#Micro logic

[turbo-virgins]

maybe it’s just me, but the corporate environment’s expectation that everyone must be working to move up/get promoted at all times is absolutely exhausting. every performance review you get asked about what you’re doing to grow a new skillset or what role you want to move into next and it feels like there’s this unspoken rule that you’re not allowed to say “actually I’m happy with my current roles and responsibilities, can I just be left alone please?” it’s a constant demand of more more more. if you’re good at one thing, they’ll put five new things on your plate that you have to frantically juggle and then the juggling. never. ends.

[messungauto]

NX-ERA Xpress PLC For salt spray Chamber Automation

In the industrial domain, corrosion is not just a problem, it’s a stealthy destroyer. From car parts to ocean gear to electronics, the shadow of rust looms over all. That’s where the salt spray chamber comes in useful, enabling us to simulate the most extreme conditions. However, the catch is that manual systems don’t cut it anymore.

Enter the NX-ERA Xpress PLC—a smart, compact PLC for industrial automation that’s changing the game for good.

We at Messung have a strong expertise in programmable logic controllers, and today we’re demonstrating to you why a salt spray chamber needs aSCADA for demanding environments that’s fluent in Industry 4.0.

[loreetperso]

- You are a robot ? That's nice, that's nice… Say, if i tell you "this sentence is a lie", what do you think of it? - *sigh* - Did you just sigh? - Yes I did. Trying to defeat me with a logical paradoxe is offensive to us you know? You might as well call me a ton can while you're at it. Even a glorified else-if statement could resolve this. - Ah, hu… Sorry I guess ? - I'll add this offense to your case so don't brother.

[luna-azzurra]

Write Believable Intelligent Characters

╰ Let their intelligence show in how they notice things

Smart people aren’t always the ones talking, they’re the ones observing the tiny detail that everyone else misses. They connect dots faster. They clock micro-expressions. They’re already ten moves ahead while everyone’s still arguing about step one.

╰ Don’t make them know everything

The smartest characters have gaps. A genius hacker who can’t do small talk. A professor who’s never seen Shrek. An expert in ancient languages who has zero street smarts. Give them blind spots, and suddenly they feel real—not robotic.

╰ Let their intelligence shape how they argue

A clever character doesn’t always win by yelling louder. Sometimes they cut deep with one sentence. Sometimes they bait someone into proving their point for them. Or smile while delivering verbal chess moves that leave everyone stunned two scenes later.

╰ Smart doesn’t mean wordy

Sometimes the smartest thing your character can say is nothing. Sometimes it’s “Huh.” Or one line that lands like a hammer. Intelligence isn’t just about complexity, it’s about clarity. Bonus points if they say the thing everyone else was dancing around.

╰ Show them solving problems, not just explaining them

Whether it’s picking a lock or defusing a political standoff, let them act. Watching them think on their feet, adapt, and surprise people is way more compelling than giving them long-winded monologues about the history of poison.

╰ Let them struggle with being misunderstood

A smart character might say something that’s totally logical but lands like a slap. Or they assume people see the obvious when they don’t. Intelligence can be isolating. That tension makes them human.

╰ Don’t make them the author’s mouthpiece

If your “smart” character exists to deliver the moral of the story, they’ll feel like a soapbox in a trench coat. Let them be flawed, biased, wrong sometimes. Let them learn. Otherwise, they stop being a character and start being an essay in disguise.

╰ Make their intelligence emotional, too

Book smart is one thing. Emotional intelligence hits differently. Maybe they’re intuitive. Maybe they know how to read a room. Maybe they see through someone’s bravado in five seconds flat. Brains plus empathy? Lethal combo.

╰ Smart doesn’t mean nice

Intelligence can be cruel. Calculated. Detached. Don’t be afraid to let your clever character weaponize their smarts if that’s who they are. Sometimes the coldest characters are the ones who know exactly how to hurt you—and choose not to. Or do.

[aimarketresearch]

Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller Market Size, Share, Trends, Opportunities, Key Drivers and Growth Prospectus

Micro and Nano PLC Market report is an important manuscript for every market enthusiast, policymaker, investor, and market player. The industry report gives an arrangement regarding the market’s components, by pinpointing a couple of edges including limitations, regard chain, utilization foundation, and client affirmation. This market report also involves the drivers and restraints for the Micro and Nano PLC market that are derived from SWOT analysis, and also shows what all the recent developments, product launches, joint ventures, mergers and acquisitions by the several key players and brands that are driving the market are by systemic company profiles.

Global Micro and Nano PLC market research report is based on a customer intelligence and competitive study of the market. Moreover, the report endows with deep insights into demand forecasts, market trends, and micro and macro indicators in the market. This market report deals with the analysis of the up-and-coming trends along with major drivers, restraints, challenges and opportunities in the market for Micro and Nano PLC industry. Also, factors that are driving and restraining the market are highlighted in the study. Micro and Nano PLC is an in-depth business intelligence report based on qualitative and quantitative parameters of the market.

Access Full 350 Pages PDF Report @

Programmable logic controllers (PLCs) have greatly improved over recent years in terms of capability, usability, communications, and programming flexibility. Because of the advancements in the sector, conventional measurements such controller size, type, and input/output count are now only a distant secondary consideration when selecting a PLC. Today's medium- and small-sized PLCs have features that were unheard of just a few years ago. These smaller PLC units are also far less expensive than standard-sized PLCs, and they are widely used in various specialized applications, such as small machines with a focus on basic serial connections.

Global micro and nano programmable logic controller (PLC) market was valued at USD 8.15 million in 2021 and is expected to reach USD 14.54 million by 2029, registering a CAGR of 7.50% during the forecast period of 2022-2029. In addition to the market insights such as market value, growth rate, market segments, geographical coverage, market players, and market scenario, the market report curated by the Data Bridge Market Research team includes in-depth expert analysis, import/export analysis, pricing analysis, production consumption analysis, and pestle analysis.

The Micro and Nano PLC market research report displays a comprehensive study on production capacity, consumption, import and export for all the major regions across the globe. The target audience considered for this market study mainly consists of Key consulting companies & advisors, Large, medium, and small-sized enterprises, Venture capitalists, Value-added resellers (VARs), Third-party knowledge providers, Investment bankers, and Investors. This global market analysis report is the believable source for gaining the market research that will exponentially accelerate the business growth. The top notch Micro and Nano PLC market report is the best option to acquire a professional in-depth study on the current state for the market.

