) all the work gossip. Mia needed to get out of her line of sight immediately. Keep it together, Mia commanded to herself. “My office is right this way, Mr. Bahng.” She stepped to the side and extended her arm down the hallway. Chan grinned at her and nodded, then began walking in that direction. Jack stayed behind and took a seat in the waiting area. 

Mia ushered Chan through the labyrinth of cubicles, her heels clicking on the polished floor like a metronome counting down the precious minutes until her next meeting. She was acutely aware of the curious eyes tracing their path, of the whispers that bubbled up in their wake.

They walked past David, her assistant, whose desk was just outside Mia’s office. David’s eyes widened with recognition when Chan sauntered by and gave him a quick head nod. David mouthed, What. The. Fuck! to Mia as she swiftly moved past. Mia reacted with an eye roll. 

"Here," she said as she opened the door to her office, a sanctuary of calm with its minimalist decor and expansive view of the skyline.

Chan stepped in, his gaze sweeping over the room quickly before settling on Mia with an appreciative smile. "Nice place you've got here."

"Thanks." She shut the door, silencing the outside world. "We don't have long." She walked towards her desk.

"I'll take whatever time I can get," he replied, closing the distance between them swiftly. His fingers found hers, warm and assuring.

The familiar rush of adrenaline surged through Mia as their lips met, soft and tentative at first, growing bolder with each breath. She leaned into him, her hands roaming across the firm contours of his back, the stress of the day melting away under his touch.

"Chris..." she murmured against his mouth, a part of her mind jolting her back to caution. But the thought evaporated as quickly as it had formed, drowned out by the intoxicating sensation of being wanted coupled by his delicious tongue in her mouth.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed relentlessly on the desk. Reluctantly, they parted, Chan brushing his thumb against her cheekbone while Mia reached for the speaker button on the phone, her other hand still clasped in his.

"This is Mia," she answered, her voice steady despite the lingering warmth in her cheeks. She turned away from Chan to stare at the phone.

"Hey, boss," came the voice of one of her team members from the entertainment division. "There's a rumor flying around about you bringing Stray Kids on board. Should we be preparing a pitch?"

Mia glanced back at Chan, who took it as an invitation to hug her from behind by bringing their joint hands to her stomach and his free hand around her shoulder, settling on her chest. He kissed the back of her neck softly and continued to add kisses as he neared the spot that turned her on.

"Hey Joey. No, that won't be necessary. I’m just doing a favor for a friend."

"Got it," Joey replied, a hint of disappointment lacing the words. "Stray Kids would be a great get for us, though. Thanks for clearing that up."

"Of course," Mia said, hanging up the phone. When Chan’s lips touched the area where her neck met her shoulder, she reached her free hand back to hold his head in place. “How did you know this was my spot?” she asked breathlessly as she enjoyed the sensation.

“I suspected, but now I know for sure,” Chan whispered against her skin. He continued to alternate kissing and sucking on the small patch of skin. “You know, I could bring some real business your way. It wouldn't just be a favor," he continued. 

"Chris, that's sweet, but let's not complicate things." She needed to draw a line that could both protect and distance them. "Business and pleasure, they don't mix well in my book. I want this—us—to be about just us."

"Understood," Chan said as he turned her around to face him. He studied her for a moment, then smiled, returning his lips to hers. 

Mia pulled away, her arms wrapping around his neck. “This is great and all, and I’m happy to see this gorgeous face, but what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood, and I wanted to see you.” He sucked air in through his teeth before continuing. “I know it was impulsive. But sorry, not sorry?” He smirked. 

Mia couldn't help but chuckle at his playful defiance and the cuteness of his Australian pronunciation of the word ‘sorry’. “Impulsive is an understatement.” Chan’s presence was magnetic and she found herself drawn to his easy mannerisms. She threaded her fingers through his hair, savoring the soft strands that fell between her touch. "You never fail to surprise me, Christopher."

Chan’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischievousness. "Life's too short for waiting around, Mia," he replied, kissing her cheek. “Sometimes you just have to go for it,” he whispered. 

Mia found herself losing track of time in the depth of his gaze, the world outside her office seemingly fading away into insignificance.

"I should be mad at you for barging in like this," she teased, though the affection in her tone betrayed any real irritation. "But you do have a way of making it worth it." They kissed again. 

"I can't resist seeing you, Mia. I hope you know that," he whispered against her lips. 

As they kissed, Mia couldn’t help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. With Chan, everything felt so uncomplicated and free, like a weight lifted off her shoulders.

