#Decoding algorithms

[softlabsgroup05]

Discover the essential components of speech recognition systems with our informative guide. This simplified overview breaks down the key elements involved in converting spoken words into text, enabling seamless communication with technology. Perfect for those interested in understanding how speech recognition enhances user experiences. Stay informed with Softlabs Group for more insightful content on cutting-edge technologies.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🗣️📢 Please Validate Me: The Gospel of the Gutless Male Feminist:

Also known as: “Beta Males in Empowerment Drag Who Mistake Attention for Activism”

“Male feminists don’t fight for women — they perform for them.”

That’s not a punchline. That’s a clinical diagnosis.

This is a eulogy wrapped in cultural analysis. A roast bathed in citations. A highly manipulative, legally fireproof psychological report on a man who’s not a threat to patriarchy — but to plumbing and protein intake.

🧠 Who Are They?

Male feminists are:

Self-appointed “allies” of women

Who mysteriously never protect them

But always remind you they support them

While secretly hoping to sleep with them

But publicly calling you an “incel” for noticing

Their greatest weapon? Language.

Their greatest weakness? Truth.

They don't stand for equality. They squat for approval.

🎭 Meet the Four Horsemen of Simpocalypse

1. The Podcast Crybully™

"Women deserve to feel safe around men — especially me, I’m crying again.”

He thinks being emotionally available means filming trauma porn in 4K for TikTok.

Weaponizes soft language to avoid confrontation

Weaponizes his own sadness to win trust

Bakes banana bread for trauma girls and posts about it like he stormed Normandy

He doesn't listen to women. He studies them — like prey or content fodder. He doesn't fight abusers. He performs like he's recovering from a breakup he caused — and recorded for engagement.

🔍 Pathology:

Beneath every “crying in the car” selfie is a man who blames his dad for his own inability to make eye contact without apologizing for existing.

2. The Corporate Apologist™

“I’ve taken accountability for what other men have done. Now I work in DEI and collect awards.”

He exists in every HR training video. Looks like a Ken doll who quit CrossFit after a woman called his triceps “triggering.”

Speaks in LinkedIn platitudes and apology emails

Believes being a “safe man” means being an invisible one

Would ban testosterone if he could find a non-offensive way to say it

He will watch a woman get groped at a bar and do nothing… Then repost an “End Toxic Masculinity” infographic the next day with the caption:

“As a cis white male, I choose to listen.”

🔍 Pathology:

This man is not dangerous. He is worse — irrelevant. A disposable mascot for corporate feminism and ideological servitude.

3. The Mirror Selfie Ally™

“Hi bestie 💖 I’m just a guy who loves human rights and aesthetic skincare routines 👬💅”

He’s a male feminist, yes — but he markets like a softcore OnlyFans.

Shirtless in front of a pride flag

Feminist quotes copy/pasted from dead theorists

Uses “cishet” unironically

DM’s women “Just here if you ever wanna talk 💞✨” — then asks for nudes after 5 messages

He once posted “Happy International Women’s Day” with a six-pack mirror selfie and a caption about dismantling gender norms.

🔍 Pathology:

Weaponizes aesthetic softness to bypass emotional security walls. Not an ally. Just horny with extra steps.

4. The Coddled Cuck™

“I’m just here to listen and uplift — my opinions don’t matter.”

You're right, Kevin. They don’t.

Believes supporting women means having none of his own boundaries

Feels guilt for speaking

Will allow his girlfriend to go on a “healing girls trip” with 7 exes and a tarot deck

He’s not feminist — he’s just terrified.

Terrified of rejection. Terrified of masculinity. Terrified of being seen as a man with expectations, needs, or (God forbid) standards.

🔍 Pathology:

This man is the human equivalent of a participation trophy that apologizes when it falls off the shelf.

🧬 The Real Disease: Validation Dependency

Male feminists don’t love women. They’re addicted to female approval like it’s a controlled substance.

They are:

Performers

Parasites

Passive observers

Praise-hungry pawns

They quote bell hooks but secretly fantasize about being “chosen” by their “feminist crush” who sees them as a platonic footstool.

They are the emotional sugar-free Kool-Aid of gender politics: No calories. No substance. And it makes your stomach hurt if you swallow too much.

💣 Why They’re Actually Dangerous

Because they give women false hope.

Women think they’ve found a “safe man.” But they’ve actually found a spineless nonentity who:

Won’t protect them

Won’t stand up for them

Won’t challenge them

Won’t hold them accountable

And won’t ever lead them

He’s not safe. He’s useless.

And when the world gets dark, and dangerous, and real?

He won’t fight. He’ll fold. He’ll say, “I don’t want to cause conflict.”

And watch while she suffers — then repost a feminist quote about “emotional labor.”

🧠 Real Psychology: What's Going On in His Brain?

This is performative masculinity dissociation:

Low testosterone + high social anxiety = fake virtue

Delayed ego development due to coddling or fatherlessness

Validation dependency through peer praise, likes, and emotional exposure

Moral projection — he outsources guilt onto other men to dodge introspection

He is not an advocate. He is a consumer of feminist branding.

🔥 What Happens When You Confront One?

You’ll hear phrases like:

“Why are you so angry?”

“Sounds like you have fragile masculinity.”

“You’re the reason women don’t feel safe.”

“I’m just here to support.”

All of these translate to:

“Please don’t call out my cowardice. I’ve built my entire identity on avoiding rejection by calling myself safe.”

🩸 TL;DR:

Male feminists aren’t brave. They’re branded.

They exist to perform, not protect.

They don’t challenge women. They collect praise from them.

They are cowards in cosplay, hoping their virtue shields them from ever having to lead, fight, or take a stand that risks rejection.

If the apocalypse happened tomorrow?

They’d be the first to tweet “All genders deserve empathy” while hiding behind the real men they secretly resent.

💥 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you’re done mistaking simping for virtue 🧼 Share if you’ve met a “safe man” who ghosted after your trauma wasn’t sexy anymore 👁 Comment if you’ve ever been gaslit by a guy who starts every sentence with “As a male feminist…” 🛡 Repost this before the Podcast Crybully makes another crying TikTok about how “he’s just trying his best.”

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This blog post is protected under satire, commentary, literary disobedience, and psychological warfare law. All characters depicted are real archetypes with fictional dignity. If you are offended, it means you're performing, not processing. This post is a weapon of mass introspection. Side effects include clarity, anger, betrayal, and recovery. Consult your backbone before replying.

[sixeyesonathiel]

yearning nerdjo x shy reader, fluff & humor.

a/n: this is so embarrassing bc this is literally how miserable i am irl.

satoru is down so bad it’s starting to rot his brain. like. visibly. tangibly. his leg’s bouncing under the desk like it’s on fast-forward, the heel of his sneaker thudding rhythmically against the floor tile like a metronome set to desperation. his fingers are drumming nonsense rhythms onto his scratched-up laptop case like he’s trying to decode the algorithm of your absence—tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap, like morse code for where is she. his eyes—red-rimmed behind silver-rimmed glasses with one slightly crooked arm—keep flicking to the lab’s entrance like he expects you to materialize in a puff of soft pink mist.

his hoodie’s three days old, and it shows: the sleeves stretched from him pulling them over his hands, the fabric bunched at the elbows. his white t-shirt underneath has a tiny ketchup stain from wednesday’s lunch. the keychain you gave him—blue enamel cat, chipped at the ear—dangles off his pencil pouch like a beacon. his code’s running fine. tabs are hyper-organized. debugging queue nonexistent. he even fixed suguru’s late-night python spiral that nearly bricked the department printer and summoned the wrath of the IT gods.

but it doesn’t matter. because you’re not here.

he’s been looking. he’s always looking.

in the hallway, in the cafeteria, in the reflection of vending machine glass. he leans his stupid giraffe neck around corners like he’s expecting a spontaneous reveal. he scopes out lecture halls he’s not even enrolled in, notebook in hand just in case. every time he hears the soft shuffle of flats in the distance, his head snaps toward it like a bloodhound. he’s started recognizing the rhythm of your steps versus every other pair on campus. your soft-soled shoes tap lighter. more deliberate. his ears practically perk up when he hears a backpack zipper. once he dropped his pen and nearly dislocated his neck looking up, thinking it was you.

and every time it’s not you, his expression glitches—eyes dimming, mouth tightening like his soul just flatlined. it's pathetic. it's art.

he sits sideways in group study like he’s waiting for you to pass by the window. laptop askew. chair half-turned. a ridiculous image—this lanky nerd in a grey hoodie and cargo pants with one pant leg caught in his sock, white wires tangled in his ears and dark under-eyes that make him look like he’s been stress-coding in a cave. (he hasn’t slept. not really. he keeps replaying the way you laughed that one time you dropped your highlighter. it echoes like holy scripture.)

his glasses are smudged. he keeps adjusting them, even when they’re fine. his knuckles are red from resting his chin on them too hard. he keeps fidgeting with your keychain when he’s not typing. thumb brushing over the worn metal, like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep touching it. a nervous tic disguised as reverence.

“dude,” suguru says, from two monitors over, voice dry, hair tied up in a lazy half-bun. “you haven’t scrolled in thirty minutes.”

suguru’s slouched in his chair, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows, rings tapping against his thermos. his screen's frozen on a meme. he hasn’t blinked in five minutes.

“maybe she’ll walk by,” satoru murmurs, eyes locked on the frosted glass wall outside the lab, hunched forward with his chin on his palm, as if willing your silhouette into existence.

“you said that an hour ago.”

“maybe she’s shy today. maybe she’s building up the courage. maybe she dropped her student ID and fate’s guiding her back here. what if the universe is lining up our pixels right now, suguru? what if—”

“she’s shy every day.”