Table of Contents: Micro and Nano PLC Market

1 Introduction

2 Global Micro and Nano PLC Market Segmentation

3 Executive Summary

4 Premium Insight

5 Market Overview

6 Micro and Nano PLC Market, by Product Type

7 Micro and Nano PLC Market, by Modality

8 Micro and Nano PLC Market, by Type

9 Micro and Nano PLC Market, by Mode

10 Micro and Nano PLC Market, by End User

12 Micro and Nano PLC Market, by Geography

12 Micro and Nano PLC Market, Company Landscape

13 Swot Analysis

14 Company Profiles

Countries Studied:

North America (Argentina, Brazil, Canada, Chile, Colombia, Mexico, Peru, United States, Rest of Americas)

Europe (Austria, Belgium, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, United Kingdom, Rest of Europe)

Middle-East and Africa (Egypt, Israel, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, United Arab Emirates, Rest of MEA)

Asia-Pacific (Australia, Bangladesh, China, India, Indonesia, Japan, Malaysia, Philippines, Singapore, South Korea, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Taiwan, Rest of Asia-Pacific)

Some of the major players operating in the micro and nano programmable logic controller (PLC) market are

ABB (Switzerland)

Fujitsu (Japan)

Toshiba Corporation (Japan)

Texas Instruments Incorporated (U.S.)

Cree LED (U.S.)

Aixtron (Germany)

Mitsubishi Chemical Corporation (Japan)

Eaton (Ireland)

Siemens (Germany)

Belkin International, Inc (U.S.)

Aukey (China)

Gizmochina  (China)

VisIC Technologies (Israel)

Koninklijke Philips N.V. (Netherlands)

VINA International Holdings LTD. (U.S.)

GaN Systems Inc. (Canada)

Epigan NV (Belgium)

Navitas Semiconductor Ltd.(U.S.)

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[bemusedlybespectacled]

proposing what I'm going to call Gaylor's Razor, which is: never explain normal shit as being part of a secret message that can only be decoded by over-analysis.

"These Taylor Swift lyrics are actually coded messages saying that she's a lesbian and is forced to stay in the closet! Any lyrics that are clearly about being attracted to a man are just to throw us off the scent!" Sometimes people, like Taylor Swift, are straight and write about being straight, because they are straight.

"The fourth series of Sherlock was deliberately bad because it was actually a coded message to us fans that there is a secret fourth episode that will make Johnlock canon and will actually be good!" Sometimes writers (even experienced writers who are normally good at their jobs) will write something that's not good, because no one is perfect. They're not going to waste everyone's time and money and energy creating something terrible on purpose as part of a grand master plan.

"Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, the Canadian Olympic ice dancers, are secretly married (with kids)! Their public relationships with people who are not each other and them repeatedly saying 'we dated as kids and now we're just friends' are just to hide the truth! Which they need to hide for some reason! Their relationship is obvious just from their physical chemistry when competing! JUST LOOK AT THIS TWO SECOND CLIP OF HIM BLINKING AT HER!" It seems counterproductive to put all that thought into hiding a relationship that doesn't need to be hidden but then also telegraph that same relationship in front of millions of people through planned choreography.

"But BB, what about times that people really are speaking in code or hiding something due to outside influences?"

If it requires huge leaps in logic, like adding all the letters in a sentence together and dividing by seventeen and that number matches the binary sequence for the color yellow so YELLOW MUST BE SIGNIFICANT, it's not a secret code.

If it requires focusing on teeny tiny details but discards huge ones, like analyzing someone's micro-expressions but handwaving away what the person is actually saying out loud with their mouth, or focusing on one specific line instead of the entire scene or song or whatever, it's not a secret code.

If both supporting and contradictory evidence are used to come to the same conclusion (ex: when Taylor says something that I interpret as gay, that means she's gay, and when she says something that I interpret as straight, that still means she's gay and just hiding it), it's not a secret code.

Trying to apply fandom meta analysis techniques to real life is a really good way of fall into conspiratorial thinking that can be easily exploited. You can totally try to predict what's going to happen in a story or choose to interpret a scene in a specific way; you can't do that in real life with real people. That way lies the kind of nonsense that leads to shit like "this image of pizza on a children's toy is actually subliminal messaging by The Cabal™ that proves that Pizzagate is real."

[stealingyourbones]

The Batfamily require a very strict diet and an absurd amount of calories and protein to keep their peak human strength at their best.

Lucky for them; a new protein and supplement brand has hit the market. Fenton Foods. Items with crazy micros AND macros with specific foods designed for folks who cut that shouldn’t logically exist and yet they do.

[nonbinoclard]

if you asked kim whether he regrets transferring to the 41st he would say no, but there are moments he’s come close. minific version under cut

LIEUTENANT KIM KITSURAGI – “We’re getting closer to their hideout… we’ll need to be extra careful not to be seen from here on.”

RANCID-SMELLING TRASH CAN – You nod and continue to sift through liquefied food waste and discarded packaging, reaching past bags filled to the brim with likely unsavory substances and trying your best to avoid any used syringes. Nothing good yet, but mama didn’t raise a quitter (you think). If you can just reach in a little further…

LIEUTENANT KIM KITSURAGI – His voice shoots through the air like a bullet– “GET DOWN!”

YOU – Huh?

SAVOIR FAIRE – You heard the good lieutenant! BUST A MOVE!

VOLITION – What? No, you need to–

SAVOIR FAIRE – UPUPUP! NO TIME! Don’t keep him waiting, hotshot! Impress him with your dancing prowess!

LOGIC – Why the hell would he be asking–

SAVOIR FAIRE – You know what you need to do.

YOU –

[VOLITION - EASY] Drop to the ground. (-3 Don’t keep him waiting)

[SAVOIR FAIRE - CHALLENGING] Get down with your bad self. (+3 The ONLY answer.)

“Whuh?”

“Not now kitten, daddy’s looking for treasure in the garbage.”

[SAVOIR FAIRE - CHALLENGING] Get down with your bad self.

[CHECK SUCCESS]

SAVOIR FAIRE – The world slows, narrows down precisely to your point of existence, much like a spotlight shining down on a rising starlet. Your time has come. You must herald the coming of a new age of man, the birth of a rhythm-based society that communicates solely via body language and dance. GO, my apostle, show the world and spread the gospel!

YOU – You rip your hand out of its stinky prison and dance like you've never danced before in your life (as far as you can remember). With all the energy and panache you can muster from within your abused body, you erupt into a flurry of motion and improvised dance music (in the form of mumbled basslines and mouth-made drum sounds).

You’re unstoppable; caught up in the euphoria of busting it down, you twirl and shimmy… In between blissful micro-seconds of self-expression in movement you catch the lieutenant's eyes, which are wide with shock.

You've really dazzled him!

VOLITION – No, you idiot! You’re gonna get–

PERCEPTION – A gunshot rings out behind you.

