#Free tools for file conversion

[tarachamplain]

simple JPG to GIF converter

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[goofygubegubler]

𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒃𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅

Spencer throws out a comment so uncharacteristically bold that even Morgan is speechless.

wc: 768 | F!Reader (established relationship) | cw: VERY suggestive

A/N: I’m honestly blown away by all the love on my first fic—thank you so much! I’ve got more in the works, including blurbs and maybe even a few one-shots. My asks are open, so feel free to send requests or just chat! Hope you enjoy this one—it's short and oh so sweet <3

Your desk was a mess—files spread out, coffee half-drunk, and a notepad filled with half-legible scribbles. Across from you, Spencer was deep in his own pile of paperwork, meticulously writing everything out by hand, as usual. Despite having access to every digital tool imaginable, he still swore by pen and paper, claiming it helped him retain information better. It was kinda endearing, in a stubborn, old-man way.

You were in the middle of reviewing a case file, flipping through pages while absentmindedly tapping your pen against your desk, when you heard Morgan stroll over to Spencer’s desk.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Morgan said, dropping his coffee onto Spencer's desk with a thud. “You mean to tell me you, the guy who once used the word ‘cloacal kiss’ in casual conversation, has nothing to say about his own mating habits?”

Your fingers hovered over your mouse as you scrolled through your playlist on your monitor, hesitating between switching to something instrumental or letting the indie rock keep playing. Oh boy. Here we go.

Spencer barely looked up, flipping a page in his file. “Because, unlike you, I don’t feel the need to turn my personal life into locker room talk.”

Morgan grinned. "I’m just saying, man, if all that reading has you treating sex like a final exam, I got some study guides for you."

Spencer finally lifted his head, blinking at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “Morgan, your definition of 'expertise' is having a lot of experience. Mine is actually understanding the mechanics of what you’re talking about.”

Morgan scoffed. “That’s not even—listen, Savannah and I are solid, okay? And I’m just saying, for a guy who overexplains everything, you sure get real quiet about this topic.”

Spencer gave him a flat look, putting his pen down. "Morgan, sex isn’t complicated. It’s just applied physics with a little bit of chemistry—and if done correctly, some very impressive biology."

JJ, who had apparently been listening in, snorted. "That might be the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said—and that’s saying something."

Morgan threw up his hands. "See? This is what I’m talking about! The man could turn seduction into a science fair project."

Morgan pointed at Spencer, then at you, then back at Spencer, clearly trying to form a comeback. Before he could, Spencer sighed and said, "Morgan, what do you want me to say? Yes, I have sex. Yes, I enjoy it. No, I’m not about to give you a play-by-play."

Morgan opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, searching for something—anything—that wouldn't result in him taking yet another loss. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, grabbed his coffee, and pointed a finger at Spencer. "We're not done."

Spencer just smiled, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Morgan, I hate to break it to you, but we were done the moment you started this conversation."

You were still working, or at least making a half-hearted attempt at it, but you weren’t exactly subtle. Your grip on the pen had tightened, your page-flipping slowed, and the barely-contained smirk on your face was giving you away completely. Spencer noticed—of course, he did. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, and the way his lips curled just slightly told you he knew you were listening.

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Don’t act like you didn’t hear that."

You huffed, shaking your head as you clicked play on your music.

The first few soft notes of "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter filtered through your headphones.

But your mind was already elsewhere—lingering on the way Spencer had leaned back so casually, how he hadn’t hesitated once, how damn sure of himself he had been. You bit your lip, heat crawling up your spine. You liked the way he’d said it—like he knew exactly what effect he had on you, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Like he enjoyed it. Like he was claiming something, not just stating a fact. And that was the part that really got to you. You liked being seen, being wanted, being talked about like you were something worth studying, something worth knowing inside and out.

But you were at work. And work meant focus, control, and professionalism. You exhaled, straightening in your chair and forcing your attention back to the case file in front of you. Even as you tried to push it aside, the heat still curled in your stomach, his voice replaying in your head like a song you couldn’t shake.

And then, as if on cue, Sabrina Carpenter’s voice cut through the moment:

 "Sorry if you feel objectified."

[uttarakhand-hub]

new latest jpg to pdf converter

JPG को तुरंत पीडीएफ में बदलने के लिए इन उपकरणों का उपयोग करें use these tools to convert jpg  जेपीजी को पीडीएफ प्रारूप में बदलने के ��ीछे अलग-अलग कारण हैं, खासकर जब आपको गुणवत्ता हानि के बिना एक साथ कई छवियां साझा करने की आवश्यकता होती है। इसके अलावा, यदि आप अपनी फाइलों को पीडीएफ जैसे कुछ गोपनीय प्रारूपों के साथ सुरक्षित रखना चाहते हैं। इससे कोई फर्क नहीं पड़ता कि छवियों को पीडीएफ में बदलने का…

[rheya28]

Red Mirage Nightclub ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

Welcome to Mirage, the hottest nightclub in Oasis Springs! As you step inside, you're greeted by a sultry sea of crimson lights that pulse to the rhythm of the music. Red Mirage features a dance floor that is alive with energy and seductive scarlet glow as well as plush lounge areas that offer a retreat for intimate conversations.

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

●Ok so I meant to do a different theme for this lot but ended up creating a club similar to club tropics since I thought it would fit oasis spring vibes lol I guess you can call this club tropics 2.0. ●This club includes karaoke rooms so you can set this to a karaoke bar if you'd like

➽ Important Notes:

●Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽ Lot Details

Lot Name: Red Mirage Nightclub Lot type: Nightclub Lot size: 30 x 20 Location: Oasis Spring

➽ MODS

● Tool Mod by Twisted Mexi

➽ CC List

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, Tuds, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, Peacemaker, kiwisim4. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading ! House of Harlix ● Bafroom ● Harluxe CharlyPancakes ● Slouch Felixandre ● Chateau pt [2] ● Colonial pt [3] ● Grove pt [4] ● Kyoto pt [2] ● Paris pt [3] ● Florence pt [4] ● Soho TheClutterCat ● Baby Boo (Donut Table) ● Sunny Sundae Harrie ● Brutalist ● Kleen pt [2][3] ● Kwatei pt [1][2] ● Octave pt [2] ● Shop the look pt [1][2] ● Jardane ● Livin Rum ● Orjanic Mycupofcc ● The Modernist Helen May ● Modern Set Joyceisfox ● Forever Autum pt [1] Kiwisim4 ● Block house Dining Little Dica ● Countryside Cabin ● Rise and Grind Myshunosun ● Tranquil bedroom [office chair] Peacemaker ● Hudson Bathroom ● Terra Tiles Vertical ● Vera Office [Desktop pc] Pierisim ● David Apartment pt [1] ● Domain du clos pt [1] ● MCM pt [3] ● Oak house pt [3] ● Unfold ● Winter Garden pt [1] [2] Max 20 ● Poolside Lounge pack * Ravasheen ● Shake and Simmy Dance Floor ● Uplifting Elevator Rusticsim ● Simple kind of modular life Sixam ● Hotel Bedroom ● Teen Room Syboulette ● Flavie Bar ● Karaoke Taurus Design ● Lilith Chilling Area Tuds ● Crib ● Wave ● Zalz

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__

[lindasims2]

FREE COLLECTION "Heart Hair Saloon"

I made my own version of the set conversion. The first to make @evilmascotsblog here / original sims4 PixelVibes I received the author's set and made new conversions on my own. Polygons are reduced as much as possible. Textures are no larger than 1024x1024 ( @evilmascotsblog please, those who make conversions, do not upload 2048 textures, it clutters up the game).

Functional stylist chair 5k poly Sink Chair (just a chair) 8k poly Рair dryer 6k poly Tool Cart +slot 6k poly Wall decor 9k poly Regular chair 1k poly Only 512x512 and 1024x1024 texture +GameCollectionFolder +Compressorizer file (texture files are compressed for faster game loading) The archive includes images for easy searching and deletion of unnecessary content.

FREE DOWNLOADS collection

[auroraeternal]

4t3 Conversion of Grouped posters by @cosmiccs4 + Recoloring PSD with tutorial

8 non-recolorable presets

1024 textures

Included PSD for retexturing (tutorial how to use under the cut)

113 poly, all LODs

Shiftable

Price - 5§

BGC

Compressed package

TOU, Ko-Fi

DOWNLOAD | ALT | SIMBLR.CC

Tutorial: How to use my PSD for retexturing

You need:

Photoshop with .dds plugin

My retexture PSD and package file of posters

19 pictures to your liking, preferably vertical

TSRW

Sims3Pack Multi Installer and Compressionizer

Step 1: Open my PSD file, open your images:

Step 2: Select (Ctrl+A) copy and paste to posters file (Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V) first of your images :

Step 3: Choose where you want to put it, for reference you can use one of the presets:

Step 4: After you decided with placement of your image. Move its layer in the Layers tab between "Poster x" and "Put your image here" layers, it will create a clipping mask, which allows the picture to be fit within the poster without cropping. Hide or delete "Put your image here" layer.

Step 5: Use Transform, Free Transform and Move tools to resize the image by your liking:

Step 6: Repeat the Step 2-5 with other 18 images:

*vibes are totally random, all images from Pinterest*

Step 7: After you've done, delete all the "Put your image here" layers, if you didn't it before. Right-click on the Layers tab and press Merge Visible (Shift + Ctrl + E). Now press Save As (Control + Shift + S) and save your image as .DDS with this parameters (2nd picture):

Step 8: Go to TSRW. Press Create New Project > New Import, and select package with my posters. Give for your recolor unique Title and Project name, otherwise it will override original posters:

Step 9: In Textures tab go through all the presets except the first one and delete them. Then go to Edit > Project Contents and remove all the textures of removed presets. Its pretty common when someone make retexture of TS3 mesh and leave that unused textures in file, which leads to increasing its size:

Step 10: Press Edit button next to the Overlay tab. Then press Import button and select your retexture. Press Done and when this pop-up appears, press Yes:

Step 11: If you want to add more presets press Duplicate and reapeat Step 10, but instead, when pop-up about replacing the texture appears, press No.