“and that’s what makes it beautiful,” satoru sighs, dreamily. he stares out the window like a man in a tragic romance film. “she’s mysterious. like a foggy horizon at sea. you don’t know what she’s thinking, and that’s the best part. she could be plotting world domination. she could be drawing cats in the margins of her notes. it’s art.”

suguru groans into his hoodie sleeve.

and then like a glitch in the matrix. like god reached down and clicked “unmute” on the simulation—you pass by.

no footsteps. no warning. just a blur of your jacket sleeve on his left peripheral, and he flinches so hard he nearly spills his water bottle. the water sloshes. he slaps the bottle upright. you’re so close. the scent of your shampoo—jasmine and something warm, like vanilla and late-night bookstores—floods his senses. his head whips around before he can even think, pupils blown wide behind his crooked glasses, mouth parted like a cartoon character seeing a pie on a windowsill.

your gaze meets his.

not one second.

two.

wide eyes. startled. curious. the slope of your brows twitch upward slightly, and your lashes flutter—a beat too long, like a reflex or a stutter in time. your lips part just slightly, like you meant to say something—but don’t. your fingers tug at your sleeve, pulling it over your knuckles in that way you always do when you’re flustered. a half-step pause. your mouth twitches, just barely, like you might’ve smiled. then your gaze drops, your shoulders stiffening as your pace quickens, like you’re embarrassed to have looked at all. your fingers curl tighter around your binder. there’s a sticker on it he hadn’t noticed before.

and that’s it. you’re gone.

satoru slaps both hands over his face and releases a sound that is one part gasp, one part squeal, one part glitching modem.

“oh my god,” he whispers. “oh my god, she looked at me. TWO SECONDS, suguru. TWO. that’s statistically significant. that’s a scientific breakthrough. that’s… that’s eye contact with depth. it had nuance. it had arcs.”

“you’re not well.”

“no, listen. the way her eyes flickered? like she wasn’t sure if she should look away or say something? and her lashes twitched, just a bit. like she was nervous. did you see her hand? she pulled her sleeve down. she only does that when she’s flustered. i know. i’ve studied her. i’ve got timestamps. i’ve got spreadsheets.”

“you’re insane.”

“i’m in love.”

satoru slumps in his chair, limbs sprawling dramatically, glasses askew. he exhales like he’s just seen god. his knee knocks into the desk. his sock has a hole in the toe. the corner of his laptop screen catches the light and reflects a faint shimmer onto the ceiling, and it feels, to him, like stars. his fingers are still frozen mid-air, clutching the keychain like it’s the only proof the moment happened.

“i’m gonna marry her,” he says. “drop out, become a florist. i’ll propose with baby’s breath and carnations—those are her favorites, don’t ask me how i know. maybe a little lavender tucked in. something gentle. delicate. a bouquet that says ‘i know your soul.’”

“you need help.”

“i’ve named our cats already. ichigo, milky, and toblerone. toblerone’s the shy one. milky’s chaotic evil. ichigo wears a little red bow tie. we’ll live in a little flat above a cafe and drink lavender lattes. she’ll wear soft sweaters. she’ll draw comics on sticky notes. i’ll iron her lab coat. it'll be perfect.”

“she doesn’t even know your name.”

“wrong,” satoru says smugly, lifting a single finger like he’s presenting hard evidence. “she knows me as the guy who always looks left and right like a cracked-out meerkat. that’s recognition. that’s brand awareness.”

“romantic.”

“don’t be jealous just ‘cause she didn’t look at you.”

“she’s cute, i guess.”

“NO.” satoru jolts upright like he’s been electrocuted. “DON’T even THINK about perceiving her. your eyes? shut them. your brain? turn it off. opinions? delete them. she’s too good for this world. if anyone’s going to romanticize her, it’s me. with accuracy. and passion. and nuance. only i’m allowed to think she’s cute. and i do. constantly. it’s my full-time job.”

“fine, jeez.”

“say she’s ugly, then.”

“what?? no??”

“exactly. you can’t. because she’s perfect. ethereal. a goddess walking among midterms and overpriced coffee. and she blinked slow, too, did you notice? it was like… like a signal. maybe morse code. she’s trying to tell me something. she’s reaching out. spiritually. through kinetic energy and eye twitches.”

suguru closes his laptop with the tired resolve of someone preparing for battle.

satoru, still glowing with delusion, goes back to staring at the glass wall, head tilted, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“she looked left,” he murmurs. “that’s my side. she always looks left.”

he swears his hoodie still smells like you.

[algos11]

Algorithmic trading uses a computer program following pre-set instructions to place a trade. This entire process of placing a trade by a computer program happens within milliseconds, which is impossible for a human trader.

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

[sioltach]

Gathering

Your clothes are trying to tell you something - and Sheila Hicks spent her life decoding it.

Trained as a painter, raised with Bauhaus ideas, Sheila Hicks broke away from the canvas and into the world of thread, fibre, and form. To her, weaving wasn't craft. It was a grid, a language, an architecture. A living algorithm that carried stories, cultures, and human histories across time.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting “The Bezzle” audiobook, sequel to Red Team Blues

I'm heading to Berlin! On January 29, I'll be delivering Transmediale's Marshall McLuhan Lecture, and on January 30, I'll be at Otherland Books (tickets are limited! They'll have exclusive early access to the English edition of The Bezzle and the German edition of Red Team Blues!).

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to last year's Red Team Blues, featuring Marty Hench, a hard-charging, two-fisted forensic accountant who spent 40 years in Silicon Valley, busting every finance scam hatched by tech bros' feverish imaginations:

http://thebezzle.org

Marty Hench is a great character to write. His career in high-tech scambusting starts in the early 1980s with the first PCs and stretches all the way to the cryptocurrency era, the most target-rich environment for scamhunting tech has ever seen. Hench is the Zelig of tech scams, and I'm having so much fun using him to probe the seamy underbelly of the tech economy.

Enter The Bezzle, which will be published by Tor Books and Head of Zeus on Feb 20: this adventure finds Marty in the company of Scott Warms, one of the many bright technologists whose great startup was bought and destroyed by Yahoo! (yes, they really used that asinine exclamation mark). Scott is shackled to the Punctuation Factory by golden handcuffs, and he's determined to get fired without cause, so he can collect his shares and move onto the next thing.

That's how Scott and Marty find themselves on Catalina island, the redoubt of the Wrigley family, where bison roam the hills, yachts bob in the habor and fast food is banned. Scott invites Marty on a series of luxury vacations on Catalina, which end abruptly when they discover – and implode – a hamburger-related Ponzi scheme run by a real-estate millionaire who is destroying the personal finances of the Island's working-class townies out of sheer sadism.

Scott's victory is bittersweet: sure, he blew up the Ponzi scheme, but he's also made powerful enemies – the kinds of enemies who can pull strings with the notoriously corrupt LA County Sheriff's Deputies who are the only law on Catalina, and after taking a pair of felony plea deals, Scott gets the message and never visits Catalina Island again.

That could have been the end of it, but California's three-strikes law – since rescinded – means that when Scott picks up one more felony conviction for some drugs discovered during a traffic stop, he's facing life in prison.

That's where The Bezzle really gets into gear.

At its core, The Bezzle is a novel about the "shitty technology adoption curve": the idea that our worst technological schemes are sanded smooth on the bodies of prisoners, mental patients, kids and refugees before they work their way up the privilege gradient and are inflicted on all of us:

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

America's prisons are vicious, brutal places, and technology has only made them worse. When Scott's prison swaps out in-person visits, the prison library, and phone calls for a "free" tablet that offers all these services as janky apps that cost ten times more than they would on the outside, the cruelty finds a business model.

Working inside and outside the prison Marty Hench and Scott Warms figure out the full nature of the scam that the captive audience of prisoners are involuntary beta-testers for, and they discover a sprawling web of real-estate fraud, tech scams, and offshore finance that is extracting fortunes from the hides of America's prisoners and their families. The criminals who run that kind of enterprise aren't shy about fighting for what they've got, and they're more than happy to cut some of LA County's notorious deputy gangs in for a cut in exchange for providing some kinetic support for the project.

The Bezzle is exactly the kind of book I was hoping I'd get to write when I kicked off the Hench series – one that decodes the scam economy, from music royalties to prison videoconferencing, real estate investment trusts to Big Four accounting firm bogus audits. It's both a fast-moving, two-fisted crime novel and a masterclass on how the rich and powerful get away with both literal and figurative murder.

It's getting a big push from both my publishers and I'll be touring western Canada and the US with it. The early reviews are spectacular. But despite all of this, I had to make my own audiobook for it, which I'm pre-selling on Kickstarter:

http://thebezzle.org

Why? Because Audible – Amazon's monopoly gatekeeper to the audiobook world, with more than 90% of the market – refuses to carry my work.

Audible uses Digital Rights Management to lock every audiobook they sell to their platform. Legally, only an Audible-authorized app can decrypt and play the audiobooks they sell you. Distributing a tool that removes Audible DRM is a felony under Section 1201 of the 1998 DMCA.

That means that if you break up with Audible – delete your Audible apps – you will lose your entire audiobook library. And the fact that you're Audible's hostage makes the writers you love into their hostages, too. Writers understand that if they leave the Audible platform, their audience will have to choose between following them, or losing all their audiobooks.

That's how Audible gets away with abusing its performers and writers, up to and including the $100m Audiblegate wage-theft scandal:

https://www.audiblegate.com/

Audible can steal $100m from its writers…and the writers still continue to sell on the platform, because leaving will cost them their audience.

This is canonical enshittification: lock in users, then screw suppliers. Lots of companies abuse DRM to do this, but none can hold a candle to Amazon, who understand that the DMCA is a copyright law that protects corporations at the expense of creators.

Under DMCA 1201 commercial distribution of a "circumvention device" carries a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that if I write a book, pay to have it recorded, and then sell it to you through Audible, I am criminally prohibited from giving you the tool to take it from Audible to another platform. Even though I hold the copyright to that work, I would face a harsher sentence than you would if you simply pirated the audiobook from some darknet site. Not only that: if you shoplifted the audiobook in CD form, you'd get a lighter sentence than I, the copyright holder, would receive for giving you a tool to unlock it from Amazon's platform! Hell, if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CD, you'd get off lighter than I would. This is a scam straight out of a Marty Hench novel.

This is batshit. I won't allow it. My books are licensed on the condition that they must not be sold with DRM. Which means that Audible won't sell my books, which means that my publishers are thoroughly disinterested in paying thousands of dollars to produce audiobooks of my titles. A book that isn't sold in the one store than accounts for 90% of all sales is unlikely to do well.