PAIN THRESHOLD – OWWWW FUCK!

[grotesquevi]

riva’s side note  #  i want to take special time on thanking from the bottom of my heart to @mxya-dreams who helped me out in doing the greatest proof read in the universe, not only she's my private editor, but the kindest girl in this place. if my english is better than you recognize in this? may be because she just where art thou why not uponeth me? the fuck of this. hope you guys love loud bark deep bite, im so excited for this also?? iNSANE.

art bellow in one of the windows belongs to blkfairyy0 on x, black hair violet gives me chills idk, edited by your girl aka me wc: 2.5k

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ series masterlist || chapter song || chapter #01

there's a subtle smell of sweat in the gym that makes violet vanderson scrunch her nose in disgust: how is it possible that the unmistakable smell of humans stuck to everything? the ceiling, the machines, the damn walls.

there's a red envelope on the reception table (which she treats like a personal desk) that says in big red letters how's it’s matter of the utmost urgent response. however, as much as it's clearly labelled as important, it seems to be forgotten in an ever growing pile of papers who expose just how shitty her finances were getting lately as all the graphics seemed to go downwards.

why are people suddenly not working out anymore? and more importantly — why are people not working out at her gym? were powder's designs too much for fit stuck-ups? she had a nice place, good rates, every day she blasts hella good music through the speakers only to be cutting expenses for what? three months already? numbers decreasing along with her faith in humanity.

she's recurring to everything at this point. dog walker, worst waiter ever, she even thought about doing porn when she saw an announcement on a website that was calling out for 'lesbians interested in quick money', ticked all the right boxes before backing out the very same day.

so obviously it makes sense she has now come to sell weed. embarrassing herself to the point where she's been offering green to frat kids, who vi wouldn't dare to even talk to if it wasn't out of pure necessity. people in their twenties who look so full of life, meanwhile she wishes she was in bed under twenty blankets and a glass of whiskey gripped in  her fingers, shutting the world out just because she wants to.

sweat.

she's thinking about how much she hates other people's sweat when her phone buzzes with a notification that catches her eye immediately. It lights up the empty gym (since there was a storm forecasted that same night) friday night. she's a little curious as to why nobody has reached out to buy when she makes sure to have top-nugs-category: she's selling fucking purple weed, people should be lining up outside.

however, despite her ego being bruised, she reaches for the phone anyway to find a number she doesn't have saved in her contacts.

lena. she makes an effort to remember who exactly this person's talking about before she flashes a good memory from last week, that lena. cute mom she met in a club over the weekend, nice tits, drunk as fuck since she blatantly flirts for fun: good client, safe money. she stumbled upon lena and her group of mom-friends who seemed to be on this crazy-night-out they must pull once every six months or so.

she stares at the phone for a while not really sure what to say — what if it’s a fucking cop? she knows the tactics enforcers use to deal with micro-trafficking, even though vi’s sure her contribution to the drug society is far less intimidating than tony montana’s first years as a baby.

so, logically, she should be saying no. declining cause she doesn't want to go to jail and vi doesn’t want this to blow up in her face: what would powder do if she went to jail? the question makes a shiver run down her spine, she’s definitely not ready to find out. ever.

the owner of ‘the last drop energy’ is ready to make an excuse before another text pops up with a bop sound and she’s looking at the screen again, blue eyes already tired from how much shit she’s been doing the entire day — vi's too old for this.

blame her tender and bruised heart, blame her good will and trust for people cause she knows lena, a mother that seems stressed. maybe it's someone from her bookclub or someone of the sort searching for the good old way to relax, it's coherent after all, makes sense and gives her enough reassurance to back up in words.

despite any warning her brain might give, she needs money. urgently.

she's bad at calculating time cause it's past midnight when vi's parking the motorbike outside your house in the suburbs. her pride and joy, the engine roars loud enough to wake your neighbors as she's taking the helmet off and leaving it against the seat: no one this rich is stealing such a common helmet that looks like it’s barely being held together.

it's a nice neighbourhood anyway, a cute suburb with big houses and a nice design, pretty gardens with porches and thick doors, expensive, nothing like the places she's been living in her whole life — much different from her current place above the gym, her childhood home, as she stares at the garden of roses. it's so distant from her, so strange as she doesn't fit into the whole ‘perfect family life’ painting.

equipped with her trusty leather jacket, there's a two-headed dog design on her back, still on her knee pads securely wrapped around each leg when she's knocking on your door, being judged by your nosy neighbors as she can physically feel the weight of prying eyes on her, even when most of the lights in the other houses are already off.

she's having trouble concentrating for a minute. it catches her off guard, the universe almost calling her out for being so judgemental, so dumb for a minute cause you're not what she thought you were. hair tied in a messy bun, the jeans you're wearing hug your ass so fucking good that she stays silent and stares for a few moments when you're inviting her in, shame written all over your face as you soon state:

"i can't buy weed here, sorry i got gossip-loving-neighbors" and in every other situation, vi would've leave without saying a word cause it's one of her un-written rules: she doesn't go in people's houses, she doesn't do deliveries for new clients and she most definitely doesn't stare at anyone trying to do business with her the way she's doing with you — "you're vi right? sorry for being an awful client, can i offer you anything?"

crap. she thought you were older than you seem to be. it catches her off guard. lena looks older anyway.

"no, no. i'm fine. thank you." you're gesturing the couch, unaware of the whole shitshow vi's already got going on in her own head before getting curious as she looks at the large amount of art you have hanging on your walls, the nice wooden bookshelf with a big stair that seemed to be made to reach the upper shelves, some pictures and a lot of plants that were thriving. it's inevitable, she thinks, when you're this cool, this pleasing to the eye. it doesn't seem like a mom-house at all "got a nice place."

"thanks," you take pride in it, obviously. as you hold a glass of red wine to your lips, there's a knowing smile already tugging on the corners of your mouth. i designed it."

"are you some kind of interior designer or so?"

"architect " you correct her "i mean like, actually designed the house."

well that's hot. power's fucking hot. being in such control's fucking attractive. makes vi wonder if you're still married, searching for a ring on your finger which she doesn't find even when she makes sure of it twice: not married. you're not married.

so that's what it is then? were you trying to impress her? cause vi's such a whore for it already. it’s working damn right when it makes her mouth dry at the thought of it: was she imaging it all? good fuck. is it weird to say she wants you to flirt? that she wants you to try and impress her like a million girls have done before? it's not like the girls from piltover's campus, not like her regulars at the club. no. you're too busy to go out and waste a night drinking away, you have stuff to do, you're always busy and its different. hits her different.

a thousand movies seem to appear in vi's head and she's holding total liability of her actions when pleading guilty in her own brain: boring careers, boring small talk, dull personalities she doesn't really care about when she's selling like this— she forgot the last time she met someone interesting in a similar position. too many dumb fucks.