Step 12: After you've done, press File > Export > To Sims3pack or Edit > Project Contents > Export > To .package. If you choose the first method, convert your Sims3pack to Package and in both cases run it through Compressionizer. Test your recolor In-game, make thumbnails (if you want to share it) and have fun!

For those who read this tutorial to the end, click HERE to download this recolor.

@pis3update @xto3conversionsfinds @wanderingsimsfinds @kpccfinds @simfluencer-network @sssvitlanz @simblrcc-site

[ghostbeam]

1.3k words Bakugou Katsuki x reader, aged up characters, Bakugou is an art student, a little angsty, he’s kind of a huge asshole in this at some point but he’s kind of just trying to get under reader’s skin, I’m so out of practice in writing him I hope it’s okay, set in the same universe as my charcoal artist!Dabi and oil painter!Tomura, sorry if this sucks and is pretentious

Bakugou’s studio is impeccable. 

Everything has a place. His tools are all lined up, hammers and chisels and rasps all hanging from nails stuck into a large board on a wall. Beneath them are three tool carts filled with various electric saws and files, all placed meticulously. Besides that is a hand truck, you assume for moving the bigger sculptures he works on. He has one corner of the room reserved for all of his statues and uncarved stones, the largest ones pushed towards the back. The smallest stones and sculptures sit on tables near by, all set��what you have to guess—an inch apart from one another. There’s a standing desk with shelves of art books and comics beneath it. The entire middle of the room is covered in a tarp that looks immaculate, like he’s never worked a day in his life on top of it, though you know that’s not true judging from the half finished giant stone sitting atop of the clean tarp, tools sitting on the last step of the stool he’s using to reach the top of the sculpture. It’s draws your eyes immediately upon walking in—the stone that looks as though something is crawling from inside of it. 

The last wall is covered in brown sketching paper, three rolls of it mounted on one side so that it can be stretched across the entirety of the wall. The paper is filled with a multitude of sketches and scribbles, notes scrawled across that you can barely read due to the obvious urgency they were written with. 

Being inside of his studio feels personal—intimate—like you’re taking a peak inside of his brain, but Bakugou doesn’t seem to mind. Tearing your eyes away from the giant in the middle of the room, you watch him bring an extra stool to the table he’s cleared for the two of you to work on. 

The project is simple. You’re both meant to agree on one artist with an emphasis on a single medium of theirs. Both a seven slide powerpoint and a six page essay are due about the topic. Bakugou was assigned to be you’re partner. Despite his obvious bad attitude and the constant frown he wears, he was surprisingly open to working with you. You let him pick the artist, but he wouldn’t let you leave without choosing the medium. So even though your interest in your major is slowly deteriorating, you chose the first one that came to mind. 

So now you sit in Bakugou’s studio (brain, heart, soul), listening to him as he explains the importance of your artist during their time period, eyes flickering between the text in your book and the stone in the middle of the room. 

“Stop.” Bakugou’s voice snaps you out of the trance you’re in, swiveling your stool between the textbook in front of you and the stone to your right. You feel his hand come down on your knee, pausing your movements so that you’re facing him. 

“Huh?” You ask, eyeing the size of his hand on your leg. 

“Moving back and forth like that. It’s distracting.” Distracting. If only he knew how distracting his giant stone with the person/monster/angel crawling up out of it has been for you. 

“What is it?” You ask him, spinning your stool again so that you’re facing the unfinished sculpture. His hand slips from your knee. 

He glances at it for a moment before shrugging, “I dunno yet.”

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Exactly what I said.” He sighs, already annoyed with the conversation. “I don’t know what it is yet. I have to keep going until I—”

“Free it.” You interrupt, eyes still on the stone. “Until you free whatever’s inside, right.”

He’s quiet for a moment, head turned towards you as you observe his statue. You see him nod out the corner of your eye. “Yeah. I have to free it.”

When you look back at him, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. Gone is the permanent frown across his lips, the harsh line between his eyebrows. You think maybe its curiosity, maybe suspicion. 

What it really is, though, is that Bakugou is suddenly struck with the feeling of being understood. And he didn’t have to tell you a thing. One look at his rocks and you saw it. He’s not sure how to feel.

“I used to feel like that.” You tell him. His frown returns. You recognize that feeling, like something deep inside is screaming to get out, that feeling that you have to set it free or it’ll die inside of you. You used to feel that way every time you pushed your brush into a blank canvas. 

“But you don’t anymore.” He gathers. There’s a harshness to his voice, almost angry, but not angry at you—angry for you. 

“I think I lost it. I think art school sucked the life out of me.” Whatever spark you had died inside of you like you always worried it would. 

“That’s bullshit.” He tells you. He stands from his stool and pulls you up with him. He drags you to the giant stone in the middle of the room, and up close you can see the cross hatching he’s done to it at the top where the limbs seem to start. “You can’t keep your eyes off of this. It’s making you feel something.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything anymore. You’re just talented.” You shrug.

“I know I’m talented.” He scoffs. “That’s not what you care about. You care that she gets out. You care that I turn this cold, unforgiving piece of solid fucking rock into something beautiful.”

“Or horrifying.” 

“It’s not gonna be horrifying.” He speaks, his lips close to your ear as he keeps you turned toward the stone. 

“You said you don’t know until it’s done.” You shiver.

“No, you said that.”

“You didn’t disagree.”

“Stop fucking—” He sighs loudly from behind you. “Yes, freeing it is a part of it. But I already know what it becomes. I knew the moment I hauled that fucking stone into this room. And you know it too.”

You don’t think you do, but Bakugou says this to you with such conviction, you think you believe him. You turn around, breaking yourself from the hypnosis the rock has put you under. 

“I thought it was weird that you didn’t jump at the chance to choose our artist. I had to practically force you to choose the medium. Maybe art school sucked the life out of you, but you let it.” The truth is harsh, makes you flinch away from him, but his hand reaches out for your wrist to bring you back. 

“You don’t have to be so fucking mean.” You wrench your wrist from his grip. 

“You think this is mean?” He spits. “You paint, and you sketch, and if you fuck up, you paint over it or you erase it. If you fuck up with this—” his palm slams against the stone in a loud thud next to your head. “—that’s it. It doesn’t forgive you.”

“So what? I’m some kind of lesser artist cause I don’t chip off pieces of stone? Fuck you.” You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“No, you’re a lesser artist because you gave up.” He takes another step forward, his nose just inches from your own. “Whenever you wanna resurrect whatever the fuck died inside of you, you know where to find me.”

He’s off of you in a second, halfway across the room by the time you catch your breath. Squaring your shoulders, you march your way toward him. You hate that he’s right, even if only a little bit. His sculpture did make you feel something. They all did. You haven’t felt that excitement in such a long time, or that jealous pit in your stomach you used to get whenever someone was so good at something it made you want to be better. You envy him. How could a place that slowly ruined you build and mold a man like him?

“I didn’t give up.” You seethe. He turns towards you, towering over you with that same frown on his face, but his eyes have that familiar look in them from when you spoke about his giant.

“Prove it.”

[ameliathornromance]

Cage Fighter! Orc x Reader - Prolouge

A/N: Here it is! I've decided to kind of start the story backwards, from the very beginning of all of this 'going on the run' stuff. If there's any feedback you want to give on how you'd like to see the story go, please comment and I'll consider it when writing the next part. Enjoy the prolouge!

TWs: Orc loses a tooth, mention of drugs and an illegal cage fighting ring and violence.

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

The room you’d been given as a nurses office was grimy. The walls were spattered with black mould, the examiners table in the corner of the room had chunks of it’s mattress missing, exposing the yellowing sponge, which otherwise would have been clad in the same black faux plastic lining that was held together with duct tape.

You had done your best to sterilise the tools you’d been given, soaking them in alcohol, spraying them with other cleaning supplies and – for good measure – bleach.

Given how dirty the office was you’d been given, you doubted that your efforts to sustain a clean environment would do much. But something, was better than nothing.

Outside of your office, the muffled cheers of the ongoing cage match went on, accompanied with the occasional crack of bones breaking or hard slap of skin on skin as the two fighters collided in battle.

Sometimes, you wanted to cover your ears, sink into your imagination, pretend you were back in your residency, where everything was fine and well… Well, as ‘fine and well’ as it could be. You would try to imagine the clean and sterile office you shared with your fellow students, and their white coats, clean of any kind of bodily fluid, showing off their naïvety to the field of medicine.

But the harsh reality of your situation always came back to you, when the door leading out to the cage would be thumped on and in would stumble this evenings fighter.

Tonight, you were in charge of taking care of the Event organisers favourite toy: Big Money.

From what you knew – being given a file of medical information about the Orc – he was 6’3, was over 201 pounds of muscle and could throw what the Event Organisers so lovingly and excitedly called, ‘the Death Punch.’

That was detailed in the notes of the file. The rest of the medical information was pretty standard, he was aged 28, didn’t smoke, but drank quite heavily, wasn’t sexually active and had no known allergies or conditions.

And, as if hearing your thoughts, a hard thump came from the other side of your door.

You opened it and stepped aside to allow the Orc to enter. Unlike most other combatants, he came in steadily, as if he’d never been in a fight in the first place.

Without so much as a greeting, he sat on the table and looked at you expectantly. Grabbing your tools, you got to work.

There was no point in trying to talk to him. Ninety percent of the time, these fighters were too out of their minds on adrenaline or some kind of other substance to hold a proper conversation and could only answer your basic medical questions.

First, you examined his face.

While beat up, and slowly turning black and blue in certain places, there didn’t seem to be anything too damaged. The tell tale signs of broken bones were absent, as well as anything that would signal lasting damage.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” You asked him. Holding up three fingers, the Orc grunted. “Three fingers.”

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[mariacallous]

He’s not a famous name in the wider world, but copyright lawyer Mark Lemley is equal parts revered and feared within certain tech circles. TechDirt recently described him as a “Lebron James/Michael Jordan”-level legal thinker. A professor at Stanford, counsel at an IP-focused law firm in the Bay Area, and one of the 10 most-cited legal scholars of all time, Lemley is exactly the kind of person Silicon Valley heavyweights want on their side. Meta, however, has officially lost him.

Earlier this month, Lemley announced he was no longer going to defend the tech giant in Kadrey v. Meta, a lawsuit filed by a group of authors who allege the tech giant violated copyright law by training its AI tools on their books without their permission. The fact that he quit is a big deal. I wondered if it had something to do with how the case was going—but then I checked social media.