That's where you come in. Since 2020, I've used Kickstarter to pre-sell five of my audiobooks (I wrote nine books during lockdown!). All told, I've raised over $750,000 (gross! but still!) on these crowdfunders. More than 20,000 backers have pitched in! The last two of these books – The Internet Con and The Lost Cause – were national bestsellers.

This isn't just a way for me to pay off a lot of bills and put away something for retirement – it's proof that readers care about supporting writers and don't want to be locked in by a giant monopolist that depends on its drivers pissing in bottles to make quota.

It's a powerful message about the desire for something better than Amazon. It's part of the current that is driving the FTC to haul Amazon into court for being a monopolist, and also part of the inspiration for other authors to try treating Amazon as damage and routing around it, with spectacular results:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/dragonsteel/surprise-four-secret-novels-by-brandon-sanderson

And I'm doing it again. Last December, I went into Skyboat Media's studios where Gabrielle De Cuir directed @wilwheaton, who reprised his role as Marty Hench for the audiobook of The Bezzle. It came out amazing:

https://archive.org/details/bezzle-sample

Now I'm pre-selling this audiobook, as well as the ebook and hardcover for The Bezzle. I'm also offering bundles with the ebook and audiobook for Red Team Blues (naturally these are all DRM-free). You can get your books signed and personalized and shipped anywhere in the world, courtesy of Book Soup, and I've partnered with Libro.fm to deliver DRM-free audiobooks with an app for people who don't want to mess around with sideloading.

I've also got some spendy options for high rollers. There's three chances to name a character in the next Hench novel (Picks and Shovels, Feb 2025). There's also five chances to commission a Hench short story about your favorite tech scam, and get credited when the story is published.

The Kickstarter runs for the next three weeks, which should give me time to get the hardcopy books signed and shipped to arrive around the on-sale date. What's more, I've finally worked out all the post-Brexit kinks with shipping my UK publisher's books to EU backers. I'm working with Otherland Books to fulfill those EU orders, and it looks like I'm going to be able to sign a giant stack of those when I'm in Berlin later this month to give the annual Marshall McLuhan lecture at the Canadian embassy:

https://transmediale.de/en/2024/event/mcluhan-2024

Red Team Blues and its sequels are some of the most fun – and informative – work I've done in my quarter-century career. I love how they blend technical explanations of the scam economy with high-intensity technothrillers. That's the the same mix as my bestselling YA series Little Brother series – but these are firmly adult novels.

The Bezzle came out great. I hope you'll give it a try – and that you'll come out to see me in late February when I hit the road with the book! Here's that Kickstarter link again:

http://thebezzle.org

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/10/the-bezzle/#marty-hench

[lvlyghost]

pairings: simon riley x f!reader

summary: reader suffers from a chronic illness and ghost finds out.

wc: 1.1k

tw: chronic pain, chronic illness, slight angst i think, comfort. not edited and not proofread. that's it.

a/n: sorry y'all i'm struggling a lot with writer's block lately so i'm writing these silly little things to help me out of it so don't mind me!

By the moment Ghost enters his shared office he's frowning so hard that he fears it might leave a permanent mark on his forehead. The first day wasn't unusual as it was normal for soldiers, technicians and federal agents to come and go. Gaz is humming under his breath and greets him with a slight nod when he spots him but he barely returns the gesture. His desk is full of reports waiting to be filled some labeled 'Urgent' in big red letters.

Sitting down he manages to get done the first stack of papers but his mind was lost elsewhere barely paying attention to the work he never had trouble getting done in no time. Part of him wonders if Kyle will tease him if he asked about her. But better asking him than Johnny. As he leans back in his chair, fidgeting with the pen in his hands. Gaz barely pays attention, too enraptured by whatever he's watching on his own computer.

"Where's the girl?"

The Sergeant startles at the sudden sound of his deep voice. Hard and demanding.

"Sir?" He half chuckles when brown eyes meet each other.

"Have you seen her? She's supposed to report back to me and she hasn't." It was only half a truth. She did have to report to him every progress made for future missions, give him the intel so he can report to the Captain. The thing was, there were no missions taking place soon. No black ops, nothing. But Kyle didn't know that.

Gaz lifts his brows, trying to figure out who his Lieutenant was talking about, until it hits him.

"Oh." He murmurs. "The tech girl, Lt?" He shrugs. "Haven't seen her in a few days, have you tried calling her or you know... going to the women's barracks?"

Ghost scoffs as if the mere idea was ridiculous.

"No. Guess she'll show up."

She has to.

Standing up he exits the office under Gaz's questioning look. The hallways feel endless the more he walks to the tech wing, he knows if he passes down that specific hallway he'd be able to see through the glass that serves as walls if she's there or not.

Much to his already building annoyance she's not there.

-

Rolling onto your back you squeeze your eyes shut once more. An unyielding pain throbbing in the back of your skull shoots yet another wave of nausea making you feel more miserable than ever.

It's been two days since the whole ordeal started. It began with a subtle pain that couldn't recognize the symptoms at first, merely blinking away the black dors that started to blurred your vision one afternoon when you were trying to fill the reports for Ghost, pages and pages of new intel recovered from long lost contacts online.

Saying it was hard to dig in all those dark places was an understatement. You had tried to push the symptoms of uneasiness to the back of your mind, typing and decoding algorithms for what could be days. Days without sleep or proper and much needed rest.

So, when the first wave hit you had ran to the bathroom, throwing up what little you had eaten that day. Oh how you hated it. Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes and the terror began, everything went down hill from there.

Shutting the computer off you gathered your belongings. The corridors were in complete silence, abandoned hours ago when everyone went to their dorms.

You remembered picking up some of your things from the women's barracks and retreating to your personal dorm where no one would bother you. As a member of the task force you had a place for you alone —just as the rest of the team— and you're grateful because the next days were a nightmare.

The curtains were tightly closed. Not the tiniest bit of light could pass even if the sun burned brighter. The earplugs helped but they didn't do much to alleviate the external noises. Fuck why were the soldiers so loud? You asked to yourself, jaw tight in an effort to soothe the pulsing on your forehead.

After laying in the same position for another hour you decide to get up, dragging your feet in an enormous attempt to get to the bathroom. With the lights turned off you undress as quickly as you can; standing on your feet is hard enough already but you wait nonetheless for the bath to fill with cool water.

With numb extremities you step in and lower yourself, it's almost soothing and calming the way the water swallows your body and then your head. Ever since these headaches —these migraines— started to interfere, you learned that cool water could help to ease the symptoms. Time passes by and when you emerge your teeth chatter, lips turned purple but it was worth it. God was it worth it.

You're exhausted, this has taken a toll on you. Fitting your pajamas feels like an impossible task. Your head throbs with the slightest of movement. And then the door opens just a tad, reveling the dark shadow of the man you'd recognize anywhere.

"Ghost," you murmur acknowledging his presence, half shocked half embarrassed that he's right here in your bedroom. Your bathroom.

"Why is everything dark?" His voice is too loud and it makes you flinch; he's quick to notice even in the sheer darkness. He notices the whimper in your voice when he speaks too loud. He notices the way your body sags, and when he takes a step close you lean on him. Forehead pressing down on his broad chest. "Hey." He calls you, voice lowering this time. "Let me take you to the bed."

And you almost want to say something it. Make a comment about it being inappropriate but you're too sick to even do it so you let him guide you. You let him lay you down and surprises you when he follows.

Bodies curling against the other. You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes so hard until the pain soothes. "You never told me about it."

"Never had the chance. Thought you hated me, remember?"

Ghost sighs. He had never intended for you to feel like that around him, he just wasn't accustomed to having such a nice person around him. You were so different from everything he knew.

"Forgive me, love." He mutters. "They're gonna start asking questions."

"What do you mean?" You grab him by the shirt when a sudden wave of nausea hits you. He caresses your hair in a calming manner.

"I asked Garrick about you." Before you can fight it a smile spreads on your face.

"Johnny..." you snort, regretting it the moment the laugh rattles in your brain. The Scot is about to have a field day when he finds out. "Ow..."

"Will never hear the end of it." His thumb presses down on your temple massaging the spot. "Better?"

"Yeah." There's a moment of brief silence where all you can hear is the sound of feet outside your dorm. People carrying on with their lives. "Would you stay with me tonight Lt.?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

[astrosouldivinity]

𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑨𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 ⭑ 🌌 🪐

𝙰𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝙿𝚝. 1

✩ Astrology is a form of divination. It’s not a religion, nor is it merely a fabrication. Rather, it’s a science that blends the metaphysical with the physical. At its core, astrology is about recognizing patterns that humans have observed throughout history.

✩ In ancient times, astrology and astronomy were intertwined, regarded as two halves of a whole. Both practices were seen as equally significant. It wasn’t until the Middle Ages, with the rise of scientific advancements, that astrology began to be dismissed as a pseudoscience/charlatan trade. However, before that shift, it held a place of deep respect and credibility in society.

✩ If you believe in the matrix theory, astrology serves as the code. It reveals hidden patterns and connections that manifest in our own lives, much like the underlying algorithms of a simulated reality. Each celestial alignment acts as a guiding signal, helping us navigate the complexities of existence. It also offers insights into our personalities, relationships, and life path overall. Just as the matrix can be decoded, astrology serves as a tool for understanding the forces at play in our universe, helping us navigate our path with greater awareness and intention.

✩ Overall, astrology serves as a cosmic weather report. While you can’t change the weather, you can prepare for it. Just as you would carry an umbrella on a rainy day, astrology offers insights that can help you navigate life’s challenges and opportunities, allowing you to make informed choices based on the energies at play.

©𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍.

[hehehihilogist]

Scientific lore analysis that proves that Bill Cipher is destined to be a bottom.

More under the cut.

Let's start with who Bill Cipher is. He's a two-dimensional interdimensional dream demon from the now destroyed dimension, Euclydia. Formerly existent only in the Mindscape, Bill briefly succeeded in gaining access to the real world and a physical form. Known for his mysterious demeanor and sadistic humor, Bill is the main antagonist of the overall series. (wiki) However, let's stick with the fact that he's a big liar, too. A code in Theraprism cipher on the book's cover says it directly: even his lies are lies.