"lena told me you sell top-quality," you're pouring red wine in the glass cup you're holding between your recently manicured black nails before turning your attention back to her — "i'm really sorry for talking to you out of the blue, my friend told me it was fine."

"i did think you were a cop," vi replies, and the blunt honesty makes you chuckle for a moment. "almost left you on read."

"i knew it" your eyes narrow while she's pulling out an small pink bag of weed that she drops on the small table you have in the center, close to the glass that’s now stained with your lipstick "had to pull the big guns out there and told you it was for my little monster kid, can't leave him alone."

"i figured as much since your friend's also a mom" she understands, she really does. unlike most dealers out there vi got this thing called empathy. fucking hates people who ask to pay later, but kids? she can work with that "i didn't know how much you wanted, but i don't carry much with me usually."

"too much risk" you agree to her words as your fingers take hold of the package that she carefully made for you back at the gym — "its okay. i don't want much either, i didn’t smoke much until like- now."

"i can bring more if you like that. no worries."

she wants to give herself a slap on the back, congratulate her life choices cause she brought less than usual, afraid it was all a trap, but now? now you can call her again, ask for more weed, have her coming again this late to see your pretty face.

"well, that's if you don't hate me, cause i wanted to ask if you have any pre-rolls? i don't think i own a grinder anymore" for fuck's sake. you're looking at her with those eyes, the right corner of your lips pulling into a smile and vi knows, a gut-like omen rising, that you're going to shit on her life even when she tries to avoid it since you have a face people raise religions up on. you're going to make her another one of your worshippers as you're laughing almost in a self-deprecating way.

she doesn't care if you don't have a grinder. if you don't have a lighter, if you don't own papers. hell she'd do it all for you.

"no" she admits only to see the pout in your lips since she's sold way before shaking her head — "but i'll help you out this time."

"this mean you're going to keep on selling me weed?" you ask, head cocking to the side as you question your new go-to dealer "even when i'll probably be an awful client?"

"well, proud to say i have patience" she admits, but not really. vi's saying it to see that smile on your face when she's opening up the package and an earthy smell fills the living room with the soft sound of the television in the background. "it's not like i sell weed to pretty moms in rich neighborhoods every day- i have a feeling you'll actually be a good client."

are you nervous? shit. of course you are.

vi can see it on your lower lip, in the way you try to stay distant even when she experiences the intensity of your gaze as her tongues poking out to lick the glue side of her own rolling papers. fingers swiftly moving to roll the weed you just bought. makes her blush for a moment cause hell — you're intimidating after all, an alluring magnet that seemed to drag her closer like  polar opposites, a force in the universe keeping her orbiting around like a moon to your planet.

"that's dylan" your dealer can hear you say, trying to break the ice when catching her staring at the picture of you and your son playfully posing. good to know, but, she was looking at you instead of the kid "he's the six-year-old reason as to why i can’t buy weed in a park."

that makes her laugh which then in turn, makes you laugh.

"he's cute" she replies, leaving the pre-rolls she was rolling on the table "he looks like you."

so it’s awfully clear that vi can't stop herself from flirting with you. can't fight the electric attraction filling the air almost immediately as she knows, by the look on your face that you're considering how bad it is to make out with a potential criminal sitting on your couch from a scale from one to ten.

knows it since she's thinking about it too, only, that in her head the positive outcomes outdo any potential bad ones.

"thank you, vi," you reply, cornered by a sword to  your neck and a wall at your back. politely talking cause you desperately need to keep distance between you two to be on your best behavior; not fall for your cute drug dealer as you walk her to the door tipping a good amount of money in a way of showing appreciation for her rolling you enough supplies to last at least a week. "can i save your number?"

"yeah" she states when walking down the front entrance before turning halfway around on the way to the motorbike, helmet still resting in the seat cause you live in a happy world, one with no thieves, no danger or menace — "see you around ma'."

so you lean against the door. arms crossed against your chest, you stare at her like a guard dog until she's leaving the property (can your neighbors be this crazy? or is it that you don't trust people easily?) and the deep sound of the bike disappears into the distance with the stars still shining up in the sky.

she's officially making plans on the first red light back home, not really caring about a husband, a kid or a rich neighbor aware of everything you do.

it's official when violet vanderson decides on making her business, absolutely yours. 

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤGROTESQUEVI, MMXXV © DO NOT FEED MY STUFF TO SHITTY AI, NOR TRANSLATE OR COPY TO ANOTHER PAGES.

[mariasont]

Strictly Medical Reasons - S.R

it started as concern. a few check-ins, a handful of visits, just to make sure you were healing. but somewhere along the way, the line between duty and something deeper blurred, and spencer wasn't sure he wanted to redraw it.

pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: gn!reader, flirting, mention of some undescribed rescue (imagining it wasn't too much trauma because there is too much flirting going on lol), reader has stitches, pre-relationship pining, definitely blurring some unhealthy attachments, mild codependency?, injury/wound care, but this is all fluffity fluff wc: 1.9k request: here

It was supposed to be procedural.

Another life salvaged, another story neatly archived. He had done this before, so many times, in so many places, that the specifics bled together, watercolors smudged by the passage of time. Their faces softened into abstraction, names reduced to reference, tucked away for when necessity dictated. That was the nature of it, the job. He helps, he leaves. They move on, and so does he.

Except this time, he hadn’t.

It didn’t hit him in the moment. Not when the case wrapped up, not when he boarded the jet, not even when he returned to his apartment. It wasn’t until much later — until he was supposed to be focused on a book he had read three times before, until he was staring blankly at his own notes without processing a single word — that he realized he hadn’t moved on. 

He could still remember the exact shade of your shirt, the way the material had wrinkled when you crossed your arms, the way you had cracked a joke, not forced, not out of shock, but because humor was your instinct, the same way facts were his.

The logical part of him knew this was excessive. Maybe even bordering on inappropriate. Checking in once? Reasonable. Twice? Understandable. But five times? Six? He wasn’t even sure anymore. Somewhere between the habitual morning texts and the I was just in the area visits that were only technically lies, he had lost count.

Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just about your well-being and started becoming something else entirely, something he didn’t want to analyze too closely. Because even if he did, the compulsion remained the same, his fingers hovering over his phone, rereading messages for subtext that probably wasn’t there, scanning your voice for micro-inflections, subtle hesitations, anything.

It was crazy. For someone who spent his life dissecting human behavior down to its most fundamental parts, Spencer found himself struggling with the most basic equation of all: what was it about you that had rewired every rational impulse he had?