Lemley said on LinkedIn and Bluesky that he still believes Meta should win the lawsuit, and he wasn’t bowing out because of the merits of the case. Instead, he’d “fired” Meta because of what he characterized as the company and its CEO Mark Zuckerberg’s “descent into toxic masculinity and Neo-Nazi madness.” The move came on the heels of major policy shifts at Meta, including changes to its hateful conduct rules that now allow users to call gay and trans people “mentally ill.”

In a phone conversation, Lemley explained what motivated his decision to quit, and where he sees the broader legal landscape on AI and copyright going, including his suspicion that OpenAI may settle with The New York Times.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

Kate Knibbs: Could you go into more detail about how you arrived at your decision to quit representing Meta? What was the deciding factor?

Mark Lemley: I am very troubled by the direction in which the country is going, and I am particularly troubled that a number of folks in the tech industry seem to be willing to go along with it, no matter how extreme it gets. A number of policy changes struck me as things that I would not personally want to be associated with, from the full-throated endorsement of Trump, to the systematic cutting-back on protections for LGBTQ people, to the elimination of DEI programs. All of this is a pattern, I think, that seems to be following what we saw with Elon Musk a couple of years ago. We've seen where that path leads, and it's not somewhere good. Mark Zuckerberg is, of course, free to do whatever he wants to do, but I decided that that wasn't something I wanted to be associated with.

Did Meta make an effort to keep you? Did Zuckerberg say anything to you?

I’ve not had any conversation with Mark Zuckerberg, ever. But any internal conversations that were had is something I probably should not talk about.

Especially right now, it’s apparent that Zuckerberg isn’t the only tech mogul aligning himself with Trump. As you mentioned, Elon Musk comes to mind. But there are a lot of very powerful people in Silicon Valley who are pivoting hard towards MAGA policies. Do you have a list, now, of people you’d say no to representing? How are you approaching this?

I did think Zuckerberg and Musk have been particularly egregious in their behavior. But one of the nice things about being in the position I'm in—having a full-time job teaching rather than practicing law—is that I have probably greater freedom than a lot of people to say I don't need to take that money. Do I have a list? No, absolutely not.

But if you decide that the thing to do with your brand is to associate it with moves towards fascism, that is a decision that ought to have consequences. One of the challenges that a lot of people have is they don't feel that they can speak up, because it's going to cost them personally. So I think it's all the more important for people who can bear that cost to do so.

What has the reaction been like?

When I made this as a personal decision, I decided I should say something about it on social media, both because I thought it was important to explain why I was doing it, and also to explain that it wasn't a function of anything in the case, or my views about the case. I had no idea what I was in for, in terms of the reaction. It's been quite remarkable and overwhelmingly positive. There are plenty of trolls who think I'm an idiot and a libtard. But so far, no death threats, which is a welcome improvement from the past.

Have you heard from people who might follow in your footsteps?

This struck such a nerve, and there are obviously a lot of people who feel that they don't have the power to tell Meta or anyone else to go away, or to stand up for things that they think, and that's unfortunate.

I know your position remains that Meta is still on the right in its AI copyright disputes. But are there any cases in which you think the plaintiffs have a stronger argument?

The strongest arguments are the ones where the output of a work ends up being substantially similar to a particular copyrighted input. Most of the time, when that happens, it happens by accident or because they didn't do a good enough job trying to fix the problems that lead to it. But sometimes, it might be unavoidable. Turns out, it’s hard to purge all references to Mickey Mouse from your AI dataset, for instance. If people want to try to generate a Mickey Mouse image, it's often possible to do something that looks like Mickey Mouse. So there are a set of issues that might create copyright problems, but they're mostly not the ones currently being litigated.

The one exception to that is the UMG v. Anthropic case, because at least early on, earlier versions of Anthropic would generate the song lyrics for songs in the output. That's a problem. The current status of that case is they've put safeguards in place to try to prevent that from happening, and the parties have sort of agreed that, pending the resolution of the case, those safeguards are sufficient, so they're no longer seeking a preliminary injunction.

At the end of the day, the harder question for the AI companies is not is it legal to engage in training? It’s what do you do when your AI generates output that is too similar to a particular work?

Do you expect the majority of these cases to go to trial, or do you see settlements on the horizon?

There may well be some settlements. Where I expect to see settlements is with big players who either have large swaths of content or content that's particularly valuable. The New York Times might end up with a settlement, and with a licensing deal, perhaps where OpenAI pays money to use New York Times content.

There's enough money at stake that we're probably going to get at least some judgments that set the parameters. The class-action plaintiffs, my sense is they have stars in their eyes. There are lots of class actions, and my guess is that the defendants are going to be resisting those and hoping to win on summary judgment. It's not obvious that they go to trial. The Supreme Court in the Google v. Oracle case nudged fair-use law very strongly in the direction of being resolved on summary judgment, not in front of a jury. I think the AI companies are going to try very hard to get those cases decided on summary judgment.

Why would it be better for them to win on summary judgment versus a jury verdict?

It's quicker and it's cheaper than going to trial. And AI companies are worried that they're not going to be viewed as popular, that a lot of people are going to think, Oh, you made a copy of the work that should be illegal and not dig into the details of the fair-use doctrine.

There have been lots of deals between AI companies and media outlets, content providers, and other rights holders. Most of the time, these deals appear to be more about search than foundational models, or at least that’s how it’s been described to me. In your opinion, is licensing content to be used in AI search engines—where answers are sourced by retrieval augmented generation or RAG—something that’s legally obligatory? Why are they doing it this way?

If you're using retrieval augmented generation on targeted, specific content, then your fair-use argument gets more challenging. It's much more likely that AI-generated search is going to generate text taken directly from one particular source in the output, and that's much less likely to be a fair use. I mean, it could be—but the risky area is that it’s much more likely to be competing with the original source material. If instead of directing people to a New York Times story, I give them my AI prompt that uses RAG to take the text straight out of that New York Times story, that does seem like a substitution that could harm the New York Times. Legal risk is greater for the AI company.

What do you want people to know about the generative AI copyright fights that they might not already know, or they might have been misinformed about?

The thing that I hear most often that's wrong as a technical matter is this concept that these are just plagiarism machines. All they're doing is taking my stuff and then grinding it back out in the form of text and responses. I hear a lot of artists say that, and I hear a lot of lay people say that, and it's just not right as a technical matter. You can decide if generative AI is good or bad. You can decide it's lawful or unlawful. But it really is a fundamentally new thing we have not experienced before. The fact that it needs to train on a bunch of content to understand how sentences work, how arguments work, and to understand various facts about the world doesn't mean it's just kind of copying and pasting things or creating a collage. It really is generating things that nobody could expect or predict, and it's giving us a lot of new content. I think that's important and valuable.

[teaandmilk101]

ok guys hear me out on yandere idw wavewave

Soundwave hears everything. Knows everything. No secret is kept for long on the nemisis execpt for one, Soundwave’s little crush.

Being a member of Decepticon high command allows him certian privileges, and though he’s the picture of a perfect, obedient soilder, he can’t help but do a little snooping in his free time through classifed files. And as communications officers, he simply must keep in touch with the ‘cons most important scientist. He drops by Shockwave’s labs for collecting his reserch and notes, nothing more, though he’s there and awful lot.

What’s most useful to him though is his mind reading abilities. Every seccond spent with Shockwave are precious moments to search through his processer and oh is it intresting. Shockwave has met no one like him; his processer had been torn apart and remade by shadowplay, and his total inability to feel emotion is facinating. It needs to be reserch. Studied. Obssesed over. Shock’s brainwaves have become so familiar to the con that he could find him instantly in crowd. Any slight annyoance, every want or need is instantly and quietly supplied by Soundwave and the help of his cassets, for there’s no way for Soundwave to show his love that isn’t a service.

And Shockwave is aware. He can feel lazerbeak’s eyes watching him from the vents, sending back her observations to her boss, and he’d be stupid not to notice how Soundwave lingers by the door, or how his tools have been meticulously organized and cleaned to specifications he had only noted down in his mind. The behavior is… charming. If he could still feel things he’d probably be flattered, and since the behavior was helpful, it would be logical to allow him to continue.

But Soundwaves obsession was going too far. A lab assistant who had accidentally broke a glass beaker has gone missing, and the replacement, while doing good work seems more scared than usual. Observations that once stopped when Shockwave clocked out now happened even when he went home. Shame or embarrassment he didnt care about but he did have projects he wasnet keen on sharing. Despite that, Shockwave couldent bring himself to stop the bot. This cat and mouse game they had, with Shockwaves endless mysteries and Soundwaves instance to know them all, was intresting, at least more intresting than Megtrons demands and an endless war. And Shockwave loved it too, his spark jumped when they brushed fingertips passing datapads, every short conversation music to his audials, and just being in his presence was enough to make every atrocity of the war worth it. Shockwave knew Soundwave couldent love him in the way Soundwave loved him, he knew he was little more than a tool, but he was Shockwave’s most useful asset, and theres love in being not wanted but needed. And Shockwave must love him. After giving him everything he could ever need, after disposing of every annoyance, no matter how small, and after knowing everything about the mech, he won’t be able to not love him. In his own way.

[zoeykallus]

I just woke up from a very vivid fever dream involving Tech and thought I had to capture it. So I decided to make it an X - Reader one-shot and fill in the usual Dream-gaps. If you find any mistakes, feel free to keep them, my fever is high enough to fry eggs on my ribcage, so I'm assuming some typos must have crept in. I file this under 'slightly complicated Fluff'. It might be a little silly too, after all, it was a fever dream.