So, when overlooking his design with prevailing yellow, which symbolises deceit, power and manipulation, we might also invert it (because his appearance may also "lie" to us). And we will see that it's mainly blue.

Why blue? I think it's intentional move done by Alex Hirsch to prove his point that Bill Cipher is not what he seems. This symblolizes a deeper connection with character design and his personality.

In literature, blue is known as a color of honesty, peace, sadness and commitment. Like this, he is honest to us, open and commited. However, let's focus on the sadness part.

Sadness is a feeling that can develop into depression, if you are stuck with it for a long time (over 2 weeks, for example). And depression IS when you are at the BOTTOM of your life. And yeah, what color will that be? Blue. And blue is the exact opposite of the color that Bill wants to be shown!

He is yellow, because he wants to act all-powerful, pretending to be in charge. However, people who really are in charge don't need to prove it constantly. The way Bill acts shows that deep inside, he overcompensates the need for someone to take him down, he's the jester-like character, waiting to be humilated the right way.

Power is nothing but an act of roleplay to him, he wants for someone to make this illusion go away. His fear of vulnerability is really giving out.

Bill Cipher, what a cool name, right? But why is he called that?

His name is believed to be a combination of "bill" for dollar one and "cipher" for cryptogram stuff. But is it that easy? Let's dive deeper

His "Bill" part is based on the Eye of Providence, which is most commonly seen on the back of the american dollar.

It's a 1-dollar bill, the lowest of the banknotes available. It's the BOTTOM of the quantity value. No matter the dollar price, it will stay there. Maybe that’s where it’s supposed to be.

Moreover, Bill is a common used name among the people. It is a dull, boring, meaning nothing one. It giving "overcompensating suburban villain" ifykyk.

Cipher? What is a cipher?

In cryptography, a cipher is an algorithm for performing encryption or decryption. (wiki) It can be also a mathematical zero — something that cannot be valued by itself.

But what does it mean for our character? He is nothing without the context, his identity depends on whoever is there in charge, he is blank without someone pulling the strings. He is a code that needs to be cracked and he cannot exist without someone "decoding" him. BOTTOM energy, if you ask me.

Since we started on this topic, let's discuss his appearance. A triangle? Why?

In hierarchy, the base of the triangle supports the pyramid, it's the foundation itself, when the apex (which is in both the Eye, and Bill's design himself) is small and it has to depens on anything that is beneath him. That way, his "top of the pyramid" thing is not dominant. He axists only when there's solid groung beneath him, holding him

His whole design is made after the Eye, but the whole point of it is watching and never interfering directly. He sees everything, but he needs the others to act. He doesn't create a thing, he reacts on thers' actions. Bottom energy, if you ask me - all his power depends directly on others.

The shape's pointed nature can convey a sense of movement and energy, often associated with action and even conflict. In physics, the Greek letter delta (Δ), which is a triangle, is used to represent change.  Triandles aren't as stable as circles or squares. Instead, they are usually stuck or falling - they cannot adapt, cannot roll.

As a triangle, Bill is shown ready to change for anyone's need, destined to fall at the BOTTOM.

Bill Cipher is shaped like an equilateral triangle. It is proven with the poem in the choose-your-own-adventure book. The axolotl tells it Dipper when he asks about Cipher.

"Sixty degrees that come in threes". According to geometry book for the 4th grade, that would make him an equiangular triangle, since all of his angles are 60°, the same measure. If a triangle is equiangular, then it's also equilateral, or meaning that all sides are the same length.

In the Bible, 60 can represent periods of waiting or completeness, as well as divine provision and the fulfillment of promises, it is considered as the threshold of when a person enters the last major phase of their life. It means that 60 is the bottom of someone's existence, waiting for recognition, something bigger to come. Once again, it's not acting up, interfering with someone. Instead, it is waiting for something on the outside to react.

An equilateral triangle is something that adheres to external laws of geometry - his construction is perfectly stable. Despite him claiming to be chaotic, his literal shape is a complete submission to mathematical laws. His obidience is built-in since his birth.

Symmetrical shapes are easier to be abused: split, centered, framed and entered into.

His own Zodiac circle is a proof for this: he's in the middle, framed. He's not assymetrical and not trying to be it - instead, he is built like something that awaits to be disrupted and ruined.

Instead of being chaos, he's the most predictable polygon. He doesn't move and his structure is a rule itself. Despite his acting, his design reveals his fate: to be in balance, order, awaiting for an inner force to bring him into the chaos he desires.

Moving on, before gaining physical form, he is shown to us as a shadow twice throughout the series.

But what is a shadow?

A shadow is a dark area or shape created when an object blocks light. It occurs because light travels in straight lines and cannot bend around an opaque object, resulting in a dark silhouette on the opposite side.

How is this related? Well, look where the shadows are formed. Guess where are they. BOTTOM of the object presented. Sun can move wherever it is, but the shadow always stays there. Destinied it is.

Now, let's talk about the American Revolution. This war's result was that the United States of America achieved independence from British rule. But, the country originally struggled at the start due to the lack of government.

The Articles of Confederation was the first attempt on national US government. The problem with this was that states maintained their independence and such document didn’t didnt the federal government power to unite the states together. They lacked many necessary powers. No executive or judicial branch, no power to tax or create a national currency, and a 9/13 majority needed to pass laws, the Articles could not support the country. The founding father set out to create the Constitution, what would be the basis of government today.

As the Constitution went into effect, the system of check and balances was formed. This allowed for each branch of the government to “check” each other and prevent one single branch from being corrupt and taking control of all the national power.

Bill would represent the judicial branch, a branch with only self-placed checks and not necessarily constitutional checks. Bill Cipher can easily take advantage of this and take over the whole government.

Chaos he relates to is often related with power, however, it is a state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of organization or order. He's projecting dominance, trying to hide his vulnerability. He talks constantly, only to be shut with someone interrupting him, arguing. He doesn't only need power, he wants others to believe he has it. True dominance doesn’t beg for acknowledgment, but Bill does - it is a facade he's put. The whole Weirdmageddon is nothing but an attempt to break free from his "bottom energy". But did it really help?

Moreover, Bill's afraid of interacting with someone on a deeper level. He's always manipulative, mocking, but never vulnerable - he's a control freak, secretly wising for losing it.

The only reason he mocks human emotions is because he cannot fully engage in them. It's fully shown in the "Sock Opera", where he attempts to manipulate twins by how unstable their relationship is.

Psychologically, it is that Bill’s desire for power is started from the frontal cortex, specifically the orbitofrontal cortex. The idea of the power given to him is a desire for him to grow. This is deeply connected with dopamine, that his braing releases. He's a BOTTOM, desperately trying to top.

While looking at the BC abbreviation you may think it sounds familiar. It is a common abbreviation for the term "Before Christ" used in dating systems to denote years prior to the traditional start of the Christian era. And when looking at it, BC is located at the bottom of the timeline, alligning where he belongs.

As you can see, Bible was mentioned twice throughout the analysis. This can mean only that Bill has a deep connection with its dogmas.

And it is proven by the holy trinity: a concept, involving three holy figures, just like three sides of Bill. The number three itself holds significance, representing perfection, integration, and the unity of dualities. A full harmony on the outside, deep inside it is a conflict revolving.

This is EXACTLY the way Ohm's triangle works. It is a simple visual tool used to remember the relationship between voltage (V), current (I), and resistance (R) in electrical circuits.

The Ohm’s Law triangle is the same shape as Bill Cipher — an upright triangle.

Bill's show as a voltage in it. He only exists if something else conducts or resists him. He is the top of the triangle, but the triangle only functions if something below him is doing the work.

Voltage — is the power that needs to be conducted and resisted to mean anything.

That’s not dominance. That’s literal dependence on someone, who'll do all the work. Energy only flows when it confronts resistance.

You see, chaos (Bill) only becomes real voltage when he submits to resistance and lets current move through him. He’s not the master of the circuit — he is defined by its work.

Now, let's talk about posession. As wiki says, it's the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

To posess someone, you need to abandon your own form, becoming dependent on someone else. That’s not power - it is submission to someone else’s structure.

It is a vulnerable state of mind and body - a posessed can resist, fight back, and then the posessed one gets destroyed. It requires submission to other's body functioning. It’s a fragile dominance — and fragile dominance is just bottoming with extra steps.

[garadinervi]

Aarati Akkapeddi, Rituals of Recursion, (website, letterpress, performance), 2024

Exhibition: Aarati Akkapeddi: 'Rituals of Recursion', Curated by Chaitanya Harshita Nedunuri Kahn, Spill 180, Brooklyn, NY, January 11-25, 2025

Group Exhibition: The Space Between Words: Other Ways of Reading, Curated by Camilo Otero, Center for Book Arts, New York, NY, June 5 – August 30, 2025

«I developed a computer program that allows me to translate text into Kolam designs. Kolam (in Tamil) or Muggu (Telugu) is a traditional art form from South India. Kolams are auspicious drawings on the floor (usually at the threshold of the home) using rice flour. Kolams are traditionally made by women and created before sunrise. They comprise mathematically complex patterns that feature continuous intertwined lines. To encode text into Kolam designs, I first translate each character into eight-digit binary codes (made from only 0s and 1s). I then use an algorithm to map this translation onto a diamond-shaped matrix of dots. The algorithm moves top to bottom and left to right, drawing loops on each dot that correspond with either 0 or 1 according to the binary code translation of the text. The algorithm connects these loops, making sure to never connect loops associated with "0" to those associated with "1". The center of the matrix contains blank padding space, allowing the entire pattern to be distributed evenly on the matrix, preserving the perfect square/diamond shape. I started working with kolams because I wanted to translate my grandmother's name, Swarajyalaxmi, into a kolam as part of a reclamation of a mourning ritual after her passing in 2022. My family mourned my grandmother by invoking three generations following a patriarchal line (my grandmother, her mother-in-law, and her mother-in-law's mother-in-law). In contrast, I worked matrilineally, creating three kolams representing Swarajyalaxmi, Kameswaramma (her mother), and Rajyalaxmi (her grandmother). I draw the kolams signifying their names while simultaneously playing audio from an interview with her a month before she passed away at age 101. The audio shows how my grandmother's name signifies independence in the colonial context, and the interview also highlights her resilience in the face of patriarchal oppressions such as being married at age twelve. In this series, I expand on this work by incorporating letterpress printed works created using a set of 3D-printed kolam monotype blocks. There are kolams for my grandmother, her mother, and her grandmother but I also include letterpress prints that extend the process beyond familial connections. There are kolams commissioned by friends honoring their loved ones, kolams honoring martyrs, specific places, and some that feature messages of resilience and resistance. In these works, I see the act of translation as a ritual of reverence. invited all to spend time with each kolam and decode its meaning using kolam.codes. On this website, visitors could also encrypt new kolams.»