“Dr. Reid?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I can take these stitches out myself?”

Spencer’s response time dragged as he attempted to process whether or not you were joking. There was no sound reason for you to even consider that,removing sutures too early could lead to dehiscence, increased risk of infection, and possible hypertrophic scarring. He ran through a dozen potential responses, none of which adequately conveyed the "are you out of your mind" sentiment currently flooding his system.

“What?”

“My stitches. They itch like crazy,” you complain. There’s a rustling sound, a shuffle of movement, then a sharp inhale, like you’ve pressed too hard. He stiffens. “I know they said to wait, but it’s been — what? A week? That’s long enough, right?”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s not long enough. And unless you’ve recently acquired a medical degree I don’t know about, you should absolutely not remove them yourself.”

A small, defeated sigh. He didn’t have to be there to know what you were doing, absently picking the edges of the injury, mind already debating whether to listen to him or your own impatience. He knew exactly how your brain worked. Possibly too well. 

“Okay, okay, doctor.” Your voice now had a teasing lilt, dissolving his irritation like sugar in tea. “I’ll keep them in. For now.”

He should have told you to go to urgent care. It was exactly the kind of advice he would give to anyone else. He even opened his mouth to say it.

But urgent care meant you’d be sitting in a cold, sterile room, and Spencer already had all the proof he needed that you did not handle pain well, so he could only imagine the absolute scene you would cause the second the doctor so much as touched you.

You had made it through an entire armed standoff without a scratch. You had been fine. Perfectly fine. And then, the second you were safe, you tripped over your own feet on the gravel, went down hard, and immediately announced, “I think I’m dying.”

(You weren’t. It was a two-stitch injury. He knew that. You knew that. But that hadn’t stopped you from squeezing his arm like you were bracing for war.)

So yeah, he wasn’t about to subject an innocent nurse to that level of unnecessary suffering.

“...I can come by and take a look.”

He hadn’t told anyone he was leaving and hadn’t bothered with excuses of half-hearted justifications. You had agreed without hesitation, voice light, pleased, and before he could even process what that meant, what it meant that you wanted him there, the call had ended and his coat was already on, his body moving as if his mind had no say in the matter at all.

Which was how he ended up here.

At your door, eyes drawn, as always, to the welcome mat. Stay Awhile. Too sentimental. A little too on-the-nose. The kind of thing he would generally dismiss with a passing thought, another surface-level attempt at warmth, mass-produced and impersonal. Except lately, it was starting to feel like a directive. 

Before he even knocked, the door swung open. He froze, fingers still half-curled into a fist, blinking as if he had somehow miscalculated the timing of reality itself.

“Hi.” You stepped back without hesitation, the invitation clear.  “Come in.”

Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, thrown by the fluidity of it all.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you added, pushing the door behind him. “I had to work online today, and, uh, turns out, when you don’t have to leave the house, basic organization becomes more of a suggestion than a rule.”

His eyes skimmed the room, cataloging the so-called mess. A blanket, half-draped over the couch, slumped like a figure in mid-collapse. The pillows sat uneven, as if they had been rearranged in restless indecision. A coffee mug, streaked with the last remnants of caffeine, stood beside an open laptop. A pair of socks had been cast aside in the corner.

Mess, you had called it. He fought the urge to tell you that, statistically, people who lived in slightly cluttered spaces tended to be more creative. Somehow, he figured you already knew that.

His gaze tracked downward, instinct eclipsing intention.

The stitches were still in place, neatly spaced, and there were no signs of infection. So far, so good. But the skin surrounding them was angry, irritation blooming in uneven splotches where your fingers had worried the flesh.

“You’ve been scratching them.”

Your eyes flickered toward your arm, then back at him, guilt tucked behind a small, lopsided smile. “Not badly.”

Spencer sighed as he set his bag down with a thump. “Sit on the counter.”

“What?”

“The lighting’s better,” he muttered, already making his way toward the kitchen. “And I’d rather not crouch on your floor to assess how much damage you’ve done.”

You hopped up without argument, legs swinging as you grinned at him. “Do I get a lollipop after this check-up?”

Spencer stepped between your legs, hands settling lightly on your knee for balance. He hadn’t really thought this through, how close he’d have to be, how your leg would brush his hip, how he would be able to smell faint traces of your shampoo. 

He exhaled a dry laugh. “I don’t know. Do you think you deserve a reward for actively making my life harder?”

“Sounds like a you problem, Dr. Reid. If you weren’t so obsessed with checking up on me, you wouldn’t even know I was doing anything questionable.”

Spencer sighed, tugging on his gloves, the latex snapping against his wrist like punctuation.

“You make an excellent point.” He pulled out the disinfectant next, carefully flipping the cap open. “An annoying one, but an excellent point nonetheless.”

Because if he didn’t check up on you, he wouldn’t even know about the irritated stitches. He also wouldn’t know that you never make it through a full cup of coffee before it gets cold, or that you always read the last page of a book first, just in case, or that you leave the bathroom light on when you get up in the middle of the night because you hate walking through the dark.

He wouldn’t know you, not in all these strange, fascinating, tangled ways. And for some reason, that thought startled him more than it should.

When you started, Spencer barely had the cotton pad against your skin, “So I was reading this article about how — ow!” You flinched, shooting him a glare. “That stings!”

Spencer pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a laugh. “I did bring a numbing agent, but I figured you’d want to tough it out. For, you know, bragging rights.”

You huffed, lips turning into a tiny, reluctant pout. “Yeah, okay, I’m fine.”

Spencer’s grip on the cotton pad faltered just slightly before he recovered. He shouldn’t find that cute. He shouldn’t. But he absolutely did.

He continued cleaning, carefully blotting at the wound. Another wince. Another barely-contained reaction.

“Tell me about the article.”

“So, I read this study about how humans actually need physical touch to regulate their nervous systems.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgement. “I’ve read about that. Social bonding releases oxytocin.”

“Right!” you winced, inhaling sharply through your teeth before continuing. “And it’s not just romantic, like, even casual touch can lower stress levels. They did a study with people holding hands and — ow — measuring their cortisol levels. Turns out, human contact makes everything more tolerable.”

Spencer’s brain decided right then to process every point of contact between you. 

Statistically, you weren’t wrong. Scientifically, it was a well-documented phenomenon.

“Interesting,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sounds useful.”

He could cite three separate studies off the top of his head, break down the neurochemical pathways, and explain in excruciating detail why humans physically needed each other. But he liked the way you described it better.

“You saying you wanna hold my hand, Spencer?”

The antiseptic pad definitely didn’t need as much pressure as he just applied. “You’re very chatty for someone in pain.”