Tech x Fem!Reader – One-Shot – Distractions

Warnings: Annoying Crosshair/Idiots in Love

________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some cough syrup)

You see Tech working on the Marauder outside, sit down near him on one of the many boxes of spare parts standing around him, and watch him for a while. He is fully concentrated, hasn't even noticed your presence yet, is completely in his element, in a focused tunnel, while he works. When you finally ask, "What are you doing?" Startled, he straightens up a little too quickly, bumps his head on the outer hull of the ship and rubs his head with a soft sigh. Tech finally turns to you and looks at you briefly, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose with a nimble finger. "Replace a few burnt-out parts, our last mission didn't leave the Marauder unscathed" He frowns briefly, then says before turning back to his work, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't always sneak up on me like that" You smirk and look at the back of his head, as he has turned back around when you say, "I'm not sneaking, you're just hyper-focused again" You hear him sigh softly again. As he loosens one of the charred pieces he says, "Maybe, but you could have cleared your throat" "Maybe I should put a bell on my neck," you joke amusedly. Tech comments, "That would work too, but after a while it would probably be annoying for you and those around you"

You watch him in silence for a little while, then offer, "Want me to take a look at your head?" Tech pauses for a moment and asks, "Why should you?" You roll your eyes with a smile and say, "Because it's pretty, but mostly because you hit it" He glances over his shoulder very briefly, but long enough for you to see how his cheeks have taken on a slightly rosy tint. "I'm fine," Tech waves it off, continues working, stretches out his hand and says, "Better pass me the welding blaster" You glance over the scattered tools and grab the only one that looks anything like a welding blaster. Tech doesn't complain when you pass it to him, so it must be the right one. You ask him curious questions for a while, not necessarily because you're interested in the tool, more because you want to talk to him, hoping for a conversation. You really like Tech, much more than you wanted to admit to yourself for a while. But Tech is a little... different, it's not so easy to get close to him or make small talk. For a while, he patiently answers all your questions, but from one moment to the next, his tone becomes a little more irritable.

"Do you have to ask me all these questions? I work here and would like to concentrate on my task in peace" You swallow, blink, and don't know what to say at first. Then you suddenly hear Hunter's voice next to you, "You guys all right?" "Sure," you say, forcing yourself to smile briefly and hurrying away, your heart pounding uncomfortably. It stings more than you want to admit that Tech has practically shooed you away. Some distance away, but still in sight, you sit down with your holopad on the speeder you came here with and browse aimlessly around the holonet to keep your hands busy. Tech hears Hunter sigh and turns around. When he sees that you are no longer in your seat, he frowns in surprise. He looks around and finally catches sight of you by your speeder. He blinks, thinking, he hadn't actually wanted to scare you away. Tech actually likes having you around, but you're the only person who manages to distract him, to break his concentration, which he can't handle too well. When he hears your voice, his whole mind is automatically occupied with listening to you, recognizing nuances, soaking them up like a sponge, enjoying them. However, this is a hindrance at work.

Tech senses that Hunter is looking at him and returns his gaze. The squad leader stands there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, the typical expression on his face that he always has when something interpersonal has gone over Tech's head. "You know you hurt her?" Hunter asks quietly, patiently. Tech sighs, "I do now" Hunter puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "'Brother, I'm certainly no expert, but I think she really likes you. And judging by the way you react to her sometimes, albeit often very subtly, you like her too." Tech turns the tool in his hands and watches you from a distance for a while, unsure. He shrugs and says, "Well, I was able to rule out a virus" Hunter frowns questioningly. "I don't understand" Tech explains in his typical matter-of-fact tone, "My body and mind react to her, I get warm around her, her voice throws me off balance, her laugh tingles under my skin. To be honest, at first I thought these were symptoms of illness" Hunter raises his eyebrows and suppresses a grin, then clears his throat and says, "Now I understand. Well, maybe you should go over to her. Talk to her."

Your attention is stubbornly focused on the holopad in your hand, you don't look up once, even though you sense that you are being watched. You don't look up either when you hear footsteps and finally Tech clearing his throat. When you don't respond, he says uncertainly, "I'm sorry I snapped at you" "Okay," you say calmly. Somehow Tech was expecting a different reaction, or more, because he's still standing there staring at you while you stare at your holopad, which is currently showing an advertisement for some instant meal. "Are you mad at me?" he suddenly asks, so uncertainly that you almost look up from your holopad. "No, Tech," you say a little more gently. "I don't believe you" Surprised, you look up and look at him. You look at each other in silence for what feels like an eternity. Crosshair walks past in the background and grumbles, "Kiss each other already, nobody can watch this anymore" You both look briefly in his direction, but the Sniper doesn't even stop to wait for your reaction. Tech yells after him, "That interjection was uncalled for!"

"Was it?" you ask quietly. Tech very slowly turns back to you. "Excuse me?" You blink, look at his face, and your courage leaves you again. You wave it off. "Oh, nothing." Tech sighs and sits down next to you on the speeder, his long legs reaching down to the ground, while yours are slightly bent and resting on the footboard of the speeder. After a while, you hear him say, "At the risk of embarrassing myself and making myself look vulnerable, I'd like to confess something to you" You turn your head in his direction to look at him. He swallows as he realizes he has your full attention. He finally opens his mouth and says, "I like you" You can't help but smile automatically. "How much?" you ask again, much more boldly.

Tech blinks, he hadn't expected this question. "You want a measurable comparison?" he asks, surprised. You nod with a grin. Tech slightly blushes and says, "Okay, you don't seem angry anymore, that's a good start. Let me think for a minute." "Okay. Take your time." Suddenly, his eyes light up, and you realize that he has just found a way to tell you how much he likes you. "Remember, you once asked me what the best thing about being part of this squad was?" You nod and say, "Yeah, you said the Marauders and flying it" Tech clears his throat and his cheeks turn rosy again as he says, "I like you more than the Marauders, and more than flying" You beam at him, and you know he's going to start arguing with you and yet you say, "I like you even more" Tech pauses, he smiles but then says matter-of-factly, "That's not possible" "Of course it is," you insist, amused.

You discuss back and forth for a while, comparing how much you like each other and Tech even makes calculations in the end. Crosshair, meanwhile, is standing behind you, more or less sneaking up on you and listening to you, arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes every few seconds. Tech shows you his holopad, "See, my probability calculation contradicts your assumption" You show him yours on which you have drawn a heart in a paint program and say, "And mine contradicts your calculation" Tech frowns, "That's a heart, not a-" "HEY!" Crosshair's loud exclamation makes you both jump off the speeder, startled, and Tech automatically shoves you behind him protectively. Tech snorts, "Was that really necessary?" Crosshair looks at you with his piercing gaze and says, "Didn't I tell you two to kiss?" "You're rude," you say, still recovering from your shock. "Tell me something new," Crosshair says dryly, "For example, that you kissed each other." "That's none of your business," says Tech indignantly.

"So no," the Sniper says, rolling his eyes and backing away again. You look up at Tech and say, "Maybe we really should?" He blinks several times then asks uncertainly, "Kiss?" As you nod, Tech licks his lips, wondering if he's used his lip balm today, how many hours it's been since he brushed his teeth and if he's eaten anything since then. While his thoughts are still running nervously over each other, he feels your fingers gently reach into the collar of his Blacks that sticks out of the top of his armor and pull him in your direction. Suddenly his head is completely empty, but his heart is beating incredibly fast and his pulse is racing. At the same moment his warm lips gently touch yours, somewhere in the distance you hear Crosshair shout, "GET A ROOM YOU TWO!"

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

[jades-typurriter]

Secure Connection

As promised: more Posie!! I wrote this one toward the end of last Spring after a couple of conversations with friends regarding the malleability of digital bodies (as well as still having Many Thoughts about the way code can give them new compulsions, after writing something about Annie and a new taur-shaped chassis for a friend's Patreon). Enjoy reading about her dealing with a corporate-mandated "hardware" update!

CW: Genital TF, this is another one that's As About Sex as it can possibly be without being about sex

Posie sat, sulking—steaming, even—in her office. It was a small side room off of the main floor of IT personnel, system engineers, and other technical employees of her corporation. Much like a central server, it was placed for easy access to the department-wide administrative assistant, and much like a server room, it was snug, windowless, and awash with the calming drone and relaxing warmth of an array of exhaust fans. Though she was free to project herself nearly anywhere on the company’s campus, this was where her consciousness was housed, and where she felt most at home. It was also the only place she could get any damn privacy, a luxury that she was deeply grateful for at present.

A newly-downloaded file weighed on the back of the Renamon’s mind. More literally, it was somewhere in the racks of drives that made up her long-term memory, to and from which mission-critical information was transferred in the course of doing business. Had somebody asked where exactly the file was stored, she would have been able to list the specific drive and the exact directory address, but she had de-prioritized the allocation of her processing resources for the download. Once again, she had received an assignment from her superiors, and once again, she was hesitant. She may even have admitted to being recalcitrant. She resented the orders.

The package of data in question was an update for her own software, a suite of new tools to allow management to offload yet more menial tasks onto her in the name of “efficiency”. Forget that she could diagnose a software issue faster than any of the engineers could even open a remote connection to the malfunctioning device. Instead of allowing her to take the reins, they saw fit to divert more of her attention to the least impressive among talents, and the one she already put to use the most often: transferring data.

This wouldn’t have been much of a problem, ordinarily. After all, Posie resided in the beating heart of the network, the nexus through which the vast majority of information was sent and received. It could be… meditative. Parsing streams of ones and zeroes, overseeing the flow of packets, redirecting traffic to equally spread the load across modems and routers so as to optimize travel time. It could even have been considered relaxing, if a worker of her caliber needed to relax. Instead of offering her a vacation (pah!), however, the update felt more like it heralded a demotion, denying her even the ability to pluck like harpstrings the miles of copper and gold that lined her facility. She was expected to deliver this data on foot.

Management justified this humiliation with practical concerns: some information, much like the old records she was often tasked to dispose of, was so confidential that it could not be sent via wireless transmission. Even hardwired connections were too fallible for the likes of next-generation schematics and financial access keys—a single compromised workstation, or compromised worker, could spell the loss of the company’s upper hand in its market. She wasn’t even going to be afforded the dignity of carrying an external hard drive to the destination. That would require the slow and tedious process of physically moving from one place to the next; this was one of the only times that she regretted the freedom of movement that was so coveted by her flesh-and-blood peers.

With no room to make exceptions for security protocol, she gripped the edge of her desk, brow furrowing, eyes squinted shut in consternation. Eventually, she huffed, rose, and turned her attention to her “physical body”, summoning up the file in much the same way that one would approach a plate of food with a pungent odor. The Renamon steeled herself and began to more closely examine its contents. She read the raw code similarly to how one might read words on a page; however, where the turning gears of the organic mind would, almost unconsciously, conjure up an image as a result of those words, her mind kicked off a series of involuntary, autonomic processes.