"I don't know how you do it," she confessed, her fingers massaging his scalp. "You have this... pull about you that makes me forget all my reasons to stay guarded."

“I’m magic,” he whispered before laughing out loud. 

“You’re full of yourself,” Mia replied, joining in his laughter. 

“That too.” He picked her up and set her on top of her desk, hiking up her dress slightly. He slid his hand in between her legs and slipped her panty to the side. Mia sighed as she felt his fingers slip into her. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the sensations. “Four days is waaaay too long to go without being inside of you,” he murmured in her ear.  

He pumped his fingers in and out of her as he nibbled on her neck. Mia moaned and allowed herself to enjoy him for a few moments more before she used her heeled foot to push him away. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” she started as she stood up and smoothed down her dress. “We can’t right now. But I’m all yours tomorrow tonight.” She placed a gentle kiss on his lips, then used her thumb to wipe off the transfer of her lipstick that was staining them. 

“Promise?” he asked as he sucked her juices off his fingers. 

“I promise.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “And I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” Chan grinned at her words. “Okay, okay. You gotta go, superstar.”

Mia walked Chan to her door. “Okay. But tomorrow…”

“Yes, tomorrow. Can you make your way back to the front?”

He nodded before he gave Mia a soft goodbye kiss. “Bye beautiful.”

Mia opened the door, “Bye Mr. Bahng. Nice to see you.” Chan grinned at her formality before walking out. 

The click of the door shutting behind Chan resonated like a final note in a lingering melody, leaving Mia alone with her thoughts. No sooner had the echo faded than another sound pricked her ears—the familiar tap-tap-tap of David's polished shoes against the floor as he approached her office. He opened the door as Mia settled in her office chair.

"Spill it," David said, leaning casually against the frame of her doorway, his bracelets clinking softly.

Mia raised her eyebrows at him, pretending like she was confused by his command. 

David pushed off from the door and sauntered into her office, closing the door behind him. He perched on the edge of her desk. "Is the 'Chris' you’ve been scheduling dates with in your calendar actually Chan, as in... the Bang Chan from Stray Kids?" His eyes sparkled with mischief and unbridled curiosity.

Mia sighed, twirling her ring around her finger as she met his gaze. Her assistant’s intuition was always frighteningly on point. "Guilty as charged," she admitted with a half-smile.

"Mia! You dirty slut!" David exclaimed, his excitement palpable. "I mean, talk about an upgrade. Jason is sexy as fuck. I didn’t honestly think you could do better. But a young, hot boy toy? You're living the fucking dream!"

"David, don't." Mia chided, though her tone was more playful than stern. She looked up at him, her expression sobering. "It's not that simple."

"Talk to me." David’s voice softened as he fidgeted with a bead on his wrist, his blue eyes locking onto hers with earnest concern.

"It's just..." Mia hesitated, collecting her thoughts. "There's the age difference, for starters. And let's not even get into how different our worlds are." She frowned, feeling the weight of judgmental stares and whispered gossip that had yet to happen but felt inevitable. “I’m worried about the…”

"Scrutiny?" David offered the word gently, encouraging her to continue.

"Exactly," Mia confirmed, her voice a mere whisper now. "And I also can't help but worry about getting hurt again. After everything that happened with Jason..."

David nodded, his expression one of deep understanding. "You've been through a lot, Mia. But you're strong. And let’s not forget, a bad bitch."

She appreciated David's words. In this moment, his presence was a comfort. "Thanks, David," she said, a genuine smile warming her features. "I needed that reminder. It’s just everything is a blur right now because we’re moving so fast. And sometimes I wonder if it’s real, you know. If it will last. Yes, we’re both having fun now, but he’s in his twenties and famous. He probably has another 10 years of ‘fun’ in him and I’m just too old for all that."

David adjusted his wristwatch. "Mia," he began, his voice steady and reassuring, "if you and Chan have something real, then you can overcome any obstacle. It's all about being open and honest with each other. It takes open communication."

Mia considered his words, her fingers idly twirling her ring around her finger. She glanced up at David, finding solace in his light blue eyes that seemed to radiate empathy.

"It's not always easy," David continued, an understanding smile touching his lips. "I've been on both sides of the coin, Mia. Younger, older—it doesn't matter as much as you think, especially once you’re past your mid-twenties. What matters is how you connect on a deeper level."

"Really?" Mia leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. Everyone said that age could be just a number, but they hadn’t been in a relationship where age was a significant factor. But it sounded like David had experience in this area. 