At Center for Book Arts

At Spill 180

Performance at Spill 180

At Spill 180

«In addition to the artwork, the Spill 180 exhibition also featured a "reading nook" with a zine of Telugu poetry curated by The Telugu Archive (Sai Priya Kodidala). The poems touch on themes of patriarchy, resistance, and the ways women have shared histories through mediums outside of traditional academia (i.e. song, clothing, kolam/muggulu). Sai Priya Kodidala is an independent writer and researcher from Hyderabad, India focusing on the intersection of Telugu literature, politics, history and art. The Telugu Archive traces the rich socio-political history of resistance, civil rights and revolutionary politics. You can view the zine online here.»

Reading Nook at Spill 180

[kabr0ztrousers]

I would love to a part 2 to 61:Angels & Demons!! Maybe some angels go looking for him and get caught by the hell hounds and they end up forming a demon/hellhound orgy.

Idek I just want more corruption of angels tbh ;)

Kabr0z Writes Episode 150: Search Party

This episode will make more sense if you've read Episode 61

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

I swear I'm gonna update the AO3 eventually!

CWs: dubcon; coercion; corruption; pain; transformation; knotting; oral sex;

A/N: I feel like the CWs for these episodes are starting to get similar... Maybe I need a beta reader to help me catch stuff I don't. Although if any of y'all get a squick you weren't warned about, give me a shout and I can always amend them

###################################

Oriniel was missing. He had been for months, last seen three months ago descending from Heaven. A week later, the beurocracy started to notice his work piling up. An investigation was launched and agents dispatched to Earth to search. Scouring the entirety of creation for a single missing angel would take time though, and you wanted your friend back.

You'd worked with him for the last millennium or so, scouring the fiction sections of the humans libraries, recommending works to one another while waiting for choir practice to start. The other angels were understanding, but put too much faith in their systems. You weren't content to wait for a full search. You knew a faster way, it wasn't strictly permitted, but back channels exist for a reason.

Your first trick was writing a coded message. When you got down there you'd publish it to the internet in a story. The immaculate algorithm would immediately recognise it for what it is and send it to the celestial codebreakers. The story is unimportant, it exists to be decoded, the really vital thing was making sure it took at least a few days to break, and of course the content. Your name, where you're going, who you're meeting, and an instruction: don't look for me.

The flight to Earth was easy. Go down. Listen for a prayer, latch on to it. Follow it in. Someone's always praying for something, it doesn't matter who's praying, what they're asking for, it didn't even matter who they were praying to as long as they weren't trying to call up a demon. What mattered was the intention, the right intention and the prayer's all you need to slip into the mortal realm.

Sure enough you found one, someone praying for a new car to somehow land in their lap. It probably wouldn't be answered, but that didn't matter. You locked onto it, angling your flight down the metaphysical contour, slipping into the human's world a dozen or so miles above what you're pretty sure was Britain.

Always nice when you appear nearby to where you needed to go.

You zoned in on a desanctified church you were familiar with. Far enough from any collection of people that you weren't going to be disturbed. You flew unseen, millions of people lived on this rainy island, and not one of them ever seemed to look up.

The church was quiet, only accessible through a hole in the roof. Ivy grew in through broken windows, mouldering pews scattered the floors. You dragged the furniture, such as it was to one side, taking a couple of slivers of rotting wood as you did.

The ritual to call forth the demon was simple. A thimbleful of mouse blood and the pair of wooden chips, applied with just the right know-how, and you'd done it.

The thinned veil of the church bent, warping under the strain of the ritual, before it snapped altogether, and the demon stepped through the gap.

Silusirex, an augur of some repute. Not above working with angels, despite the aeons long cold war between your peoples. Calling him here was forbidden. If word got out you'd made a deal with him, you'd be demoted. Depending on the deal, that might be lenient.

Silusirex stood before you, examining his nails. He didn't have a face, merely a void where a face would be. If you looked straight into it, you could see the void extended far beyond the back of his head, into unknown space behind him, inky black, filled with stars. His skin was white as white could be, shadows refused to fall on it, though it emitted no light of its own. Instead, where he stood it seemed as though someone had cut a demon-shaped hole in the world, showing the pale nothing behind. His nails were long, and black, his feet bare, a crown of ivory atop his head, held in place by black iron horns growing through gaps strategically drilled in the yellowing bone.

As with so many demons, he didn't wear a stitch. Where you hid your feminine body under a shapeless cassock, not even cinching the waist to display your hips, he left nothing to the imagination. Indeed, the one detail of his torso he chose to draw attention to, the only part of him that didn't blend into the sea of flat, featureless white, was a sheath between his legs.

You found your eyes drawn to that sheath. You knew enough about demons to know you were probably going to become intimately familiar with it soon. An augur can answer a great many questions, but a price is exacted. You stared so long you didn't notice his gaze turn to you

"Why have you summoned me, angel? What would you ask of the Grand Augur of the Ashen Radiant?"

His voice was like a headache, ringing in the back of your skull.

You winced. You'd never felt pain before. It wasn't much fun. Then the pain subsided, and you wanted more

"I have come to find someone" you spoke clearly, putting the unbidden desire from your mind "A missing angel named Oriniel"

Silusirex laughed. You clutched the sides of your head as it thundered through you. Your mouth parted slightly, a trickle of bloody saliva, glittering and golden, dripped from your lower lip.

"I know where the one you seek is, and I will tell you. But you must meet my price, angel, or you will never hear it from me"

You stared into the void of his face, waiting for the pain to subside again. Your heart fluttered. You were anxious. You'd never been anxious before, not about anything. You were protected by the ritual, that much is true. If the price is too great, you'll just leave, let the demon slip back into Hell and be home before anyone's the wiser, with plenty of time before your code hits the beurocracy in order to take it back.

"Name your price, demon"

He smiled. You're not sure how a creature with no mouth smiles, but you know he did "Get on your knees, open your mouth, and don't resist"

You could see the tip of his cock poking out of the sheath. Blood red against white flesh. You swallowed hard, hearing him chuckle as you weighed up your options. You'd heard of angels giving head before and not falling, but you'd also heard about desire. How when it starts, it's hard to stop. How you could end up chasing it and chasing it until before you realised the path you're on it's too late.

The laughter bounced around your head. It hurt. You wanted more. You needed more.

Your knees hit the ground.

Your hands rested on your legs.

Your mouth opened.

He stepped into you.

The first thing you noticed was the smell. It wasn't bad. You'd always expected a cock to smell repulsive, of ammonia and old sweat. This didn't smell like that. There was a hint of something musky, like the smell that clings to someone after a run, and something else you couldn't place, sweet, sharp, savoury, all at once.

The next thing was the size of it. Silusirex's hand was at his crotch, working the length of his member free from the sheath. You watched with awe as it just kept growing in his hand. By the time the knot sprung free, it had gone from being an inch-long nub poking from the end of the sheath to a gross protuberance, well over a foot long and three inches thick in places, the knot even wider than that.

You steeled your resolve. You're here for Oriniel. You balled your hands into fists, gripping the hem of your robe and closed your eyes. You couldn't get the image of it out of your head though, nor could you stop your mouth from watering at the thought of it.

Long-nailed fingers gripped your hair. Only one hand, the other off doing Heavens know what. He pulled you in, sliding himself down your throat.

You gagged. The cock was already at your tonsils, seeping precum into your throat.

You could feel yourself blushing, only imagining how you look right now, a demon's cock not even halfway in your mouth. You couldn't help but picture it, an angel being towered over by a demon, feathery white wings twitching helplessly as she gags on his cock, him guiding her over just the last third. He hasn't even really forced you yet. He could if he wanted to. He could drag you down to his hilt, use your throat like a pussy: a warm, wet hole to fuck, to empty his throbbing, pendulous balls into.

Fuck. Why isn't he?

Your hand leaves your thigh, jumping to the one in your hair. Silusirex's grip loosened for a split second, before you curled his fingers between your thick locks. You took him as deep as you could, to the very edge, after which your body wouldn't let you continue, still holding his hand, guiding him.

"What's this? My my my, the angel wants more?"

Again, the pain in the back of your brain. It focused your mind, made you want it more, harder, every sinew in your body screamed for it.

You nodded.

He pushed.

Your hand wasn't needed any more. You'd altered the deal, and he'd accepted. You could feel him halfway down your throat. You couldn't help it. Your other hand strayed up your thigh. You felt wetness spreading over your crotch. Your fingers touched it. A strum of pleasure raced through you, like someone had plucked the lowest note on a guitar.

You lifted your hand to inspect it. A thin film of silvery liquid strung between your index and middle fingers. You held it up for the demon to see, you're not sure why.

"Why, little angel, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

You moaned when the pain started, your eyes unable to focus. The wetness spreading beneath your clothing.

You nodded.

Silusirex pulled out of your mouth.

You gasped as he pulled you up by the hair, bending you over a pew.

He gathered your cassock in one hand, baring your ass and glinting pussy to him. His cock sat at the entrance to your cunt

"Only if you want it, angel, but I won't be held responsible for what happens next"

You whined for him, reaching backwards to stroke his cock, shifting yourself to tease the tip

"Close enough"

Hands closed around your waist as he pressed his weight into you. You moaned as his cock parted you, your hips working with him, riding him as he fucked you from behind. You could feel his tip knocking on the door of your cervix.

It hurt like hell. Wave after wave of pain flooded you, every grinding press into your cunt made him prod harder. You didn't care.