Her body carried out the instructions on her behalf. Once she started, she had no control until she finally reached a stopcode; it was the nature of being a program herself that code had as much of an influence on her mind and body as her own thoughts, her own will. In opening the package, she reluctantly consented to the changes that management saw fit to make to her. It was better than the eventual forced-deadline sort of update that software companies were so keen on using nowadays, and at least choosing the time and place allowed her to make herself presentable again before having to face another person.

Having parts of her code—her very body—rewritten by the update was a strange sensation, not unlike having your thoughts dictated to you by an outside force. Stranger still was that she could feel the exact delineation between her previous self and the patches of… well, the patch. She could feel it quite strongly, as a matter of fact: beneath her skirt of simulated sky-blue fur, between her legs, she could feel her mesh being edited. Stretched. Reshaped. The vectors that made up the triangles of her wireframe soul were being rewritten, mathematically transformed. A shape began to protrude from the once-flat span at the bottom of her torso, at first round and indistinct, but quickly increasing in resolution.

The Renamon struggled to process the sensations as a long, slender connector began to take shape. This often happened with changes to her body plan; inputs streamed into her mind from directions, locations, that previously never sent any signals, and the new additions seldom had their sensitivity adjusted downward for her convenience. In this case, it was highly sensitive, delivering reams of data to the base of her skull just from brushing up against her own fur, or the gentle flow of air from the computers in her office. It made sense, given that it was supposed to be a high-capacity transfer tool, but she was too busy buckling at the knees and clutching at the desk behind her so she didn’t fall flat on her rear for the thought to occur to her.

Her processors demanded more cooling, kicking into high gear as they formatted the two new storage devices that accompanied the connector, tailor-made for packing confidential data as tightly as possible. The sound of whirring fans filled the room, stirring her fur and sending shivers up and down her back; she could only hope that the rushing exhaust made enough noise to drown her out, whimpering despite herself. The new drives were larger (and more unwieldy) than the ones that were built into her chest, much to her chagrin. She was forced to adjust her stance and her gait as she found her footing again, spreading her legs wider than she was accustomed in order to give them enough room.

The spinning in her head slowly settling down, she slowly began to compose herself once again, taking stock of the new additions. They were cumbersome, to be sure, and she lamented how they jutted out from her otherwise sleek form and burdened her with less-graceful posture. It didn’t even match her fur! The software engineers that had concocted the code had at least included one small mercy: a compartment for the connector to retract into, nestled in the fur above the storage drives. No such luck for the drives themselves. She supposed she would just have to adjust to walking with delicate hardware in tow. As she went to smooth her fur over her lap again, her paw recoiled away. Some kind of… static discharge was left in the fluff. A memory leak, perhaps? The fact that such a malfunction could be caused just from having the connector brush up against her fur appalled her, deepening her frustration even more. They couldn’t even test the update for bugs before shipping it out to her. She shook out her paw and finished arranging her skirt as best she could before working up the composure to finally leave her office.

Picking up the payload for which all this fanfare had been arranged was at least a quick, easy process. She stopped into the office of the manager that had assigned her the task; she offered a businesslike nod and, knowing that she was always itching to skip niceties in the name of saving time, he offered a straightforward wave at his personal terminal. She held a paw over the computer tower and, in the time it took for electricity to arc to her fingertip with a tinny zzzrt, she had already searched his directory for the relevant test files and copied them to the newly-installed drives. Wireless transfer, yes, but only technically. The engineers had specifically asked a member of another division, whose computer network wasn’t connected to their own; it was as though she had picked a folder up from his desk and walked out with it.

Moving the file was just as uneventful. It was far from the first time that she’d navigated the sprawling corporate property, and even if it were, the maps existed just outside the orbit of her thoughts, ready to be summoned to mind at a simple impulse. What she was not expecting, however, was the technician who was waiting in the server room to which she was asked to deliver the file. While she preferred to work in the isolation of rooms that were set aside specifically for hardware, she was far from unused to being in the presence of the other people responsible for maintaining the company’s systems. That said…

“Can I help you?” The Renamon icily asked.

“Oh, I don’t need anything! I’m just here to take notes on the transfer.” Her tone was cheery; evidently, she wasn’t aware how compromising the new additions were. “The time it takes, any obvious issues. I’ll be the one checking the files against the originals, too,” she concluded, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at a monitor behind her.

“I see,” Posie replied through gritted teeth. “You have clearance to see these files, then?”

“Well, they’re just dummy data, ma’am.” At least she was respectful.

“And the proprietary hardware I’ve been… equipped with?” she forced out, keeping her synthesized voice even.

“Oh, for sure I do. I designed it!”

Oh! she seethed. So she knows pre-cise-ly the position he’s put me in.

“Well. I suppose there’s no point in delaying things, then.”

“Ready when you are!”

With tense shoulders, she turned toward the server rack, eyes darting over it, searching for where exactly she was supposed to connect to the array. After glancing over the contents of each drive, she found the one she was supposed to copy the data into—deposit would be more apt, as it was her understanding that the files would be automatically flushed from her system—and found a port that would allow her to access it. Conveniently, it was around waist height. She wondered, crossly, whether that had been an intentional design decision by this engineer as well. As she looked at it, she felt a twinge from the connector; on its own, like a Bluetooth device automatically searching for signals, it slid itself out from its fuzzy little compartment.

Her skin was abuzz, and her fur stood on end. She couldn’t quite tell if it was coming from the connector itself, or if it was the feeling of the programmer’s eyes on her If she could take a deep breath, she would have then. Without any way to stall further, or to tell the leering young woman to take her test files and store them somewhere indecent, she simply pushed forward with dropping off the damned data.

The instant the connector grazed the metal of the port, lightning shot into it, through her body, and into her head, making it swim with electrical potential. A stuttering, lagging thought made its way to the surface of her mind: they really had overtuned the sensitivity. She stifled a gasp and suppressed the urge to lay into the engineer (electrons were eager to flow out of her even without proper alignment with the contacts in the port, and didn’t she know that discharge like that could damage a piece of hardware?!), willing her body to keep pressing the stupid connector into the socket.

Even as she tried to get it over with already, something in the back of her mind compelled her to draw back a bit. If she had been restraining herself from reprimanding the engineer for risking the hardware, then she should at least do it the service of ensuring she was properly aligned, shouldn’t she? She obliged the impulse, and the motion all at once became much jerkier, less controlled. The friction of the port against her connector was enough to send her tail snapping back and forth, and she could tell that the temperature in her own server’s room had risen by a fair few degrees. Back and forth, wiggling side to side, she continued to readjust and realign herself, driven by unfamiliar code and overwhelmed by the signals pouring into her. She lost herself in the task, forgetting herself, forgetting her surroundings, until finally the technician cleared her throat.

“Ma’am,” she ventured, blushing and wide-eyed. “What, um. What are you doing? You should just need to plug it in.”

“I’m.” Her interruption had snapped the Renamon back to reality. She was mortified, tail sticking straight out and back ramrod straight. Her cheeks burned mercilessly. “I’m calibrating the connection.”

“Calibrating?”

“Did you want your files transferred with or without corrupted and incomplete data?” She snapped, hoping that her authoritative tone would head off any debate. “Assign me experimental hardware and then ask me to be reckless with it, hm? Should I be taking notes to give to our superiors?”

“I—alright, I guess you can’t be too careful,” she stammered, sheepishly pressing her legs together. “That was even something I tried to work into the design, so, c-carry on?”

“Thank you,” Posie blustered, turning back to the server rack. She did so slowly, reluctantly relishing the feeling of sliding around within the socket. She allowed herself one or two more “practice” attempts, hoping that it wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion from the engineer. Ultimately, just like before, there was no use in continuing to stall, and when she was able to bring her body to a stop, the rational part of herself was eager to be done with this entire torrid affair.

With more force, she pressed the connector inward one final time, trembling as the latch began to press against the opening. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she continued, overwhelmed by the volume of electricity surging into her. The latch gave, compressing as it continued to slide inside, until finally it clicked into place, securing her to the array of drives and finalizing the connection.

All at once, a torrent of data poured out of her, an electron tsunami that felt like it threatened to spill out of the socket in which she was hilted. More data was transferred in the span of a few seconds than she was used to consciously processing, having cultivated such skill in delegating and compartmentalizing with background processes. Once again, the world around her was utterly drowned out; the strength fled her legs, and she clung to the steel bar that reinforced the top of the server rack, threatening to topple the entire system. Her self-control abandoned her as well and, forgetting the engineer, she cried out with an airy, wild, distinctly foxlike yelp. She screamed in surprise, gasped at the deluge of information, moaned because there was no room left in her mind for thought to do anything else.

Quickly, the disks of the server rack had finished writing the files she had carried to them, and her own drives were thoroughly purged. In another building, the radiators serving her processors shed heat at their absolute limits, and fans worked overtime to bring her back within her safe operational range. As her overworked circuitry began to chug through the backlog of sensory information, the entire experience caught up with her—including the detail that this entire shameless display had been carried out in front of that underhanded little engineer. She blinked, hard, and whipped her head to face her. For as hot as her own ears felt, the young woman’s face appeared to be glowing even brighter.

“What. Was that.”

“Um—”

“I’m used to new adjustments requiring desensitization, or even adjustment on their gain,” she growled, voice low and eerily even. “But that was a bridge too far to just have been miscalibration. Why did you design it like that?”

“Well, y-you remember how I mentioned, um, having considered an early disconnection?” Posie’s frosty glare didn’t waver, so the tech continued, answering her own rhetorical question. “That was, uh, the safeguard. Against early disconnection. I, figured it’d just be easier to make it so you wouldn’t want to unplug—”

“Do you think you have the au-thor-ity to go making changes to my mind, young lady?!”

“I-I can roll back the update if you want—”

“I think you’ve done QUITE enough!” The Renamon declared, despite herself. Perhaps it was genuine distrust, or perhaps—perhaps she truly couldn’t tell which desires were her own, at the moment. This would require careful study of her own system files.

