#Round Electromagnets

[mpcomagnetics]

Electromagnets in Robotics and Automation

Electromagnets in Robotics and Automation In the rapidly evolving world of robotics and automation, electromagnets have emerged as a cornerstone technology, enabling significant advancements and innovations. These devices, which can be switched on and off to control magnetic force, play a critical role in various aspects of robotic systems, from actuation and manipulation to sensing and safety.…

[its-to-the-death]

Fictional Weapon War Preliminary Round #37

Only one of these will make it into the bracket so choose your favorite!

[mysticstronomy]

HOW DO WE KNOW HOW THE MILKY WAY LOOKS LIKE??

Blog#362

Saturday, December 30th, 2023

Welcome back,

This is the spiral galaxy NGC 2835, imaged by the impeccable, seemingly timeless Hubble Space Telescope.

And this is NGC 1132, an elliptical galaxy captured through the tandem efforts of Hubble and NASA's Chandra X-ray Observatory.

We know what both of these breathtakingly beautiful galaxies look like because we can see them from afar. How then do we know what our own Milky Way galaxy looks like, seeing as how we are inside it?

While we've never been able to zoom out and take a true galactic selfie, there are numerous observations that clue us in to the structure of our home galaxy. The greatest hint comes from looking at other galaxies. While there are perhaps two trillion in our observable universe, surprisingly, they only seem to come in three discernable varieties: spiral, elliptical, and irregular.

Spiral galaxies have a mostly flat disk with a bright central bulge and arms that swirl out from the middle. Elliptical galaxies tend to be round or oval with a uniform distribution of stars. Irregular galaxies are like stellar splotches in space, with little structure at all.

Gazing skyward from our vantage point on and around Earth, there are clear signs that the Milky Way is a spiral galaxy. You can see one sign with the naked eye! The Milky Way appears in our sky as a relatively flat disk.

Using more sophisticated methods, astrophysicists and astronomers have provided two more clues to the structure of the Milky Way.

"When we measure velocities of stars and gas in our galaxy, we see an overall rotational motion that differs from random motions," Sarah Slater, a graduate student in cosmology at Harvard University, wrote. "This is another characteristic of a spiral galaxy."

Moreover the gas proportions, colors, and dust content are similar to other spiral galaxies, she added.

Aside from these lines of evidence, astronomers are also using their tools in ingenious ways to map the structure of the Milky Way. Just this year, scientists used two radio astronomy projects from different parts of the globe to measure the parallaxes – differences in the apparent positions of objects viewed along two different lines of sight – from masers shooting off electromagnetic radiation in numerous massive star forming regions in our galaxy.

"These parallaxes allow us to directly measure the forms of spiral arms across roughly one-third of the Milky Way, and we have extended the spiral arm traces into the portion of the Milky Way seen from the Southern Hemisphere using tangencies along some arms based on carbon monoxide emission," the researchers explained. They coupled these observations with other gathered data points to construct a new image of the Milky Way. This is our home galaxy, in all its resplendant glory.

Originally published www-realclearscience-com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, January 3rd, 2024)

"WHAT IS QUARK MATTER??"

[bleubrri]

۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ ᴀᴅʀᴇɴᴀʟɪɴᴇ — ʜᴀɴᴍᴀ sʜᴜᴊɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

༄ؘ ˑ contains: f1 driver!shuji , pit crew manager!reader , endless petnames ( doll / angel / pretty girl / sweetheart etc ) , black coded!fem!sub!reader , vaginal fingering , squirting , cunnilingus , a lil pussy job , v brief mention of anal , jerkin’ off , dacryphilia + overstim if you squint , shuji tuckin’ your cum away for safe keeping<3

༄ؘ ˑ wc: 4k

༄ؘ ˑ a/n: belated bday piece for hanma🤸🏾not proof read as per ͡(ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ु

“piece of fucking shit—” the sound of his helmet slamming into the tarmac has hanma’s useless excuse for a pit crew flinching under the racers rage. he’d practically leaped out of his car in his blaze of fury, sweat-sticky bangs clinging to his skin as he beelined into the pits. his attempts at trying to stay remotely calm (every one of that brainless psychologists tricks—count down from 10, five things you can see, four things you can hear or whatever the fuck) are crushed into dust when he catches sight of the crew manager, cigarette bobbing between his lips as he attempts to flirt with a runner 2 decades his junior. and hanma sees red, yanks him back by the collar so harshly that he almost goes spinning onto the track (maybe it’d to him good to take a few laps, shuji’s engine revving behind him just to keep him on his toes—).