“You act all put out, but you keep showing up. What does that say, Dr. Reid?”

“That I’m too intelligent to believe in lost causes, but not intelligent enough to avoid them” Spencer rolled his eyes as he pulled off his glove. He patted your thigh lightly before stepping back. “Alright, all done. Try to behave so I don’t have to do this again.”

You clutched your chest theatrically. “Are you saying you don’t enjoy our little quality time sessions? That hurts, Spencer.”

He busied himself with picking up his bag. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

You hopped down from the counter, and Spencer instinctively reached out, like he thought you might be unsteady, like it was his job to ensure you didn't wobble. His hand brushed your arm for a half a second before he caught himself and pulled away.

“Text me if anything looks worse.”

“What, so you can rush over again?”

His ears tinged slightly pink. “Just… let me know if you need anything.

You softened, nodding. “I will.”

As he stepped outside, Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket, half-expecting, half hoping, to see a message from you before he even made it to his car. He shook his head at the thought, at himself. This was becoming a problem. A habit. An inevitability.

And despite knowing this, here he was, already running through excuses in his head for why it would be perfectly reasonable to check in again tomorrow. Strictly for medical reasons, of course.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[harshnews]

Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market Size, Share, Key Drivers, Trends, Challenges and Competitive Analysis

"Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2029

Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market, By Type (Micro PLC, Nano PLC), Offering (Hardware, Software, Services), Architecture (Fixed PLC, Modular PLC), Industry (Automotive Industry, Chemicals and Fertilizers Industry, Food and Beverages Industry, Home and Building Automation Industry, Metals and Mining Industry, Oil and Gas, Pharmaceutical Industry, Pulp and Paper Industry, Power, Water and Wastewater Industry) – Industry Trends and Forecast to 2029

Access Full 350 Pages PDF Report @

**Segments**

- **Type**: The Micro and Nano PLC market can be segmented by type, with micro PLCs being designed for simpler control systems with fewer I/O points and nano PLCs being even smaller and more cost-effective, ideal for applications with extremely limited space and basic functions.

- **End-User**: Another important segmentation is by end-user industry, where micro PLCs are commonly used in industries such as automotive, packaging, and material handling, while nano PLCs find applications in home automation, lighting control, and other small-scale operations.

- **Region**: Geographically, the market can be segmented into regions such as North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Middle East, and Africa. Each region may have different adoption rates and preferences for micro and nano PLCs based on their industrial landscape and technological advancements.

**Market Players**

- **Siemens AG**: A prominent player in the Micro and Nano PLC market, Siemens offers a wide range of PLC products catering to various industries. With a strong global presence and a focus on innovation, Siemens continues to be a key player in the market.

- **Rockwell Automation, Inc.**: Another major market player, Rockwell Automation specializes in industrial automation and control systems, including micro and nano PLCs. The company's technological expertise and established customer base position it as a significant competitor in the market.

- **Mitsubishi Electric Corporation**: Known for its advanced automation solutions, Mitsubishi Electric is a key player in the micro and nano PLC market. The company's high-quality products and comprehensive range of offerings make it a preferred choice for many industries.

- **Schneider Electric SE**: Schneider Electric is a leading provider of energy management and automation solutions, including micro and nano PLCs. With a focus on sustainability and efficiency, the company continues to expand its presence in the market.

- **ABB Ltd.**: ABB is a multinational company known for its expertise in robotics, power, and automation technologies. The company'sSiemens AG, one of the key players in the Micro and Nano PLC market, has maintained its strong position through a combination of technological innovation, industry expertise, and global reach. The company's diverse product portfolio caters to a wide range of industries, allowing it to capture numerous market segments effectively. Siemens' continuous investment in research and development ensures that its PLC products remain at the forefront of technology, offering customers cutting-edge solutions for their automation needs. Additionally, Siemens' focus on sustainability and energy efficiency aligns well with the growing industry trends, further solidifying its position in the market.

Rockwell Automation, Inc. is another significant player in the Micro and Nano PLC market, renowned for its industrial automation solutions and expertise. The company's established reputation for delivering reliable and high-performance control systems has made it a preferred choice for many industries worldwide. Rockwell Automation's commitment to technological advancement and customer-centric approach has enabled it to stay competitive in a rapidly evolving market landscape. By offering a comprehensive range of PLC products tailored to different application needs, Rockwell Automation continues to attract a diverse customer base and expand its market presence.

Mitsubishi Electric Corporation's presence in the micro and nano PLC market is characterized by its focus on advanced automation solutions and product quality. The company's reputation for providing robust and reliable PLCs has earned it a strong position in the market, especially in industries that demand precision control and high performance. Mitsubishi Electric's commitment to innovation and continuous improvement ensures that its PLC products meet the evolving needs of customers across various sectors. By emphasizing user-friendly interfaces, scalability, and flexibility in its offerings, Mitsubishi Electric remains competitive in a competitive market landscape.

Schneider Electric SE, a leading provider of energy management and automation solutions, has established itself as a significant player in the Micro and Nano PLC market. The company's comprehensive product portfolio, which includes a range of PLCs suited for different applications, enables it to address diverse customer requirements effectively. Schneider Electric's focus on sustainability and efficiency aligns well**Segments:**

- **Type**: The Micro and Nano PLC market can be segmented by type into micro PLCs and nano PLCs. Micro PLCs are designed for simpler control systems with fewer I/O points, while nano PLCs are even smaller and more cost-effective, ideal for applications with limited space and basic functions.

- **End-User**: Another important segmentation is by end-user industry, where micro PLCs are commonly used in industries such as automotive, packaging, and material handling. On the other hand, nano PLCs find applications in home automation, lighting control, and other small-scale operations.

- **Region**: Geographically, the market can be segmented into regions such as North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Middle East, and Africa. Each region may have different adoption rates and preferences for micro and nano PLCs based on their industrial landscape and technological advancements.

**Market Players:**

Siemens AG, Rockwell Automation, Inc., Mitsubishi Electric Corporation, Schneider Electric SE, and ABB Ltd. are key players in the Micro and Nano PLC market. These companies offer a wide range of PLC products catering to various industries and have established a strong global presence in the market.

**Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market:**

- **Type**: The market is segmented into Micro PLC and Nano PLC categories. - **Offering**: Includes hardware, software, and services. - **Architecture**: Divided into fixed PLC and modular PLC. -

Table of Content:

Part 01: Executive Summary

Part 02: Scope of the Report

Part 03: Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market Landscape

Part 04: Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market Sizing

Part 05: Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market Segmentation By Product

Part 06: Five Forces Analysis

Part 07: Customer Landscape

Part 08: Geographic Landscape

Part 09: Decision Framework

Part 10: Drivers and Challenges

Part 11: Market Trends

Part 12: Vendor Landscape

Part 13: Vendor Analysis

Core Objective of Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market:

Every firm in the Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market has objectives but this market research report focus on the crucial objectives, so you can analysis about competition, future market, new products, and informative data that can raise your sales volume exponentially.