Another small click broke the silence following her outburst, and the dongle began to retract from the server’s port and back into Posie’s body. Now free to move around, she dusted and fluffed her skirt and leaned down to look the engineer in the eye.

“I trust that you can report to your supervisor that I performed to your expectations,” she hissed. “And that there will be no need for any further discussion of your little project.” The programmer nodded, eyes even wider than before—and cheeks even redder? The Renamon scoffed, sneered, and spun, storming out the door, already allotting time in her schedule for the next time that she would be called upon for such a delivery.

Utterly unsurprisingly, she had been correct in her assessment that her superiors would take every opportunity to save their organic employees’ time at her expense. Confidential deliveries became a regular part of her routine, and though she had great disdain for being reduced to a mere courier for so much of the workday, she insisted upon completing the task to her usual, lofty standards.

Posie was as prompt as she always was, dropping everything to ferry information between privileged parties, striving to reduce latency even in more analogue forms of communication. There was the occasional complaint about how long downloads took once she had finally arrived at her location, but she was quick to remind such impatient recipients that the decision to follow this protocol came from on-high, and that even for someone who worked as quickly as her, great care for the safety of the data was a corner that simply could not be cut in the name of rushing around.

She was as meticulous about ensuring proper alignment with the port, fine-tuning her contact with the wires within, as the first time she had experimented with the new tools, and complaints about noise from the server room were easily dismissed as the usual stress of supporting her formidable computational power. After all, she was often venturing out of the range of her home network, hosting herself entirely on the recipients’ systems; was she at fault when they couldn’t handle the information throughput they asked of her?

Once the deliveries had become more routine, and none of her peers bothered to check in when they felt it was taking too long or getting too noisy, she began to find enjoyment in the solitude of her work, just as with the other, admittedly more tedious, tasks she was expected to carry out. With fewer prying eyes to judge her performance, she could make herself more comfortable while handling transfers. She didn’t have to worry that anybody would walk in on her in the debased state she often found herself in while connected directly to a data center, leaning her full weight on the poor rack, tongue lolling out and chest heaving air to keep her cool. 

Then again, if somebody—especially that little technician who’d saddled her with these “upgrades”—wanted to question her efficacy, that was more than fine by her. Posie was a woman who prided herself in her work, and would seldom turn down a chance to demonstrate her first-rate hardware and unparalleled optimization. She would be more than happy to demonstrate just how quickly she could pump out information, and just how much throughput she was capable of.

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

[astronomical-light]

tagged by @bropunzeling for a fun little writing meme, so i will absolutely do that instead of actually writing <3

What's one story you've written, you're the most proud of?

recency bias is so real, because i think every time i write something new, every time i write something successfully when i thought i couldn't, it pushes me to keep trying bigger and better things. i'm proud of hold it against me because i wanted to write something fun and tropey that harkened back to the heyday of actor rpf on livejournal, so i did. i wrote 50k about it! and i had a blast! i'm proud that even though only two whole people who followed me cared about it when i started, i still wrote it. it will never get the numbers of some of my other work, but the past year or so i've really tried to free myself from the prison of "success" and just write whatever the hell i want, and it has been glorious. success is bringing your silly idea to fruition. success is having a conversation with even just one person who understands your vision. success is just fucking finishing something, lmao. i'm proud of everything i finish for different reasons.

when i finish stalag fic, i'm going to be proud of committing to a vibe and writing something really intense and atmospheric like nothing else i've ever written before. when i finish va fic in approximately a YEAR, i'm going to be really fucking proud of it, too, because the scope of it is probably the most intimidating thing i've ever undertaken. i am still not thinking about how long it is going to be! that's none of my business right now!

What's one story you wished you had expanded on, or spent more time writing?

in some ways i never would have finished the tools to rebuild were it not for the deadline of the big bang, and i was really in the fucking weeds with it, but i do wonder how it would have turned out if i had more time. on the flip side, it's a tight 20k that got a lot of great comments on the pacing despite knowing that if i wrote it now it would probably be twice as long, so there is something to be said with working under pressure and being efficient with the story that you want to tell. i am, at the end of the day, still incredibly proud of it and it's one of my fics that has resonated the most with people, and that's all i can ask for, really.

What's your favorite trope of all time?

YEARNING. REPRESSION. having so many feelings you don't know what you're supposed to do with them!!! i am always a sucker for things like Getting Back Together; i love when things are messy, i love breaking up and making up, or finding your way back to the one that got away, because it's all about the weight of history, about how you can never escape That One Person because they're lodged into your dna even if it takes you twenty years to figure it out. not soulmates except fuck you it kind of is, but because we made it that way, because the universe didn't gift wrap us for each other but we still made ourselves into this. is it any wonder the old man yaoi with the demonstrated implicit trust and emotional intimacy despite their blatant commitment issues have rotted my brain so severely

If you could be the main character in one of your stories, what one would it be?

so my initial answer was a vehement absolutely none of them, but i guess i could be george in yarn au. i could own a whimsical little yarn store without you putting a gun to my head about it, probably.

Do you think you'll ever stop writing for the fandom you're currently most active in?

i mean i didn't expect to be writing generation kill fanned fiction in the year of our lord 2025 yet here i am haha. so while i'm sure everything will continue ebb and flow as they always do, the things that take root in your brain never truly leave you. when inspiration strikes, it strikes.

You've been given a book deal. What story are you publishing from your collection?

same response as @bropunzeling that, imo, if you can file the serial numbers off of a story and publish it without some heavy fucking editing, there are problems afoot. the reason i love fic is to play with the characters that already exist, and that means that if i take those characters out of it, the story shouldn't be able to cohere because it would be a totally different story with totally different people. if you put a different person in that situation, you have a whole new situation on your hands. even in an AU, i think you should stand on the shoulders of canon. i want to be able to recognize the characters, not write something where you can just copy and paste a name and everything still make perfect sense, you know?

that was actually one of the hardest parts of dakar au, because who the FUCK is simon riley divorced of all of his trauma from canon? how can i give him a believable amount of trauma in the setting i put him in that would get him even 10% of the amount of fucked up he is? how can i still keep him recognizable when you strip away almost everything that makes him him? it was a really fun process, and asking those questions is the whole point, to me. that's what it's all about, baby!

Top writing tip for others?

stop worrying about everyone else and just write it, man. if you want it to exist, be the one to make it happen. the people who fuck with it will find it and no one else matters. there is really no better feeling in this world than creating a connection with someone who really gets your niche little passion project. that's where real friendship is made, and that's what matters when it comes to fandom.

tagging @alethialia @kritischetheologie @elementalmoments if you wanna play :)

[talenlee]

Dev Pile 2025-06 — Starter Kit

Making dev piles is a new experience for the blog in that they are explicitly deliberately timely. Where most of the work on this blog is thrown weeks, sometimes months in advance if it doesn’t fit neatly in a single spot, I am trying to make sure I write any given Dev Pile article covering the ‘week before’ the article goes up. This is a new kind of work for me, and it’s necessitated working ahead.

The week this article is being ‘written in’ is the week after Cancon. I had a plan for this week: I was going to spend the week writing an article developing the game dev I did, at cancon, in the dull periods at the table between the sales. Thing is, this year, that did not happen – Cancon was pretty much completely constant, so much so that the first day I didn’t even notice I never pulled out my notebook and what notes did get taken during the whole event were surface, or sketching out some minor ideas.

Therefore instead of a single intense focus here, this is going to be something of a hello and hey, here’s how to get started article about game making, tools, and prototyping.

Who Can Make Games?

You can make games. I can make games. Anyone who wants to can make games. The access you have to industrial scale production equipment to make the game you’re designing into something that looks like conventional product is a little more attainable than you may think, thanks to modern tools.

The core of you making games is this: Can you explain a set of rules to another player that let them understand how to play the game?

Great, then you’ve made a game. The next step is working out how to make that game the kind of game you want it to be. And to paraphrase what Adam Savage once said, the difference between doing game development and screwing around is just writing things down.

Tools

First things first, if you have a tool you like for any of the stated purposes, then you should use the tool you like. The tools I describe here should all be free, but that can make them less convenient in ways you may not like.

To write rulebooks, I use LibreOffice. This is a text editor in the same vein as Pages and Word, and much like Google Docs. We’ve pretty much solved ‘writing in a document for a computer user to read’ as a format, and that format has been kinda the same for thirty years. Notably, a formal editor like this lets you do tables and give texts formatting entries like heading styles, which means you don’t have to work to translate that stuff to a website like a wordpress content management system. Under the hood, these two things know how to talk to one another.

Notepad is a valuable tool as well for when you need ‘scrap’ text – no formatting, just some numbers or the like, but literally anything will do here.

Almost inevitably any given game design I have will need a spreadsheet. Sometimes a spreadsheet lets me present a skeleton of a game, with say, a sheet of 52 entries that just indicate the information on a card’s face. That means I use LibreCalc, but I only started using that seven months ago, when I learned about the IFS function. The version of Excel I was using from 2007 didn’t have this ‘new’ functionality, and I found that very useful. You may ask: How often do you need ‘IFS’ in game development and the answer is never. There are definitely thihngs I can use spreadsheets for, but these functions are not super necessary.

To do visual editing I use GIMP, pronounced ‘noo-imp,’ because gimp is a silly word to use in everyday conversation and it has worn its welcome out in my tongue. GIMP is a program that takes some getting used to, but the heart of what it is is a powerful photoshop-level program that puts almost everything it has directly under your control, including warp tools, healing tools, stamp tools and other simple filters. I will usually use GIMP to generate a template file or example for how a card should look, and then, when I want to put those cards into a file to make a pdf for printing, I turn to…

Scribus! Scribus is my layout and DTP program that I avoid using in every situation I can. I dislike Scribus interface a lot, and as a result, I route around it – I try to make sure that if I’m doing something in a design that Scribus ‘could’ do, I will ensure that Scribus is the only thing that can do it, and if something else can do it, I’ll do it that way. This is a combination of familiarity and convenience: Scribus is by no means a bad program, I’m sure, but I don’t like using it and it feels very easy to break things, which means when I do use it, I’m probably using it ‘wrong,’ and a Scribus expert would want to correct my technique.