“what the fuck?!”

“you’re fired.” hanma spits, tone laced with vitriol.

“what?” he says incredulously, “look, you can’t blame me for not winning. shoddy drivin’ ain’t gonna make up for lost time—“ hanma pulls back his fist, since apparently this idiot has a death wish. kisaki let’s him get one punch in, the satisfying crunch of a broken nose echoing before he catches him by the crook of his elbow. his manager takes in the scene, glancing at the runner who’s still hovering, wide eyed and uncertain (probably a damn apprentice they look so young) and grunting out, “leave.”

“you.” he gestures to his short-tempered racer, “walk it off.”

“whatever.” hanma sniffs, casting a final death-glare to the ex pit crew chief and kicking up shards of rubber as he saunters off.

kisaki ignores the outrage that gets spewed at him when he instructs the crew manager to pack his shit. he’s nursing an electromagnetic headache by the time he slinks into his office, wrapping his knuckles against the desk and calling for his assistant. thick lensed glasses and blue eyes peek from behind the door. “sir?”

“call her.” he says, massaging his temple and contemplating if it’s too early to retire.

nervous eyes dart around the room. “I— sir, she doesn’t—“

“call her.” he repeats with a finality that has his assistant shuddering and slinking towards the phone.

-

ten.

the smell of burning rubber, astringent and sharp, singes your nostrils and coats the back of your tongue.

nine.

“get ready people! in and out, let’s get this playboy back out there.” your quip earns you a few chuckles as your crew assembles into the positions you’ve calculated to optimise the switch.

eight. seven. six.

maybe you can leech an extra bonus off of that eerily stoic manager for your efforts. the last thing you expected was your college friend calling you in the middle of a well deserved vacation, big wet eyes and pleading tone dripping through the screen in desperate need of a favour. you’d agreed—you supposed you owed it to him for endlessly mooching notes off of him in countless late night study sessions. and your crew were good sports about it (it only took the promise of hosting at your house for new years and supplying booze for upwards of 40 people). one race, you’d said. just to tide them over until they found someone permanent for the grand prix.

five. four.

the plan is solid. everyone, everything’s in place. a flash of colour veers round the bend and your grip on your clipboard tightens.

three.

you can almost see your crew’s fingertips twitching with anticipation.

two.

oh this’ll be a breeze. fun even. maybe you can be on the train home by tomorrow morning; knock out a couple chapters of that book you’ve been meaning to finish. cook some dinner, indulge in that chardonnay gifted from the neighbour.

one.

just one more race.

-

hanma hasn’t been the first racer to leave the pits in a while. he’s almost always the first one in, having to overcompensate in the laps following half assed pit stops by crews that can barely change a fucking tire. so it’s by instinct alone that he’s preparing his usual schpiel of mumblings. c’mon, come on let’s fucking go—

but his words never get the chance to form. he’s barely eased off the gas—barely blinked before he’s burning rubber and shooting back onto the track.

adrenaline is pounding in his ears, and he vaguely registers the screams of the crowd and frantic commentary from the hosts: i don’t think we’ve seen a pit stop like that in a hot second, ted! no you’re absolutely right, josh, especially not from hanma’s corner! word on the street is he’s looking for a fresh new team ahead of the world grand prix—has the infamous racer finally found his match?

he’s giddy with the rush of an impending win flooding his veins, a smile that’s almost ditzy pulling at his lips until he can feel his gums pressing against his molars. a quick glance in his rears reveals a gaggle of black jumpsuits surrounding a figure dressed in red, the stickers from his sponsors adorning your back and torso.

and when his car gains speed and his knuckles whiten beneath his gloves as he approaches the finish line, hanma decides that he has to have you.