Size of the Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market and growth rate factors.

Important changes in the future Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market.

Top worldwide competitors of the Market.

Scope and product outlook of Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) Market.

Developing regions with potential growth in the future.

Tough Challenges and risk faced in Market.

Global Micro and Nano Programmable Logic Controller (PLC) top manufacturers profile and sales statistics.

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[toshisdecadence]

ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

© toshisdecadence

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol; a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off. 

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half. It was an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner? 

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it; the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body, everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—Aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much. Burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel. The stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going, his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him. He felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

[nemoys]

The fact that Lu Guang basically commits murder for Cheng Xiaoshi's sake feels so entirely in line with his character after we've SEEN him be extremely violent when Cheng Xiaoshi was shot in season 2, when we see how after a theatre is ablaze Lu Guang's only running thought is over Cheng Xiaoshi's safety. How Lu Guang will continuously pick Cheng Xiaoshi over logic or reason. Seeing his manic micro-smile at Vein quite literally sent shivers down my spine because that moment was SO EARNED.

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

eeeeek, Yandere Shockwave, Soundwave, Megatron TFP with Decepticon scientist y/n that have a personality like HAL 9000 or A.M hcs?

Oooh, interestiiing o(*￣▽￣*)o I've been meaning to search more about those two characters you mentioned, since I wanted to take them as side-inspiration characters for my OC Cycles - this will do good to make character study yes yes. But I'll say it in advance, I apologize if the personalities of the characters taken as references are not 100% accurate since I haven't read IHNMAIMS nor watched 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Yandere!TFP Megatron, Soundwave and Shockwave with a Cybertronian!Decepticon!Reader who is like HAL 9000/A.M (HCs)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour. Reader is Cybertronian, a scientist Decepticon with a personality already defined (HAL 9000 and A.M's personality) and gender neutral. A little bit of suggestive. Possibly one-sided love (can be read as Reader has no feelings for the bots).

MEGATRON

You had catched Megatron's attention the moment you had joined the Decepticons.

Deadly intelligent, logical thinking, a silent walking threat that, if you opened your mouth, could destroy anyone verbally... aaand, well, physically, you always fought with such dangerous elegance, aiming for the spark and making your enemies bleed, unbothered by the damage if it ever reached you.

Not like Megatron would let anyone place a servo on you. No, never.

The aggressive yandere with sadistic and possessive tendencies. And it was driving him mad just how you didn't crumble under his watch.

He wished to have you to actively reciprocate his love, to fully depend on him. He wanted to possess you.

But you were such a force that Megatron couldn't fully control - your intelligence, the deep hatred you held against the autobots (and, well, supposedly anyone that was alive) - oh, how addicting and how hurtful it was, it was destroying Megatron mentally but he craved for more.

He let's you do whatever you want and is not ashamed to show favoritism towards you over the others.

You tend to keep to yourself, the only emotions you ever show are either boredom, indifference, silent wrath and sooo many other emotions that are difficult to read. But the moment you show just a little, tiny, itty bitty other emotion towards Megatron, no matter if positive or negative, a single word or micro-expression. His spark clenches and buzzes, it wails and bleeds.

Whenever he gets to see you in battle, offline or torture a bot - he gets hot and bothered, and jealous.

He wants your hatred directed towards him, your silent need to hurt and torture, to draw energon and break frames to be directed towards him. Let your wrath be for him, taint him, please.

At some point, Megatron just breaks and becomes unhinged, possessive over you and nearly keeping you on an imaginary tight leash, but you defy him to keep working on your own experiments and just leave his side.

But you are not dumb, of course not. You know the power you hold over the Warlord, how he is quick to act as if a guardian dog that awaits for any type of praise or just a reaction from you.

"My angel of death" Megatron whispers, forcefully holding you close against his frame as he purrs.

"My Lord, I have important things to do." You say, nonchalantly and without a single hint of fear by shoving his faceplate away.

"Let me possess you. Let me love you." He begs, crazed smile and desperate.

"You are too loud for my liking, Lord Megatron, silence." And he shuts his mouth... for a while.

SOUNDWAVE

Soundwave fell first and hard, deep into a dark void in love with you.

From Soundwave's memories, the moment you and him met, you were like a divine being similar to Primus... or Unicron. There was no way you were an equal to him, you were higher than him, than Megatron, than anybot he has ever met!

The silent possessive with stalking yandere tendencies who always keeps his focus on you.

Has archives full of just you - photos, videos, voice records, notes, all the reports you've written and delivered, in and out of working hours... with you knowing or not.

Unlike with both Megatron and Shockwave, you actually don't mind Soundwave and find it quite pleasing to have him around. And while it is not explicitly telling him that you view him as a potential and worthy romantical partner, Soundwave clings passively to whatever attention you give him.

And he is content with just becoming your shadow - if that means he gets to be in your presence, hear you, see you, and Primus if you allow it, to feel you.

Only when you two are alone, he uses his real voice to speak with you. And only to speak praises and compliments, passive possessive remarks and a couple of lovesick sighs here and there.

Soundwave is fascinated by your intelligence and how you work, but also, gets all excited to see your anger show.

Soundwave feels his spark roar in passion at seeing you take the autobots in battle - a cold scientist back in the Nemesis and now a raged monster in battle.

"I HATE YOU!" You scream in burning agony and need to end lives.

To others it is the last words they will hear before either joining the All Spark or to meet unconsciousness (and extreme pain later once they awake), to Soundwave is like hearing the most beautiful symphony created by both Primus and Unicron.

Another precious clip to his collection!

Feels such a rush of energy whenever you call out on him without even looking at him whenever he is stalking you.

"Soundwave." You start outloud, to then snap your digits. "Here." You order.

The silent decepticon is quick to move, leaving his safe spot from the shadows to do as you ordered.

You don't stop working on your project, but once Soundwave kneels by your side, you use your closer servo to him and start petting and caressing his helm.

Yours forever, your personal walking shadow that will hold everything he can about you - the path of destruction you leave, for him, is the path towards where he must be: with you.

SHOCKWAVE

Unlike Megatron and Soundwave, Shockwave used to loathe you the very first moment he got to interact with you.

You were like a walking threat that could take his place among the Decepticon's ranks as the main scientist and to take his place under Megatron's favour.

Shockwave would develop a little obsession over you, at first to try and see any little detail that would make you inferior to him.

You couldn't be better than him. No.