For making simple slideshow videos, where I just show a thing, talk about it, and move on, I use the program OBS, which you can use for rules tutorials or explainers. OBS has its own ability to do slides – which you can make in a slideshow program like Google Slides or powerpoint or Prezi if you like – and then you talk over it, advancing the slides in OBS. It’s a very powerful, very flexible tool, but I can understand if it’s a bit overwhelming to start with.

If you want to record audio for your game, which is a cool thing to do, I use Audacity. It’s a simple audio program if you’re just using it for its basic functions, but it can be great if (for example) you want to record audio diaries of your creation process.

Also, mixed in with this is, cardboard, paper, scissors and glue. Playing cards need a standardised form so you can make a ‘blank’ deck of cards by taking an ordinary deck of cards and putting large, white, laundry stickers on each face, ‘wiping’ it so you can write what you want on the face.

Art Though?

I use free art where I can. There’s a lot of art assets, paid and free over on itch.io, which you can definitely use to make your game work look more interesting than base. And of course…

Bandaid tearing off time,

There are free image generators that you can use if you are comfortable with that. My advice is that you should only ever use generators for ‘zero value’ forms of media; that is, nothing you intend to sell and nothing you intend to use as identifying for yourself; don’t use a generator for a logo for your identity or brand, for example, because that’s uncopyrightable and then someone can just copy it. Even if they don’t, the fact they can undermines the copyright value of designing your own logo and title.

But yeah, image generators are available online. When I need an image for an example, the one I recommend using is dezgo, because it doesn’t require a login, doesn’t require you to pay money, and all it asks of you is time to let it finish working. You’re not going to get timely bulk media out of it, but that means, in my mind, that any artwork it generates is going to be worth scrutinising and editing to make it more appropriate to your needs. This is part of a greater conversation, but for now, the important thing is that if you’re going to use generative tools you need to make sure you recognise what they’re bad at and what they’re bad for.

Getting Started?

Alright, you have some tools to make what you have in mind more possible. What I recommend you do, and I will delve more into this later in the week, is make a prototype, and then, once you have the prototype, look at it seriously.

You’re going to have to get your head around the question what do I like without asking the followup question why at first. What is it about your prototype that satisfies you? What would you change if you could? Why isn’t it satisfying to you, what about it makes you concerned. Are there things you haven’t thought about because of biases you have? Is it a game you can’t play with one hand?

The point is the prototype marks the point you start finding out. You don’t need a perfect game to prototype – indeed, I have a lot of very ugly games as prototypes and I think those ugly prototypes work really well as a place to start working out what to do next.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[solas-backpack-mug]

hellooooo may i ask where you get the voice lines from deadfire?

pillars of eternity voice lines tutorial!

in steam version voice lines can be found here: C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Pillars of Eternity II\PillarsOfEternityII_Data\StreamingAssets\Audio\Windows\Voices

all of them are in .wem format so they can’t be listened to normally. to listen to them you have to convert them into a different format. i learned how to do it by watching this video on youtube (i’m linking it in case i missed something in my tutorial or you want to see how it’s done)

the video starts with converting .bnk files to .wem, which isn’t applicable to poe

how to prepare tools for converting .wem to .ogg

1. download ww2ogg024 (for conversion) and ReVorb (for cleanup).

2. create a folder wherever under whatever name you wish. put ww2ogg024 and ReVorb inside

2. create a Script.txt file in the same folder. this is what is supposed to be in it:

for %%f in (*.wem) do "./ww2ogg024/ww2ogg.exe" %%f --pcb "./ww2ogg024/packed_codebooks_aoTuV_603.bin"

pause

for %%f in (*.ogg) do revorb.exe %%f

pause

3. save Script.txt file as .bat. you’re free to delete the .txt if you want

now your folder should look like this:

how to convert .wem to .wav

1. copy the voicelines you want to convert into the same folder as ww2ogg024 and ReVorb (remember to copy them, not move them)

2. run Script and do what it instructs you to

3. success!

.ogg files can be listened to but if you want to post them on Tumblr you have to convert them to .mp3. i do it in VLC media player. i did have a problem with some of karū’s lines where they couldn’t be played after being converted to .mp3. i have no idea what the problem was or why only some lines were affected, but i managed to circumvent this by saving them in a different program as .mp4 and converting that to .mp3

some files can’t be accessed for some reason, not in any way i know. i found and copied the watcher’s and hazanui karū’s lines without a problem, but i couldn’t get to ooze noises

happy file converting!

[grievous-writes]

"Mimic" - Part One - Ramattra x Reader

Welp, I think this one is gonna be more then a one shot XD

You were one of the most single-handedly annoying Humans Ramattra had to endure, and given all of Humanity was on his knives’ edge, that was saying something. He had his mission, his war, his duty to all Omnic kind, and you as a Talon agent were making this muddled - A Human who was an ally, even if it was hesitantly so. 

Those who worked with the organization were a colorful bunch, some fatalistic and grim, and then others were like you with your flashy attitude and manic personality. Sombra and you were in that same vein, snarky and short, but you were different enough to stand out from the hacker by coming to Ramattra on your downtime. Where Sombra’s RnR was spent on her various data collections and pulling threads behind a monitor, you spent your time pestering the Omnic leader.

Your particular flavor of pestering Ramattra was your vocal mimicry, hence your code name “Mimic”. You loved to use his voice against him.

Ramatraa read your file, he knew it was a Blackwatch raid on your small town that caused you to loathe the sham that was Overwatch, and you had to survive a traumatic childhood by mimicking everything around you. You could be disguised as anything, from a dog limping down the street to a trash bin dumped over on the side of the road, and through this unique skill you would steal food for other orphaned kids in your town … or you’d pilfer heavy munitions for rebel cells. You were a survivor, durable and capable, and slightly insane. You had to be if you kept pestering him so often. 

You caught him several times when he was leaving meetings with the other Talon top-brass, appointed his escort to and from his ship, and would poke and poke and poke:

“So, got any plans to make people suffer as you have suffered today?” You asked with half of your voice being your own, and the other more embolden part being his tone repeated back to him. Uncanny. 

He tried to ignore you, walking onward as you trailed behind; sights set forward to his docked ship. 

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging!” Your smile was too wide for his taste.

He growled. “Surely you must have some task other than to bother me, Human.” 

“Oh, ouch, are we back to that sort of name calling, Omnic?” You frowned with a mischievous eye roll. “Come on, give me something to work with besides your broody mode. A laugh, a joke!”

“You are a joke.” Was his quick spitted response, and he felt rather juvenile after letting it out.

“Again, ouch.” You chuckled and he watched from the edge of his vision as your smile faded ever so. “How about this then - When you’re in a better mood, and if you have free time, come find me?”

Ramattra paused in mid step and snapped his head down to look at you. “And why would I seek you out?” 

“Cause I’m charming and fun to be around.” Your smile grew in full force; hands on your hips and head held high.Cocky and confident. 

The Omnic aimed to give another quick retort, a quick bit of his words, but he faltered. That’s what you wanted from him, banter and conversation - You were collecting more of his voice. And for what end? You were using him, just as how he was using you. 

“Enough of you, Mimic.” Ramattra’s tone was deep, level, and it made your stomach churn. His red glowing gaze was intense and you felt your grin falter once more. “Be gone and find your sport elsewhere. I have no interest in mingling with the likes of you.” 

“Likes of me? W-What’s that-?”

“You are an adventitious tool for Talon and nothing more. You are barely subpar above the hacker and sniper, nowhere near important enough to be mentioned by your leaders, and your only real task is playing babysitter to someone who could crush your skull in with a flex of my palm. It is trivial and a token task given to placate someone as desperate as you.” The Omic turned away from you and kept walking to the ramp of his waiting vessel, leaving you in your spot. 

Your feet refused to move and you couldn’t find any words. 

“Keep that in mind when you try to talk to me as if we are equals.” Was Ramattra’s last comment as he ducked out of sight, and you stood frozen as his ship flew away into the early evening’s orange sky. - - -

The last meeting with the Omnic got to the ears of Reaper, with some deck crew tattle-telling on you, and the masked man gave you a mouthful of not so passive threats to back down … and a new assignment that would take you away from Talon’s HQ for sometime. Talon couldn’t risk pissing off Null Sector, not for the amusement of a mid-range agent like yourself.

You were assigned to the ass end of nowhere, at a monitoring station high in the mountains of the western United States, where Talon was piggybacking off official comms channels around the world. You were set in charge of a small team that was meant to monitor air traffic and report anything useful. You were essentially tossed to the side, put in time out, and your skills and true talents left unused for months.

To anyone else, they’d have probably been pissed off and brooding about the new job, but you had been discarded before many times, lonely and forgotten, that this was a walk in the park. You had learned to mimic contentment, to fabricate joy, and masterfully masked your hurt emotions with diligence to your task. This was all first nature to you, with the founding blocks of your skills set by a little kid who had to fake it till they made it. You remembered a time where you had to literally mimic the sound of a dying bunny to lure in a starving cat, a fine meal you caught with your bare hands; just barely above the age of ten. 

You were so alone, so sad, and scared.

In all your bravado and flashy facade, you had thought that maybe Ramattra would understand what it meant to feel alone; given his situation. You couldn’t imagine the weight on his shoulders, his task was unique to him alone, but you could still sympathize. And you dared that maybe, just maybe, you told yourself, if you could make him “smile” there was hope that neither of you would be so lonely.

But alas, he pushed you away. Red tape was laid out and you were officially told to back off.

That didn’t stop you however from using the monitoring station to your own ends.

You had your own hacking subroutines that Sombra didn’t have access to, your own unique flavor of single mimicking, and you easily tapped into Null Sector and Talon communications. You at first used your connection to pinpoint where joint operations were held, then you would figure out who was in command and leading the missions, and eventually you got access to an area’s security system and watched the battles from the comfort of your desk via CCTVs. And unabashedly, you were keen on watching Ramattra work out in the field. 

You watched how dominating Ramattra was on the field, and was fascinated with how precise his attacks were. His defensiveness was calculated, his offense ruthless, and he would annihilate his enemies with efficacy. You couldn’t help but find yourself mimicking his voice and actions in the comfort of your room, playing out fighting along his side and working out in your head how you could aid the Omic in battle. You found yourself roleplaying as well, making fake conversations back and forth with his voice and your own in your throat. Silly things, funny things, a side of Ramattra you were making up in your spare time. 