Your halo squealed above you. Your legs started to shake. Your mouth dropped open. Your hands gripped his.

Then

Release

You squirted when you came. First it was silver, then steel, then iron, then pitch. The screaming metal run over your head shattered, shards sticking into your head. Your skin bubbled and changed, your body becoming softer, more pliable. Sensation filled you as a thousand hyper-sensitive clits grew along the depth of your cunt, each one throbbing as you pushed back upon the demon. Your wings burned to ash, feathers blackening and falling as so much dust.

You were complete.

You wanted more.

You looked back at Silusirex, willing him on. You bucked your hips "fuck me, daddy, and make it hurt"

The demon behind you laughed. You groaned. He pulled your hair, he dug his stilleto-sharp nails into your back. He burned you with magic and slapped your ass. Every new punishment he gave you made you clench and leak around him. Every shock of pain brought you a little closer.

He stuffed his cock the rest of the way into you. You felt it slam into your back wall, forcing through the tiny entrance to your womb. The pain was exquisite, flooding you, making your eyes roll and your head spin.

Then he knotted you.

He was all the way in. His hips kissed yours, over and over again as he tugged the knot out, and slammed it back in. Every thrust stretched your ruined cunt harder. Every time he hit the top of your womb, sending waves of sweet agony through you. More inky-black squirt sprayed from you, soaking both your legs, pooling on the floor.

You collapsed, no longer possessing the energy to prop yourself up.

He knotted you for the last time, cum streaming from him as he held your waist, keeping your hips tight against his as he cooed to you.

He lifted you up, a new demon in the arms of her creator, and carried you to your new home.

He'd tell you of your friend's fate, of course, but that could wait until you woke up

[jcmarchi]

Scientists Develop ‘Material Fingerprinting’ Method Using AI and X-ray Technology

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/scientists-develop-material-fingerprinting-method-using-ai-and-x-ray-technology/

Scientists Develop ‘Material Fingerprinting’ Method Using AI and X-ray Technology

Materials, much like people, evolve over time and behave differently under stress and relaxation. Understanding these dynamic changes has long been a challenge for scientists, as the complex patterns of material behavior are often too intricate for human analysis alone. Traditional methods of studying material dynamics have struggled to capture the full spectrum of changes occurring at the molecular level, leaving gaps in our understanding of how materials transform under various conditions.

In response to this challenge, researchers at the U.S. Department of Energy’s Argonne National Laboratory have developed an innovative approach. This new technique leverages X-ray photon correlation spectroscopy (XPCS), artificial intelligence, and machine learning to create “fingerprints” of different materials. These fingerprints can then be analyzed by a neural network, unveiling previously inaccessible information about material behavior.

The Technology Behind the Innovation

At the core of this groundbreaking technique is X-ray photon correlation spectroscopy, or XPCS. XPCS is an advanced imaging method that uses powerful X-rays to probe the structure and dynamics of materials at the nanoscale. As Argonne postdoctoral researcher James (Jay) Horwath explains, “The way we understand how materials move and change over time is by collecting X-ray scattering data.” This scattering data provides a wealth of information about the material’s structure and behavior, but the resulting patterns are incredibly complex.

To make sense of the vast amount of data generated by XPCS, researchers have turned to AI for recognizing patterns and extracting meaningful information from large, complex datasets. In this case, AI and machine learning algorithms are tasked with analyzing the X-ray scattering patterns to identify recurring motifs and trends that might elude human observers.

Unsupervised machine learning algorithm

A key component of this new approach is the use of an unsupervised machine learning algorithm. Unlike supervised learning, which requires human-labeled training data, unsupervised algorithms can discover patterns and structures in data without prior guidance. This makes them particularly well-suited for exploring complex scientific datasets where the underlying patterns may not be known in advance.

Horwath highlights the power of this approach, stating, “The goal of the AI is just to treat the scattering patterns as regular images or pictures and digest them to figure out what are the repeating patterns. The AI is a pattern recognition expert.” This ability to recognize and categorize patterns without human intervention allows for a more comprehensive and unbiased analysis of material behavior.

The AI-NERD Project

The heart of this innovative approach lies in a project called Artificial Intelligence for Non-Equilibrium Relaxation Dynamics, or AI-NERD. Central to AI-NERD is a technique known as an autoencoder, a type of neural network specifically designed for efficient data compression and feature extraction.

The autoencoder works by transforming the original X-ray scattering image data into a compact representation, which researchers refer to as a “latent representation” or “fingerprint.” This process distills the essential characteristics of the material’s structure and behavior into a more manageable form. Importantly, the autoencoder also includes a decoder algorithm that can reconstruct the full image from this compressed representation, ensuring that no critical information is lost in the process.

Creation of material “fingerprints”

These material fingerprints serve as a kind of genetic code for the substance under study. As Horwath explains, “You can think of it like having the material’s genome, it has all the information necessary to reconstruct the entire picture.” By condensing the complex X-ray scattering data into these fingerprints, researchers can more easily compare and analyze different materials or the same material under varying conditions.

Mapping and analyzing fingerprint neighborhoods

The final step in the AI-NERD process involves creating a map of these material fingerprints. Similar fingerprints are clustered together into neighborhoods, allowing researchers to visualize relationships and patterns across different materials or states. By examining the features of these fingerprint neighborhoods, scientists can gain new insights into how materials are structured and how they evolve over time as they experience stress and relaxation.

This mapping approach provides a holistic view of material behavior, allowing researchers to identify trends and relationships that might not be apparent when looking at individual data points. It’s a powerful tool for understanding the complex dynamics of materials at the molecular level, opening up new avenues for materials science research and potential applications in various fields.

Applications and Implications

Understanding material structure and evolution

The AI-NERD approach offers unprecedented insights into how materials behave under various conditions. By analyzing the “fingerprints” created through this technique, scientists can track subtle changes in material structure over time, especially when materials are subjected to stress or allowed to relax. This detailed understanding of material evolution could lead to the development of more durable and responsive materials for a wide range of applications, from construction to electronics.

Advantages over traditional analysis methods

Traditional methods of analyzing material behavior often rely on human interpretation of complex data, which can be time-consuming and subject to bias. The AI-driven approach overcomes these limitations by rapidly processing vast amounts of data and identifying patterns that might be invisible to the human eye. As Horwath notes, “As we’re shining the X-ray beam, the patterns are so diverse and so complicated that it becomes difficult even for experts to understand what any of them mean.” By leveraging AI, researchers can uncover insights that would be practically impossible to discern through conventional means.

Potential for new discoveries in material science

The ability to “read” and interpret material fingerprints opens up exciting possibilities for new discoveries in material science. Researchers can now explore how different materials respond to various stimuli at the molecular level, potentially leading to the development of new materials with tailored properties. This could have far-reaching implications for fields such as energy storage, semiconductor technology, and biomedicine, where understanding and controlling material behavior at the nanoscale is crucial.

Future Prospects

The importance of this AI-driven approach is set to grow with the upcoming upgrade to Argonne’s Advanced Photon Source (APS). The improved facility will generate X-ray beams 500 times brighter than the original APS, producing an enormous amount of data that will require advanced analysis techniques. Horwath emphasizes this point, stating, “The data we get from the upgraded APS will need the power of AI to sort through it.” The AI-NERD project is thus positioning itself as a critical tool for maximizing the potential of this next-generation research facility.

The development of AI-NERD has also fostered collaboration between different research groups at Argonne National Laboratory. The theory group at the Center for Nanoscale Materials (CNM) has partnered with the computational group in Argonne’s X-ray Science division to perform molecular simulations of polymer dynamics. These simulations not only complement the experimental data obtained through XPCS but also provide synthetic data for training AI workflows. 

While the current focus is on material science, the AI-driven approach developed through AI-NERD has the potential to impact a wide range of scientific fields. Any discipline that deals with complex, time-evolving systems could benefit from this technique. For instance, it could be applied to study biological processes, environmental systems, or even astrophysical phenomena. The ability to extract meaningful patterns from vast amounts of data is a universal need in modern science, making this approach potentially transformative across multiple disciplines.

The Bottom Line

The innovative combination of X-ray photon correlation spectroscopy, artificial intelligence, and machine learning represents a significant leap forward in our ability to understand and manipulate materials at the molecular level. By creating and analyzing material “fingerprints,” researchers can now uncover previously hidden dynamics and relationships, potentially revolutionizing fields from energy storage to biomedicine. As this technology continues to evolve, particularly in conjunction with advanced facilities like the upgraded APS, it promises to accelerate the pace of scientific discovery and open new frontiers in material science research.

[vintagevixyxol]

The old language: the alphabet and some patterns

from the books Dark Rise by C.S.Pacat

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The old world holds many attractions for the readers: its mysterious history, culture, characters and language. There are inscriptions and phrases in old language in the books. At first glance, they look scary and inexplicable. Nevertheless, at second glance, the language opens up. In this analysis, I hope to show that the old language is amazing and share the delight I had researching it.

First of all, disclaimer. I am not a true linguist and, moreover, not Kettering, but a person who loves to find out patterns and tries to explain them. This article is just my theory, hypothesis and my point of view. It can be different from the canon.

There were phrases in the old language and their translations in the first edition of the Dark Rise. They inspired me to reconstruct the old language alphabet and to start my research. The inscriptions in the Dark Heir, the second book, proved the alphabet to be correct.

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The alphabet

As I have already mentioned, the alphabet is based on the translations of the old language in the first edition. I will use one phrase as an example to explain a deciphering algorithm. As I have applied the same algorithm to all inscriptions, I will only mention other phrases in the old language to show the letters they contributes to the alphabet.

The phrases from the Dark Rise: Decoding the alphabet

Step 1: selecting similar letters

Here is the phrase “Rassalon the first lion”.

There are two S in “RaSSalon”; there is also S in “firSt”

Double S is between two A

The first word begins with R, and R is also present in“fiRst”

L — “Lion”

O —“liOn”

N — “lioN”

“...the First Lion”

T — in “The” and “firsT”

i — in “first” and “lion”

!(why “i” is small I am going to explain later)!

Step 2: non-repeating letters

New letters: H, e (!) and F.