With this, Shockwave slowly starts to develop a yandere personality: obsessive.

Not out of love, at first - but out of anger.

Shockwave would start to dig anywhere to find any type of information about you: who you are, where did you come from in Cybertron, what was your profession before the war, why did you join the Decepticons and where your loyalty truly fell, what type of researches and experiments have you done, and so on...

And as much as he wanted to deny it, it was illogical to lie: he started to become quite infatuated with you.

He learns and remembers everything about you, and then he realizes...

You were... like him.

Slowly, his little plan on finding everything about you to find a flaw, expose you and make Megatron cast you out of the Decepticons... started to take another turn.

The second yandere trait started to appear: delusion (kind of leaning on the self-indulgent type.)

You were brilliant, a genius, worthy to work along his side and that has clearly done great things for Megatron and the Decepticons. How you manage to keep such a cold, indifferent and calculating personality while deep down holding a burning, destructive hatred towards everything that surrounds you fascinates him.

Shockwave needed to study you.

And that's how the delusion begins.

No, he doesn't love you, he doesn't hold deep, strong feelings towards you. He just merely wishes to study you and learn more about you, that's it. You are just one of his little experiments.

... oh, such a liar.

Shockwave pretends to not notice his spark readings that get all crazy whenever his optic finds you or his audials pick up your voice. Pretends to not feel his whole frame shake whenever he gets to see you work on your own projects or speak facts. Pretends to not feel his legs weak when you praised him after showing off his working on Predaking.

"Fascinating, Shockwave." You say, staring up at the predacon. "... Only a brilliant processor would defy death."

Shockwave just hums back a small "I appreciate your words." - but you saw everything.

The way his servo clenched, how his voice box produced for a nano-klik a small sound out of surprise before speaking, how his frame tensed, the way his optic shined a little bit more.

He will keep his attention on you, lying to himself about doing it only in the name of science, failing to notice that you are watching him back and analyzing, thinking and calculating. And deep down, he wants it that way - for you to keep staring back at him and only him.

Aaahhh... My work is killing me. o(￣┰￣*)ゞ I hope y'all like it! I really hope I did it okay. Vhaos out!

[hawkepockets]

this is something i’ve been cooking on for a long time and i’m gonna try to articulate it now—please bear with me 🙏

a lot a lot of the criticism of DA:I i’ve seen from series fans has been made on the micro scale of the dialogue wheel, what dialogue choices are/aren’t available to the inquisitor in specific interactions. there are often chances to be callous, snide, arrogant, and authoritarian; rarely is there an opportunity to espouse what liberal & leftist players consider the “right” views on mages, elves, class, the chantry, etc. and when those opportunities seem to appear on the wheel, the inquisitor’s actual speech tends to hedge more than expected. the game doesn’t “let” you play an outspoken leftie.

i think critiques on this level are missing that structurally, on the macro scale, DA:I isn’t a game that’s capable of being leftist or having an outspoken leftie protagonist. it’s a story about someone whose previous identity is subsumed into the role of inquisitor for an order-restoring religious paramilitary that was created to fix the “problem” of the mage rebellion built up to in DA:O and DA2.

and fundamentally, just as DA:O asks you to play a warden who would end the blight and DA2 asks you to play a hawke who would become champion of kirkwall, DA:I asks you to play someone who would play the part of order-restoring inquisitor and false herald of andraste, even if it pains them, even if they protest strenuously at first, even if it takes the annihilation of who they used to be.

the premise, the inquisitor’s characterization, the gradually exposed legacy of the original inquisition (Jaws of Hakkon), the narrative thread of will/won’t the Inquisition lay down their swords (Trespasser), Morrigan’s outburst about the diminishing of magic in Thedas (What Pride Had Wrought), the power mechanic, the simple fact that maps become emptier, quieter, and less magical as you progress in the game, the clearing of the war table, the impossibility of leaving orlais without an emperor or the chantry without a divine—all of this, all of this! positions peace, order, mundanity, chantry hegemony, and the rule of law and law enforcement as the desirable, inevitable, only possible outcome of playing.

whether you choose the most or least progressive Divine, the most or least destabilizing and compassionate story choices, that remains the fundamental logic of DA:I. it’s the logic of the game’s most liberal companions/advisors (sera, dorian, & leliana). it’s a constraint on what changes can be made to the worldstate. and painting over that with more contrary and political dialogue options wouldn’t do anything. and this is not me saying “throw the whole game out because it was made by canadian libs”—i think DA:I is fun, vexing, moving, and really really interesting! but you kind of have to meet it where it’s at. and it’s a tragedy for the inquisitor. and it was made by canadian libs.

does that make sense??

[hallwayheart]

'piracy is wrong' ea is a money hungry, soulless corporation lining its pockets with money made off of an audience of 18-30 year olds in the middle of an international cost of living crisis, cashing it in on an era of overconsumption and 'ill buy it for this one feature'. in the past year it's implemented micro-transactions & Well let's be honest, ea takes advantage of consumers through the ea creator network by using them as a marketing technique to get consumers to buy their products and Like yeah that's blatantly obvious but i feel the need to put it into words because frankly it's sinister.

there's a blatant lack of transparency often enough and i understand this is peoples job and i have nothing against anyone who is attached to the network nor am i targeting anyone. at the end of the day ea is the bigger problem and these are regular people who love the sims and i wouldn't deny anyone the opportunity. but it's corrupt and sinister to me that ea uses this network and the gurus to market their products because simmers are far more likely to turn to creators and people in the community that they love to decide on buying a pack, then to examine the features themselves and make a decision. and i think this puts creators in an awkward position of transparency vs appeasing the evil corporation. and i feel for them While also feeling discomforted by this as a whole.

the people making the sims 4 who cared about the sims franchise left a long time ago, or their voices are drowned out so much by everyone around them that we can't hear them anymore. and i'm not telling you to pirate the game and stop giving ea any of your money so the game can die a sad But natural death and modders can take over and fix ea's mess and we can all live happy ever after because that's illegal and a crime but i also logically Cannot stop you from doing it.

what i am saying is to Put on your grown up pants and assess the state of the game, the state of the world, the state of over-consumption and consider how much money you have fed into corporations like EA and how much other people have influenced YOU purchasing things that ultimately didn't live up to your expectations. how many times has an influencer on tiktok talked about how much she loved a waterbottle Enough that you bought it. if you're happy with everything you've ever purchased that's FINE and some people really Truly do love certain ts4 ep's. seasons and growing together are the only ep's i'd recommend people buy, personally, and i don't doubt anyones honesty! But nuance can exist in this conversation. Two things can be true. make choices 4 urself & consider breaking up w ur favourite toxic video game corporation Today.