-

“he’s not here! winner’s lounge is further down!” you shout from around the pencil wedged between your teeth. the pits are deserted, with everyone having retreated to the press corner and vip lounge for drinks after an admittedly impressive win. you figured you’d make the most of the peace and quiet and edit a few designs in the seclusion of the garage, the shutters half shut for some privacy and hanma’s car acting as your only company.

and yet the pair of feet visible through the gap in the bottom of the shutters are suddenly sliding underneath. “hey! he’s not here, dude. it’s crew only, you’re not even supposed to be he—oh.”

you’ve only really seen snippets of him—blurry paparazzi shots of him in dark shades and a hoodie slung over his tall figure—but the riot of black and blonde, the stark characters of sin and punishment, it’s all very telling.

“did you.. need something?”

“jus’ addin’ to the collection.” he says, producing his medal that was shoved into a pocket and dropping it into a tray of similar awards. it’s ridiculous really—a little trinket tray full of medals that people spend their entire careers in pursuit of. and yet here he is, 6 foot gorgeous and acting like he couldn’t care less. you resist the urge to rake over his lean form in the tight jumpsuit that he still wears, suddenly very aware of your own jumpsuit: zipped to your waist with arms bare in nothing but a sports bra (and not even one of your cute ones). you frown at the figures and measurements on the papers in front of you. would it be weird to cover up? or weirder if you don’t? surely he’ll leave in a second anywa—

“watcha doin’?” his chin is practically resting on your shoulder as he leans over you, peering at your post-it scribbles and months long blueprints. he smells good. something spicy and masculine that makes you want to turn your head and press your nose to his pulse. apparently he’s enjoying the way his proximity is affecting you, gold-flecked eyes locking with yours as you stutter out a response.

“ah, just going over some plans. nothing exciting really.”

long fingers graze over the paper obscuring your design. “didn’t know pit crew managers designed engines.” he watches you wring your hands together on your lap, suddenly sheepish.

“it’s just for fun, really. might not be one forever..” you mumble.

“you design formula 1 engines for fun?”

“i guess so.”

“MIT?” he asks as if he can’t already tell and you nod.

the hum that rumbles in his chest jumps over your skin and burns goosebumps in its wake. “clever little thing, aren’t you?”

there’s a desert in your mouth. your saliva has to be a fucking mirage because you’re definitely swallowing sand.

“i—“

“pretty too.” he says, tugging on a particularly curly loop of your hair. (it’s short, maybe as short as his, because there’s only so much shampoo a person can go broke from trying to get the smell of gasoline out of hair that grazes your mid-back).

“thanks.” you croak out uncertainly.

“i want you.” he deadpans and you can feel the harsh crunch of grains between your teeth, saharan dust clogging your throat by the mouthful.

“you—what?” you aren’t sure whether hanma’s smile should make you feel excited or uneasy. still, you try not to noticeably clench your thighs together.

“in paris.”

“p-paris?”

he raises a knowing brow as he smirks at your adorable squirming. “i want you there, in paris. for the first race. and every race after that.”

at that, you frown and your answer comes at a speed that surprises you both. “no.” and then, more softly, “i’m… supposed to be on vacation.” you mumble.

he clicks his tongue, dissatisfied. “c’mon sweetheart. it took me one race to figure out you’re the best of the best—you’ve gotta know that by now. and i—“ he starts, lifting your chin from where it’s tucked into your chest, “want the best.”

you step up from your seat a little too fast and slam your pencil down a little too harshly, running a hand over your hair and sighing, “you don’t need me, hanma. you won with a six lap lead today, i think you’ll be fine.” hanma sighs dramatically, walking backwards into the centre of the garage. the distance both calms your nerves and makes you crave something you can’t quite place.

punishment is extended to you, lustrous eyes daring you to deny him. “c’mere.” his hands are slightly warm. palms a little calloused and knuckles sharp when he laces your fingers together and pulls you deeper into the garage, right in front of where his car is parked. admittedly, it’s fucking gorgeous up close—the fleeting glimpses on the speedway don’t do it anywhere near justice. hanma takes advantage of your stunned silence and slots in right behind you, sporting a wicked grin unbeknownst to you when his palms land on your shoulders and he feels you immediately tense under his touch.