Other phrases

He is coming (Dark Rise, chapter 11)

New letters: C, M, G

I cannot return when I am called to fight So I will have a child (Dark Rise, chapter 2)

New letters: U, W, D, V, I(!)

I and i are different. In my opinion, it might be because “I” is a pronoun.

Enter only those who can (Dark Rise, chapter 15)

New lettres: Y, E

E and e are different. Perhaps, it is because “E” is in the beginning of the word “Enter”.

The horn all seek and never find (Dark Rise, chapter 15)

The new letter: K

Note: The letter design in the figures is a little different from the original design due to qualities issues.

The phrases from the Dark Heir: Proving the alphabet relevance

There are also inscriptions in the Dark Heir. If I use the same strategy here, it does, here are the proofs.

The first proof

One of the inscriptions is the name Undahar. Names are not translated. All letters in Undahar match the letters of my alphabet except U. It turns out to be V in the previous inscriptions, so I will write two variants U/V because I am not sure which one is correct.

The Eclipse/Finem Solis (Dark Heir, chapter 26)

The second proof

Here is the phrase: “He is coming.”

(Dark Heir, chapter 2)

Although there is one unknown letter, we can identify it by using the similar phrase:

He is fighting — Ar ventas

He is coming — *r uentas/ventas

The new letter is A. I think this A is different from the regular A because it is the first letter of a pronoun. Pronouns start with capital letters to avoid confusion with other words that include “ar”.

The result: alphabet

Of course, I admit the possibility that not all letters comply with the original alphabet as it is in the U/V case.

Issues in deciphering

The same phrases in the old language are written differently in the Dark Rise and the Dark Heir. I do not know whether it is due to errors in the first two editions or it means something else.

He is coming, Dark Rise (chapter 11), edition 2021

He is coming, Dark Rise (chapter 11) edition 2022

He is coming, Dark Heir (chapter 2)

The past cries out, but the present cannot hear, Dark Heir (chapter 2)

Only a Steward may enter, Dark Heir (chapter 37)

Dark Rise (chapters 2, 10, 11, 15), edition 2021

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The structure of the language

There is more to the old language than the inscriptions. Here are my thoughts on the other aspects of the old language. The old language is likely to be the parent language to all languages in the books, the language from which modern languages have derived. The old language has similarities to Latin and Sanskrit, borrowings from Sindarin, Quenya and some unidentified languages.

Vocabulary

Analyzing new information, I have found patterns that helped me to identify word classes. The word classes of the old language are shown in the table below.

Data summary sheets

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Nouns and names

Most nouns end with “ar”, but there are two nouns that end with “or/er”. The pattern is pretty apparent, so I am going to discuss only the nouns that do not fit the pattern.

Aladharet and adharet

My suggestions about meanings and forms of the word “adharet” are based on this dialog:

‘He said, ‘I am not aladharet.’ <...>  ‘I cannot do magic,’ he said. ‘I have never trained with the’ – there was no other word for it – ‘adharet.’ <...> ‘I only know what I have seen, watching the adharet cast spells as I fought to protect them.’ (Dark heir, chapter 38).

There are two variants of the word: aladharet is singular and adharet is plural. Perhaps, “al” is the marker of a singular form, I would no more touch on single/plural forms because we do not have enough information.

The closest meaning from the context is a wizard /enchanter. This noun is interesting because “ar” is in the middle of the word. I think it is a verbal noun (a noun derived from a verb), such as spell – speller, enchant – enchanter.

Kishtar

According to the book, “Vara kishtar” is a shadow hound. “Kishtar” is highly likely to mean a hound or hounds. (Chapter 21)

The root “Kisht” means field, sown-field, tillage, cultivation, (at chess) check in Sanskrit. Of course, the meaning of the word in the old language is different, but it is still quite an interesting coincidence.

Similarities to Latin

There are some Latin names in the books like “Finem Solis”. Besides, some words in the old language are very similar to Latin (see the examples below).

“Callax Reigor” (The Cup of Kings) (Chapter 46)

“Callax” reminds Latin “Calix” (the Cup).

Reigor (Kings)

The root “reig” resembles the Latin root “reg” in “regio,-are”, “regium” (to rule/ royal).

Valdithar

English translation is “dauntless”, it is the name of Sancean`s horse. It has the ending “ar”, probably, because this adjective plays a role of a noun as abstract adjectives can be nouns in English. Synonyms of the “dauntless” are valorous, valiant. They derived from the Latin word “valens” – strong, powerful. This meaning of “val” seems to be suitable for Valdithar as well.

Similarities to Tolkien`s languages: Sindarin and Quenya

As some readers know, C.S.Pacat is a big fan of the J.R.Tolkien, so I decided to compare Tolkien`s languages with the old language and found out some borrowings from them. Several names look like Elvish words in which some letters are altered.

The ending “ion” is typical to Elvish.

Anharion

He is the Light’s greatest fighter who served the Sun King. That name consists of two parts: “Anar” is the Sun and “ion” is a son in Elvish. The sound “h” is pronounced with exhalation, so it might be omitted. Anharion means the son of the Sun in this case. In addition, the name was given to him by the Light side (the Sun King) and it is not his true name.

Ekthalion/thalion

Ekthalion is the Sword of the Champion.

Although “Fermaran, katara thalion” (Dark Heir, chapter 29) does not have a translation, “thalion” is a hero/a dauntless man in Sindarin. In my opinion, the coincidence is not an accident. “Thalion” is the part of the Sword`s name and the meaning seems relevant in context of the books.

Moreover, Ecthelion`s fate in the Silmarillion is quite similar to the fate of the Sword. Ecthelion slayed Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, at the cost his life. The Sword`s fate is described in the book as follows:

…As a weapon to kill the Dark King. It’s said that a great Champion of the Light rode out with it to fight him <…> but could do no more than draw a single drop of the Dark King’s blood. That’s all it took to corrupt the Blade… (Dark Rise, chapter 13).

The name Ecthelion had its own evolution: its Qenya cognate was Ektelion.

Another thing

Veredun

One of the characters mentioned this name in the following dialog:

‘This isn’t my first time at sea.’ Visander <…>. ‘Atlantic? Pacific?’ ‘The Veredun,’ said Visander. He looked out at the night expanse of black water. This did not feel like the Veredun, or like any sea he had known (Dark Heir, chapter 34).

Names are not translated, but I wanted to know more about this old world sea/ocean. There is no word which is exactly the same in any language relevant to my research, but there are analogs to its parts.

Vere/verus is “truth” in Latin

Dun is “dark/deep/gray/gloomy” in English

Dun is “West” in Sindarin

My translation is “The deep truth” or “The dark truth” or “The West truth”, but I do not pretend to know the truth.

Verbs

All verbs that we know end with “as”.

Aragas

Aragas means “open” in the old language. I have not found any Latin roots. However, separate parts of this word exist in Sindarin: “ara” is “royal” and “gas” means a hole/gap/opening. Aragas is used for opening gates that connected the Kingdoms, for opening the oubliette under the Sun King`s throne and in the metaphor of opening the door of the Dark King`s magic­. All these cases are associated with something “royal” and “opening”. I might have gone a bit too far here and read too much into it.

Ar ventas

Ar ventas – He is fighting (The translation from the text, Dark Heir, chapters 27, 29)

Ar uentas/ventas – He is coming (The translation of the inscription, Dark Heir, chapter 2)

There is a possibility that these verbs are borrowed from Latin. The root of the word “uent” is the same as in the Latin verb “uenio/venio” (to come). Thus the ending “as” indicates a tense and a person (is coming). My guess is that V and U are interchangeable in Latin. Therefore, “ventas” means “is coming” and “is fighting” at the same time. I think “uentas” is right, because U turns into V.

Vala!

One of the characters used this word in the following dialog:

With a tug of her horse’s mane, she [Visander] said something that sounded like Vala!, and they burst out of the stable doors (Dark Heir, chapter 21).

I think it is the command “walk/run” for a horse and the verb could be in the imperative mood. In my opinion, there is a parallel to Latin. Singular imperatives are formed by removing the ending “re” from verb roots, for example, monstra̅re (to show) – monstra (show). Nevertheless, “Vala!” could be another command, e.g. “gallop/forward/ahead”.

Adjectives

I think the ending “ra” indicates adjectives. Valdithar looks like an exception, but I think it is not an exception because it is a noun (see the section about nouns).

Vara

The translation of “Vara kishtar” given in the books is “a shadow hound” (Dark Heir, chapter 21).

It also means “soiled” and “dirty” in Quenya. As far as we know, “Vara kishtar” is a creature of the Dark side, and all shadow creatures could be “soiled” in the Light side`s opinion. By the way, there is the Sanskrit word “vara” that means “the best, excellent, the eldest”. The meaning is opposite to the meaning in the old language, but the Dark side could use the word differently.

Katara

“Fermaran, katara thalion”(Dark Heir, chapter 29).

Katara ought to be an adjective because it ends with “ra” and because of its position in the sentence (before a noun). The text does not give a translation, so I decided to consult dictionaries.

Latin and both Elvish languages did not help, but Sanskrit has the adjective “katara”. It has several meanings:

Which (of the two)

Mean, poor, miserable

Timid, shy/cowardly, cowardly/fearful

I have never mentioned Greek before, but it also contains “katara”, but as a noun: κατάρα is a curse or a calamity/disaster.

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Other observations

I noticed other patterns as well, but I need more examples to confirm them.

Structure of sentences

Like in English, a subject goes before a predicate:

Ar ventas – He is fighting

Ar uentas – He is coming

An adjective precedes a noun:

Vara kishtar – a shadow hound

Katara thalion – a shy hero (?)

My own hypothesis

Old language adjectives agree with nouns in gender, case and number.

There is evidence that verbs conjugate and have different tenses. So far I managed to identify only one verb form (continuous, third person, singular). I suppose that the inscriptions contain other verbs as English translations provide other verb forms including modal verbs, various tenses and person.

The reconstructed translation

Only one phrase from the Dark Heir has no translation: “Fermaran, katara thalion” (Dark Heir, chapter 29). We know the hypothetical meanings of the words from the analysis, so the translation might be reconstructed.