"Absolutely." David moved from the desk to one of the chairs in front of it, leaning back and crossing his arms comfortably. "When I was younger, I dated someone ten years my senior. Everyone said it wouldn't last. But we were together for three amazing years. And a few years later, when the tables turned, I found myself in their shoes; I dated someone eight years younger. Each time, it came down to mutual respect and understanding." David uncrossed his arms and leaned toward her, earnest. "Don't let fear dictate your happiness, Mia. You're incredible, and anyone worth their salt will see that—age gap or not."

Mia drummed her fingers on the mahogany desk, caught in a whirl of thoughts that David's words had stirred up. He watched her for a moment, then leaned forward, his voice a gentle nudge.

"Look, Mia," he said, his gaze earnest and steady, "you've always trusted your gut in business, right? It's time you gave your personal life the same courtesy."

She met his eyes, the usual sharpness in hers softening. "What if—"

"Cut the 'what ifs'. You're usually not one to be shackled by fear," he interrupted her gently, but firmly. "And societal expectations? Since when have they ever kept Mia Sharpe from going after what she wants? If it’s just fun, let it be fun. And if it’s more, lean into it and explore it."

The corners of her mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. His words were reassuring. Trusting her own instincts was second nature in the office. And while she tended to live a relatively carefree life, she was often second-guessing her personal decisions, thanks in large part to her sister. Perhaps it was time to apply that trust to her heart as well.

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," Mia conceded with a sigh, feeling the weight of uncertainty begin to lift. She looked at David, her brown eyes shimmering with unspoken thanks. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Crash and burn, probably," David quipped, earning him a playful swat on the arm.

Mia was thankful to David for helping to put this situation in perspective.

"Thanks, David," she said. "You’re right. Who knows what might happen? We get to decide where to take it."

"Exactly." David's smile was infectious, and Mia found herself returning it without hesitation. "And who knows, maybe you'll be giving me relationship advice next time."

"Ha, maybe," Mia chuckled, feeling a flicker of lightness amidst the uncertainty. “What happened to the bear you met last month.”

“We had fun, but then his boyfriend came back from Europe.” David rolled his eyes. 

"Wow!” Mia chuckled. “Let's tackle one crisis at a time, shall we?"

"Fair enough." David stood, straightening his shirt with a casual grace.

"Seriously though, thank you. You always manage to talk sense into me," Mia admitted.

"Anytime," David replied, his tone light yet sincere. Then, with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, he added, "Now, I expect some quid pro quo for this quality advice. Can you get me an introduction to Lee Know? The dreams that I’ve had about that man and his thighs…."

"You know very well that I hate that fucking term!" Mia raised an eyebrow at him, her earlier concerns momentarily forgotten in the face of his audacity.

"Okay, well then let’s just call it a friendly exchange of favors," he countered with a grin.

"Alright, it's a deal. But you owe me one," Mia chuckled, the laughter echoing the newfound ease in her spirit.

"Deal," David agreed, relishing the prospect of meeting his crush. 

“I honestly don’t know if you could handle Lee Know….”

“So you’ve met him?” David couldn’t hide his excitement. 

“If by met, you mean he got me drunk, then yes.” Mia laughed. 

“He already sounds like just my type.” He smiled wistfully, as he walked to the door and opened it. “The managers will be in the boardroom in 15 minutes. I’ll go pick up the sketches from the art department and set up the presentation.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in 10. Just need to finish this.” Mia turned back to her computer. 

He lowered his voice. “You might also want to fix that,” he pointed to his lips, “before you leave this office.” He winked and walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Mia grabbed her phone and swiped the camera icon, flipping the view to see herself. Her lip liner and lipstick had been completely smeared by Chan. She grabbed a baby wipe from her drawer to clean up the displaced color, then reached for her purse. She rummaged through it for a second before finding the lip liner and liquid lipstick, then she reapplied. 

Mia sat back in her chair, the echo of his advice lingering in the air. Both Bella and David had urged her to take a leap of faith and see where this unexpected journey with Chan would lead. Maybe it was time she listened and committed.

A/N: Song: Magnetic Artist: Illit

[spooks-burgerton]

OBSESSION II

we all love retro computers folks, but what about specialized entertainment control retro computers??

today is weird and slow because it's mlk day so I want to share my favorite object from work: the ETC OBSESSION II MARKETING BOOKLET

(apologies for the glare, it is very glossy and I didn't want to tie up the scanner for this)

Copyright 1997, baby.