“you know why i love racing?” his voice is low and gravelly and travelling straight between your legs. and when his head dips and he whispers over the shell of your ear, you release a shaky breath that you didn’t realise was trapped in your lungs. “adrenaline.” he says. “it builds up. every lap of the track, building and building—“ it’s hard to ignore the way his fingers are sliding further up your skin. “until i cross the finish line with those fuckers miles behind me.” calloused pads ghost over your jaw until hanma’s tilting your gaze upwards. dark and blonde strands have fallen over his eyes, and yet you could swear his pupils look blown, thick lashes more prominent under his half lidded study of you. “you ever feel like that?” it’s phrased as a question, but something in his tone assures you that he knows. “tell me what you felt, today, when we won.” when we won. hanma’s laying it on a little thick, but he has a feeling it’ll all be so, so worth it.

“i—i thought you did well. i was.. proud of my team.” you manage to whisper.

“oh c’mon doll,” the corner of his lips is tilted in a knowing smirk and he leans in closer, “‘s just us, you can drop the modesty.” the subtle heat of sin is suddenly gliding over your waist.

“i—“ you can’t fucking speak, his left hand settling over the skin of your stomach and toying with the zip that sits below your navel. “c’mon angel, you can trust me.”

“i felt it.. i felt it too.” you blurt out. “adrenaline—when you turned the corner. w-when you crossed the finish line. felt like i fucking won.” you’re spewing words out between heavy breaths and he rewards you for it, tracing the lace that lines your panties, the seam that connects your inner thigh to your heated cunt, before tensing the fabric against the plush mound of your pussy. he explores your covered folds through the thin barrier, tracing the peaks and valleys he finds while dragging your panties in steady strokes against you, drool-worthy friction scathing across your weeping cunt. pink flashes from between his teeth as hanma runs his tongue over his lips and you get the sudden insatiable urge to suck on it. to chart the course of his mouth until you get lost between his teeth, under his tongue and down his throat.

“i knew it.” he smiles like he’s proud, “only reason i got such a lead was ‘cause you know how to manage those nobodies.”

did he mean your team? “t-they’re not nobod-“

“they’re nothing.” he insists, “but you, angel face,” he continues, wrenching your panties aside and delighting in the sticky mess that he finds there, “oh you’re everything.”

the moan that escapes you when hanma immediately plunges two lithe fingers past the tight rings of your entrance is swallowed into his mouth when he captures your lips with his. he’s got sharp canines that dig into the plush of your lower lip as he parts them at the seam and licks into your mouth. you’re as sweet as he thought you’d be: he laves over your spit-slick tongue like it’s his favourite piece of candy, swears your teeth have to be rocks of sugar with the way his tastebuds light up at the taste of you.

the stretch from his fingers is tapering into a dull throbbing as he glides the pads of his digits along the satiny walls of your cunt, subtly grinding the hardening tent at his crotch against the curve of your ass. one of your hands slinks upwards and slithers around his nape. blunt nails scratch at the shorter hair there, jolts of electricity shooting to the base of his spine and sparking delicious heat in his gut. your fingers can’t seem to decide what they want, torn between tugging at the soft locks of his crown and burying themselves there to push him closer. either way, the feeling has him growling against your mouth and writhing his fingers until he’s knuckle deep inside you and coated in your slick. when he crooks his fingers, angling them to press into the fleshy bundle of nerves at your centre, you whimper beneath him, arching into his touch and clenching around his digits like a fucking diver grasping at a gem on the depths of the seabed.

heated breaths fan over puffy lips as you pull back to come up for air. it proves pointless—any trace of oxygen punched from your chest when hanma cups your entire pussy and grinds the heel of his palm into the throbbing nub of your clit. your head falls limp against his chest, drawn out moans and little sniffles pulling his attention from the feast between your legs. his gaze is met with damp lashes and an almost imperceptible wobble of your lip. somehow the prospect of your tears has his dick twitching with excitement and threatening to burst through his clothes. he fantasises about having you sprawled out beneath him, tasting salt on you lips and feeling wet trails down your cheeks. maybe mascara would stain your cheeks, inky tracks that worsen with each snap of his hips, sheathing his cock further into the gooey depths of your heat. it’s a tangible possibility, one that has him sporting an erection that could shatter glass. “shit—you cryin’ pretty girl?” he mutters before trailing kisses along the length of your jaw.