Fermaran

Ar ventas fermaran (Chapter 27)

Ar ventas, fermaran (Chapter 29)

In this case, “fermaran" is not used to address someone because there is a variant without a comma. Catalan has the verb “fermar”. It means “to stop”. The form “fermaran” is “they will stop” in indicative future, plural, third.

The reconstructed phrase goes as: “They will stop, mean/timid/poor hero”. It can fit in the context but it is still pretty questionable.

Inscriptions

Unfortunately, I have not achieved my goal to identify words in the inscriptions from the Dark Heir. As I mentioned there is not enough data. For example, the words we know from the translations such as the adverb “only”, the negation “cannot”, the modal verb “may” and the English phrase verb “cries out” remain unidentified. These inscriptions are still the Phaistos disc:

The past cries out, but the present cannot hear (Dark heir, chapter 2)

Only a Steward may enter (Dark heir, chapter 37)

Dark Rise paper editions 2021-2022

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The conclusion

Roots of the old language lie in Latin, Sanscrit, Sindarin/Quenya and, perhaps, something else. Four Kingdoms, four language families: Latin for the Sun/Undahar, Sanskrit for the Serpent or the home of the Lions, Elvish or unknown one for the Tower or the Rose.

I hope the third book will provide new data that will allow me to decode all inscriptions and get more profound understanding of the old language. Meanwhile, I am going to entertain myself with guesses, theories and attempts to decode the inscriptions.

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Acknowledgements

I would like to express my thanks to my aunt for being my editor, for all help and discussions about the old language, to my sister for all figures and to my friends from Undahar for the support and help! Thank you all very much!

All information is from the Dark Rise, the Dark Heir and dictionaries: Latin, Sanskrit, Sindarin and Quenya.

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The article also was written for the C.S.Pacat fanbook "Undahar" made by people from the discord server Undahar.

Please, ask about permission and credit me if you want to share the analysis.

[the-most-humble-blog]

The Brain’s Magic: How Your Mind Reads the ᵾᶰᴿᵋᴬᵭᵃᴮʟᵋ͟͟͞

Can You Still Call Yourself Human If You’re This F☰☰king Amazing?

Our brains are incredible biological machines that can decode the undecodable, make sense of chaos, and turn gibberish into understanding. You’ve probably seen those memes or tests where the letters in a sentence are jumbled, replaced with symbols, or entirely flipped. And yet, somehow, your mind calmly steps in and says, “I got this,” assembling the scrambled mess into meaning.

Why? Because your brain isn’t just functional—it’s damn near magical. But let’s get into the messy, hilarious, and downright extraordinary ways your brain proves every day why the universe needs you.

1. Your Brain, the Overachiever

First off, let’s acknowledge the absurdity of what your brain can do. You’re sitting there, possibly sleep-deprived, scrolling through social media while multitasking a mental to-do list. And yet, you see a sentence like this:

“Y0uR Br@!n 5T!lL r3c0gN!z3s p@77ern5 & m@k35 it m3@ningful.”

… and you just get it. You don’t need a translation guide. Your brain leaps over logic like a gymnast and lands perfectly on comprehension.

Reality is a stand-up comedian:

Your brain: a quantum computer that can decode unreadable text. Also your brain: forgets why you walked into the kitchen.

The same organ that turns chaos into understanding also Googles “symptoms of mild death” every time you get a headache.

2. Pattern Recognition: The Mind’s Hidden Flex

Here’s where things get spooky. Your brain isn’t just reading symbols—it’s recognizing patterns, filling gaps, and using context to solve puzzles in milliseconds. This isn’t something you learned; it’s baked into your DNA.

Fun Fact:

Studies show that 93% of adults can read a sentence where the first and last letters of every word are correct, but everything in between is scrambled. Your brain doesn’t even flinch.

Let’s put this into perspective: Computers need programmers, algorithms, and updates to achieve half the things your brain does on autopilot. Meanwhile, your mind’s out here solving puzzles like Sherlock Holmes at 3 AM with no coffee.

Your brain is that one friend who doesn’t study for the test but still scores higher than everyone else. Smug, but you love it anyway.

3. The Ultimate Biological Quantum Computer

Your brain isn’t just smart—it’s a show-off.

Neurons: You’ve got about 86 billion of them, and they’re firing off messages at speeds of up to 268 miles per hour. Faster than your Wi-Fi, honestly.

Processing Power: Your brain can handle around 10 quadrillion calculations per second. That’s the equivalent of a supercomputer with a personality (and occasional existential dread).

But here’s the kicker: your brain isn’t just processing facts—it’s synthesizing them into experiences. It’s why you can laugh at memes, cry during Toy Story 3, and somehow still navigate rush-hour traffic without committing vehicular manslaughter.

4. Can Machines Compete? Not a Chance

Artificial intelligence? Cute. Sure, machines can replicate some human functions, but your brain operates on a level AI can only dream of.

AI struggles with context. You? You can figure out when someone’s being sarcastic just by their tone.

Machines need explicit instructions. Your brain? It casually interprets nonsense like,“C@n u 3v3n r34d th!s?” …without breaking a sweat.

Imagine a robot trying to figure out your drunk texts. “Dinnrs @ 9, bt wtf hapen 2 keys?” Your brain decodes that in half a second. AI would implode.

5. Why This Matters: You’re Not an Accident

Let’s get serious for a second. Your ability to read scrambled text, pick up on patterns, and make sense of the seemingly senseless isn’t just a party trick. It’s evidence of how extraordinary you are.

Consider This: Your consciousness isn’t some random byproduct of biology. It’s a vital thread in the infinite web of existence. Every time you recognize patterns, connect ideas, or laugh at a well-timed meme, you’re proving that you’re not just surviving—you’re thriving.

ᵀ͡ʰᵉ ⱻ̷ᶰᴵᵛᴱʳˢᵉ ⱻ͜ᵉᵉᴅˢ ᵞᵒᵘ̷!

ᵞᴱˢ, ⱻ͞ᵐ ᵀʟᴋᴵⱭᴺᴳ ᴛᴼ ⱻⱭᴜ͡.!

You are a living, breathing node in the infinite network of reality. Even if you’ve doubted yourself in the past, even if the world tries to convince you that you’re ordinary, remember this:

Your mind isn’t just a tool—it’s proof that the universe is capable of creating something extraordinary. And every time you use it, you reaffirm your place in the fabric of existence.

Sure, your brain is powerful. But let’s not forget it’s also the same brain that makes you forget passwords and cry over fictional characters. Nobody’s perfect, but at least you're human, and that's close enough.

Love truth bombs like this? Follow The Most Humble Blog for more takes that roast nonsense and remind you why the universe can’t function without you.

[averycutesalamander]

i just wanna add to ur smau that boothill maybe leaves hate comments on ipc posts???? bc official hsr on hoyolab posted a pic about jade's timeline and there is an ipc ad featuring jade, under which boothill commented "Oh fudgin' wubbaboo, why's the algorithm recommending this to me! Fudge you!" idk what he's exactly like in ur smau but thought this is a fun fact to share :)

THAT IS SO FUNNY AVAVDBBASBDB ??? I HAD NO IDEA I NEED TO HUNT THAT DOWN

i honestly imagine that he doesn't really look at other people's posts much at all (obviously this is made suspect by in-game events but hear me out.) maybe he occasionally scrolls his front page if he's extremely bored in a circumstance where he can't practice shooting?

buuuuut he could totally see an IPC-sponsored post when he opens the app to post something new and he completely blows a gasket about it. he leaves a comment on it with a million different censored swears. someone screenshots it and the silvergun fandom once again loses their mind because there's absolutely no record of him ever commenting before that's known to fans.

a week later he comments on a post of Jade on some luxury starship and all he says is "💥💥💥" and naturally the theorycrafting quadruples. is this a threat?? a diversion?? some extremely weird flirting tactic??? everybody gets their answer an hour later when the starship fucking EXPLODES. Jade doesn't die but a literal shipload of IPC higher-ups couldn't get out in time. IPC shills start a movement to cancel him ("#NotAllEmployees !!! many IPC members are very charitable and kind and fair as long as you ignore the war crimes and the slavery and the "unconfirmed" political assassinations and the--") but 99% of the people posting under that tag are people making fun of the whole thing. the moderators ban the tag and issue takedowns for a ton of mocking posts for "misinformation." all of the mods are accused of being IPC sellouts.

he gets banned again and his next returning post is the first full-body photo he's ever uploaded. he's holding a MASSIVE classified (well. now declassified) IPC weapon in one hand and making a thumbs-up with the other. he's holding the fucking thing like a fish and grinning like a moron. 2 minutes later he posts a picture of the entire thing shattered to pieces. it kind of looks like it has bites taken out of it. suspiciously human-sized bites, in fact.

the new account gets banned in like 10 minutes flat but that was enough time for the pictures to be re-uploaded a million times. the silvergun fandom has an unprecedented resurgence because a fuckload of people start making edits and art and shit. RPF is made about him. horny RPF is made about him. inexplicable enemies-to-lovers RPF is made about him and Jade. he actually appears in the comments of one of those fics and leaves a death threat. the silvergun fandom enters a golden age of thirst. his comments and DMs are flooded with people giving him tips and info about potential next targets, many of which are fake but some of which are genuine. the branch of the IPC responsible for media control is frantically scrambling to get a hold on this insane phenomenon but no matter how many times they ban him he keeps fucking coming back. determining which one of the "silvergun#####" accounts is legitimate at any given time becomes an olympic sport.

and he just keeps posting nature pics like none of that shit ever happened. decoders lose their fucking minds trying to figure out the "secret messages" in all of his uploads. one of the most popular decoding accounts gets outed as being an IPC employee. he posts a video of a fish in a creek and everybody becomes convinced that he's signaling that he's going to visit an ocean planet. he doesn't. a gargantuan amount of shitty bigfoot-esque hoaxes pop up of people "seeing him" in various impossible places where the photos are conveniently blurry. the IPC wastes a truly insane amount of money trying to figure out if any of them are legitimate. the singular legit post completely flops because they had zero followers and used the wrong tag. boothill comments on it with "🤫😉" and literally no one believes that it's one of his real accounts except the original poster.