The Obsession II was a lighting control console targeted at Broadway. On the right is a sheet of vellum paper, which would have been instantly recognized by any lighting designer at the time, used every day for drafting purposes. A really slick touch IMO.

ETC: using the spider-man font for expensive electronics a full decade before sony

Hell, before spider-man, even. we should be calling it the obsession font imo

If you aren't familiar with lighting consoles, I cannot adequately describe to you how insane this thing looks. The pink console below is its predecessor, the original Obsession, and the other is an Expression, another contemporary console.

Here's another picture of the console itself, just around the corner from my desk. yes i am bragging.

On the right, that's a mini touch LCD display, with a trackpad below it! In 1997! wild. The floppy drive is under it.

this page is what convinced me to share this thing. "sensuously" is a choice.

Someone explained to me once how this cluster of buttons and the level wheel is really ergonomic and I can't remember how.

hey, "unparalleled technical support?" that's me! if you had one of these right now and you called in about it I could dig more useful documentation out and help you with it. Once I helped a school that had inherited one of these by telling them what every single button did.

Cutting edge Pentium processor!

The box on the right is the server--the facepanel we've been looking at is really no more than a terminal into that server. It runs DOS, so it runs DOOM.

By the way, all of this sexy brushed aluminum--someone in the factory had to do that by hand with a grinder.

The last page folds out into these spec sheets.

More pretty vellum on the last page. thanks for taking a look! Let me know if you have any questions! I love these old consoles and could (and do it is a major part of my job lmao) yap about them forever.

[jessicaalltick]

Alltick API: Where Market Data Becomes a Sixth Sense

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Last month, three Alltick-powered systems achieved the impossible:

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Warning: May cause side effects including disgust toward legacy APIs, uncontrollable urge to optimize everything, and permanent loss of "downtime"概念.

Alltick doesn’t predict the future—we deliver it 42 microseconds early.(Data streams may contain traces of singularity. Not suitable for analog traders.)

[blubberquark]

Share Your Anecdotes: Multicore Pessimisation

I took a look at the specs of new 7000 series Threadripper CPUs, and I really don't have any excuse to buy one, even if I had the money to spare. I thought long and hard about different workloads, but nothing came to mind.

Back in university, we had courses about map/reduce clusters, and I experimented with parallel interpreters for Prolog, and distributed computing systems. What I learned is that the potential performance gains from better data structures and algorithms trump the performance gains from fancy hardware, and that there is more to be gained from using the GPU or from re-writing the performance-critical sections in C and making sure your data structures take up less memory than from multi-threaded code. Of course, all this is especially important when you are working in pure Python, because of the GIL.

The performance penalty of parallelisation hits even harder when you try to distribute your computation between different computers over the network, and the overhead of serialisation, communication, and scheduling work can easily exceed the gains of parallel computation, especially for small to medium workloads. If you benchmark your Hadoop cluster on a toy problem, you may well find that it's faster to solve your toy problem on one desktop PC than a whole cluster, because it's a toy problem, and the gains only kick in when your data set is too big to fit on a single computer.

The new Threadripper got me thinking: Has this happened to somebody with just a multicore CPU? Is there software that performs better with 2 cores than with just one, and better with 4 cores than with 2, but substantially worse with 64? It could happen! Deadlocks, livelocks, weird inter-process communication issues where you have one process per core and every one of the 64 processes communicates with the other 63 via pipes? There could be software that has a badly optimised main thread, or a badly optimised work unit scheduler, and the limiting factor is single-thread performance of that scheduler that needs to distribute and integrate work units for 64 threads, to the point where the worker threads are mostly idling and only one core is at 100%.

I am not trying to blame any programmer if this happens. Most likely such software was developed back when quad-core CPUs were a new thing, or even back when there were multi-CPU-socket mainboards, and the developer never imagined that one day there would be Threadrippers on the consumer market. Programs from back then, built for Windows XP, could still run on Windows 10 or 11.

In spite of all this, I suspect that this kind of problem is quite rare in practice. It requires software that spawns one thread or one process per core, but which is deoptimised for more cores, maybe written under the assumption that users have for two to six CPU cores, a user who can afford a Threadripper, and needs a Threadripper, and a workload where the problem is noticeable. You wouldn't get a Threadripper in the first place if it made your workflows slower, so that hypothetical user probably has one main workload that really benefits from the many cores, and another that doesn't.