You imagined him congratulating you on a task well done, complimenting you on your fighting style, and after a few close calls in combat, finally him taking that offer on spending time with you. But in reality, you were talking to yourself, sitting in a barely lit room and dreaming of something that would never come to be. It was pathetic. The solitary time in the mountains was getting to you, and you knew that there was a line between boredom and obsession. 

On the morning you set out to end the little spy network on Ramattra’s missions, you noticed something interesting stirring in the signals codding. The Omnic and a few other Talon agents were set out on a stealth mission to steal a payload out from Overewatch’s nose, and where Sombra was there to hack her way through doors and watch through the building’s cameras, you caught signs of another person’s work doing the same thing you were doing. They were mimicking Sombra’s signal and watching everything she was doing. You watched from a third eye position as Sombra’s attacks were being counter blanched, no doubt by someone in Overwatch, but you couldn’t act - Or else you’d be found out. It was one thing to have a little network insight like you had, and another thing to be found out. 

You could get into real trouble, like the sort that left a bullet in your brain knowing Talon, but as you watched the mission go to shit, as you saw Ramattra’s shield being beaten down again and again, all thoughts for self preservation fell away. 

“Fuck it.” You snarled under your breath and got to work. Your signal turned onto the Overwatch line and began to attack it from the preverbal backdoor in a sparking battle; counter-acting every move it tried to do, by acting as stray code within its own network. You began to cause internal damage into the Overwatch hacker’s routine, mimicking your way in and out of its trappings to have the program destroy its own code.  

The actions caught Sombra’s attention as she was trying to open a door for escape, a weird glare set to her features. “What the-?!”

“Sombra, the door!” Reaper shouted out between shotgun blasts.

“Yeah yeah, I’m getting there - Finally!” She barked back with a sudden smirk as the doors flew open. 

“What took so long?” Widowmaker asked through the commlink, snipping off targets from above.

“Eh, someone in Overwatch was being fancy. But - …” Sombra stood up and dashed through the door; leaving her remark unfinished. The others followed behind her, with Ramattra pulling in the rear as he used his tanky tactics to cover the retreat. 

Reaper hummed and looked to Windowmaker, who had joined the escape from the shadows of a corner and a glare was set to her cold, blue features. 

You watched the interactions going down, heard every word, and both you and Sombra knew that; she knew you were watching and listening now. The hacker was the closest thing you had to a “friend” within Talon, and you knew while she’d try to not toss you under the bus, she might not have the choice; self preservation. But you couldn’t help but feel sudden burning guilt as Reaper and Widowmarker set their eyes onto Sombra. They had their suspicions on her already, you knew that after the failed assassination a few months back, and this could be the perfect opportunity to get her. And by “get”, they could easily kill her if they wanted. 

You couldn’t hide. Your shame of spying on Ramattra was meager compared to seeing Somrba get shot down. Your own self preservation was tossed out the window in a foolish flick of our comm into their joined link. 

“Welcome to Talon Airlines, this is Mimic, and I’ll be your pilot this evening!” Your voice mimicked that of a cherry commercial pilot, masterfull masking your nervousness. The group took a collective halt, stunned for a moment, but none of you had time to talk or argue. “If you could kindly get going? I can’t copy their single for too much longer and Sombra needs to get out of there before the whole compound goes into lock down.” 

Wordlessly the team booked it for the exit, with Sombra leading the way to freedom as you battled on; holding the line. You managed to lock and close doors behind the fleeing troupe, blocking Overwatch agents from getting to them at every turn. You watched as the Talon transporter came flying down to pick up the team, with Ramattra taking a quick glance at a security camera. You watched his crimson glow lingered into the feed, and even as he ducked out of sight and into the safety of the ship, you could feel the red flare burned into your gaze; with no amount of blinking being rid of the speckles in your eyesight. 

You were so fucked.

---

Ramattra stood to one side of the debriefing room, silent and arms crossed, and he was impressed by how you held your ground while Reaper drilled into you. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show emotion. But it couldn’t last; you were only Human, after all. Sombra was brought in as well, the two of you getting an earful, but the masked-man’s ire was majorly on you. Rightfully so, of course. 

You were spying on special operations of some of Talon’s highest ranking agents, and that would've gotten any other soldier a death sentence. Your only saving grace was that you never recovered what you saw. And with Sombra’s input, it was understood your system was nearly flawless. The hacker would have improved things here and there, a few tweaks into your algorithm, but it was enough passive praise to get Reaper to cool down. 

And then there was Doomfist. He was as quiet as Ramattra during the entire interrogation, and only spoke after Reaper had stepped back from your person. Reaper was the gun and Doomfist was the person who could’ve pulled the preverbal trigger.

“Agent Mimic.” Akande began, his baritone voice calm as he was reading over a datapad. Ramattra recognized the passing words on the pad as your personal file, specifically the disciplinary record section. It was a clean slate. 

“Yes, Sir?” You asked at full attention. 

“I shall make this simple.” Doomfist put down the datapad onto a nearby table and began to walk his way around the room, slowly making it to your side. Ramattra was reading your vitals and while you were keeping collected on the outside, your heart rate was steadily rising. “While you have been a loyal soldier to Talon’s cause, and resourceful tool, and have skills I’d hate to see wasted … You’ve made yourself a loose thread, one that has no damaging repercussions if I decide to have you removed. Do you understand?” 

You nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Doomfist’s large gauntlet, with its golden fingers and heavy metal, was delicately laid upon your thinly padded shoulder. He held firm and Ramattra could see in your hardened stare a small spike of emotion breaking through. 

Fear. 

Ramattra could feel his system whirr alive from within his chest cavity, a fan kicking in to dispel a heat he hadn’t felt till that moment. 

“Very good.” Doomsift gave your shoulder a pat before he moved the heavy hand from your body, and your heart race quickened at the lack of his touch. Silent as the night, the tall Human walked back to the head of the table and sat down in a blackened swivel large chair. He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. 

Reaper shifted his weight from side to side, waiting.

Sombra’s sharp eyes were fixated on Mimic, then onto Ramattra for a brief moment. 

“Ramattra.” Doomfist spoke and his golden gaze shifted to the Omnic. “If Agent Mimic was in your charge, how would you proceed with discipline?” 

Your eyes shifted to him, your fear growing cold in your once bright eyes that teased him with his own voice months ago, and Ramattra’s fan kicked up a level in intensity. You were breaking, as any Human would do in time. There was something undeniably egotistically uplifting at knowing your fate was dependent on his word; something cruel and bitter. Mondatta’s words of compassion echoed within Ramattra’s mind, a failure of a lesson, and it was one he swore never to head again. 

And yet. 

Ramattra uncrossed his arms and reached for his staff, with long metal fingers curling about the weapon’s shaft as he hummed a thought. “Were this left to me? This tool is still usable, even in such a blunder.” 

Your eyes never moved off Ramattra as he continued. “Agent Sombra has given her account on how Mimic’s network was undetectable, to herself and to Overwatch until the big reveal. With some reworking, and with proper guidance, this tool can be repurposed.”

Doomfist hummed deeply. “To be repurposed, a novel idea. And if I were to offer Mimic into your service?” 

The Omnic didn’t trust Doomfist as far as he could throw him. This was a trick. “I would decline.”

“I see.” Doomfist sighed. The tone was set and Mimic’s fate was sealed.

Unless Ramattra acted quickly. But did he want to? It was no secret you were using your network to watch him, an unspoken thing said in the report and after a quick dissection of your data. Why were you watching him? What did you want? Were you seeking the thrill of an obtuse fetish? Trying to gather information on Ramattra that could bring him down? Were you secretly working on the derivative of Talon? There were too many questions.

And thankfully for you, Ramattra wanted answers. 

“However,” Ramatta took a step forward, using some of his massive form to block you from Doomfist’s gaze. Your heart was accelerating at every passing second and there was a mild thrill for Ramattra in your panic. “If Mimic was to choose to transfer to my retinue, I would see this repurposing done. Personally.” 

“You believe they have a choice?” Doomfist raised a singular handsome brow. 

“I do. They can either accept the transfer,” Ramattra and everyone turned their attention to you, and he watched as you swallowed hard. “Or they die. There is no use in vague threats over their life now. They understand … don’t you, Agent Mimic?”

Your throat was so dry that it burned like a sunburn. You rolled your tongue behind closed teeth, trying to find some saliva for reprieve, but there was none. There was only one answer you could give. 

---

And that is how you ended up as the only Human in service of Null Sector, a Talon lesion for Ramattra’s personal use; half hacker and half confidant. Ramattra used your mimicry to every advantage, both in the physical sense and in data collection. You were given quarters deep within the recesses of his primary base, where the sun barely showed and work was grueling. But you were at least alive. You would adapt to your new life (for however long it lasted), as you had so long ago as a child. You swore to yourself to thrive, to make yourself useful, and to survive no matter what suffering the world would toss upon you. 

And of course, you wouldn’t let your flare fade away, not all the way at least. You just had to go about it differently then you had before. The first rule change was to not piss off Ramattra. The second was to not get caught.

So when you felt the need to speak to yourself, you did so in your room. You couldn’t hold back those ticks for sassy conversation. Using his voice, however meager and in private, provided some aspect that you still had free will in your new life. 

“Did you think me forgiving?” You asked yourself in Ramattra’s voice. 

“No, Sir.” You responded with a smile. “I think you are a dick.” 

“You dare?!” Ramatra’’s voice scoffed in your throat. “You’ll pay for that, little one.” 

“Oh, little one~? Don’t make a promise you can’t keep …” You blinked at that and felt your face flush. That came out of nowhere, and it was extremely unhealthy. Creepy and gross, even. You cleared your throat and reached for a cup of water, sipped it to soothe the ache from copying Ramattra’s deeper voice. 

“I’m fucking weird.” You chuckled at yourself nervously and got back to work, typing away at a report.

Meanwhile, from across the base, a solitary Omnic was in his workshop with an array of monitors before him. 

Ramattra knew your first task when setting up your room would be to weed out any listening devices and cameras, all which you found with ease … save one. But it’s location he kept to himself, for now.

You weren’t the only one who was capable of mimicking.