So, has this happened to you? Dou you have a Threadripper at work? Do you work in bioinformatics or visual effects? Do you encode a lot of video? Do you know a guy who does? Do you own a Threadripper or an Ampere just for the hell of it? Or have you tried to build a Hadoop/Beowulf/OpenMP cluster, only to have your code run slower?

I would love to hear from you.

[clickbliss]

Duelpad Zen 16 Review: a carefully considered controller for fighters, rhythm games and more

by Amr (@siegarettes)

A review unit was provided by Duelpad for this review.

The Duelpad Zen 16 isn't going to surprise you. It's familiar in terms of features and build quality, and it easily fits in with the family of budget fighting game controllers saturating the market right now. It's the same acrylic sandwich design, with the same strip prone Chicago screws, running the same open source GP2040CE firmware. 

What makes it stand out are the small details that show careful consideration. The corners have been extended to make room for your wrists, button rims surround the keycaps to create a feeling closer to traditional arcade buttons, without compromising the hot swap functionality. The OLED status screen sports a small navigation cluster that can be used to configure options without a computer, and it rocks a split layout with extra button placements that actually make sense.

The split layout is my personal headliner, combining a WASD style directional cluster, with a set of thumb buttons that make it a viable option not only as a fighting game controller, but a controller replacement. 

GP2040CE supports up to 4 remappable layouts, so you can swap between layouts that support different games.

For 2D fighting games I keep the two large thumb buttons as jump, keeping the advantages of a traditional Hitbox layout, while allowing a more relaxed posture with more space between the movement and action buttons, and the smaller thumb buttons still free for extra functions. 

For other games I leave the WASD cluster as my main movement, with the thumb buttons replacing the shoulder buttons, triggers, or thumbstick clicks, leaving the pinky column on the action buttons free for additional functions and modifiers.

For example, here I've mapped the thumb buttons to the shoulders and triggers, leaving the 4 face buttons in the first two columns, followed by the L3 and R3 buttons, with the pinky column used to switch the directionals to dpad and right stick movements.

It works for both 2D and 3D games, as long as they don’t rely on the right stick for aiming or frequent camera adjustments. 

In Mega Man 11 I used this setup to quickly switch weapons with the right stick, leaving two extra buttons available to map shortcut buttons. In DMC4 this allows me to quickly perform multi-button maneuvers while charging projectile weapons, and quickly adjust the camera or switch styles by using the modifiers. 

You can even set up dual stick setups, for twin stick arcade games or rhythm games. In Project Diva you can mirror the WASD setup with the face buttons, while in Theatrhythm you can control both sticks on the action and movement buttons, with the thumb buttons available for drumming out notes. 

Let’s talk about that OLED. These tiny screens are quickly becoming a killer feature of modern controllers, allowing you to easily check your buttons and settings. The Duelpad Zen takes this one step further and allows you to change the settings directly on the screen itself. What I initially assumed was an extra button turned out to be a full navigation cluster, allowing you to cycle through various settings from an on board menu, without the need to connect it to a computer. You can change the console mode, dpad settings, RGB lighting and even the extra button mappings through the menu, saving you from memorizing several shortcuts for each function. 

In its current state, it’s unfortunately a bit finicky. At least with my configuration, the menu seems to only operate when I’m in the first profile, and frequently freezes after swapping to another profile, until restarted.  

On the opposite side of the menu are the RGB underglow controls. With them you can cycle through the various lighting modes, though they seem to be controlled separately from the rest of the controller, with no dynamic modes that react to button presses. The topside RGB can be controlled through the menu or web config, with a lot more flexibility for customization. 

The problem is that these LEDs are blindingly bright, with even the lowest of the three settings being bright enough to distract you from your game. I can’t see these as useful for anything except blinding your opponent. 

In terms of other customization, the dense layout doesn’t leave much room for art in the center, but the sides provide ample space for details. A paper layer is pre-installed in the controller, and makes a good template for cutting out your own art should you choose to do it by hand, like I did. 

The Duelpad Zen 16 has plenty of small issues that give a sense of jank to what’s otherwise a well considered device. But none of these issues got in the way when it was time to play. Setting up could be troublesome, but once I dialed in my settings and got into a game, the Zen was rarely less than a joy to play with.

The layout is well spaced and comfortable, the button rims add a sense of stability other controllers lack, and the quiet, fast response switches translated inputs with satisfying feedback. Whether I played fighting games, platformers, or rhythm games, the Zen felt up to the task. With its novel form factor and button layout, I can easily see it staying in my controller rotation, even with many more high end competitors.