“ngh! ‘s so—‘s so good, hanma.” you’re mewling, the increasing pace of his fingers thrusting into you twisting your throat until rapid breaths are being puffed from your lips and the coil in your stomach pulls taut.

“shuji.” he says simply, latching onto your neck and sucking a bruise into the column of your throat.

you can feel your arousal dripping down your inner thighs and stringing his fingers together. between the involuntary grinding against his clothed dick and the searing kisses on your skin, you’re trying to move through the fog of desire that’s clouding your brain; a warning of you about to crash over the edge almost making its way off your tongue before hanma’s shuffling forward, spinning you to face him and pushing you down until you’re sprawled out on the thin hood of his car. his fingers slow their ministrations a fraction and yet never leave their rightful place, nestled against your g-spot. there really isn’t a lot of space on the car, though you suppose it doesn’t matter, ogling him with misty heart-eyes as hanma’s towering form slots over you. the forearm of his free hand slams against the glossy paint job right next to your head, his long legs spread wide to give him the perfect leverage to grind his dick into the edge of the car and relentlessly swirl his digits into the mess of your cunt. and when he feels the telltale squeeze of your walls, he practically rips your jumpsuit down your legs to get a flawless view of the rivets of fluid that spew from around his fingers.

“fuck yeah, good fuckin’ girl.” he’s groaning as his body shifts down and retracts his fingers, sucking swollen, leaking flesh into the rapturous heat of his mouth. “thats it,” he drawls, his drawn out words sending vibrations across the sensitive lips of your pussy. “more, c’mon doll, give me more.” your hands fly into his hair as your spine arches under his expert tongue, swirling and licking up the length of your slit, the pointed tip of his nose pressing into your clit with a pressure that pushes more essence from you as he drinks you down for what seems like forever. “hm, you wanna keep this pretty pussy all to yourself? got a feelin’ this cute little clit’s gonna become my good luck charm.” he’s taken to tracing his initials into the perk cluster of nerves with the tip of his tongue, soaked fingers trailing every inch of your exposed flesh as your hips buck and grind, trying to get more and more friction from his face. your skin is puffy and glistening in a sheen of spit and slick under the dimmed lights of the garage. and you’ve got a cute little rim too, one that twitches when his touch ghosts anywhere remotely near it and it has him dying to fuck your ass until you’re screaming for him.

when your thighs mindlessly inch closer together, caging in his head, punishment is quick to slam one back down, his thumb working to spread you further and his head pushing further into your core. with the endorphins of your high mellowing into a pleasurable buzz, you’re suddenly aware of the sensitivity between your legs and the desperate movement of hanma’s hips.

“s-shuji—“ you call, carting your fingers through his hair. the image of him surfacing is a lewd one: wild eyes that drip with desire, slick coating the bottom half of his face with droplets littering everywhere from his collar to his forehead, a sheen of sweat on this hairline that has the hair there sticking together.

you steal his mouth for yourself, moaning at the taste of your release and his sweet breath pairing together along your tongue. the firm grasp of your fingers beginning to squeeze the bulge of his cock has him bucking into your hand and nipping at the flesh of your lip between groans. “shit—“ he breathes, reaching for the zipper of his jumpsuit and stripping down to his boxers in the space of a few hazy blinks. saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of sinewy musculature, dark hairs along the base of his navel stark against the pale expanse of his torso. beauty marks pepper his sleek abs and you get the desire to sink your teeth into the lean muscle of his thighs when they flex under his movements. it gets better when he frees his cock. a pretty thing; thick and long—his length has you clenching around air and worrying for your cervix. his head is flushed a deep crimson that almost looks painful, and you’d kill to have it shoved into the sleeve of your throat. you’re reaching for him, eyeing the throbbing veins that twist along the ridges of his shaft with a lustful gaze, but he pushes you down with one hand and wraps a tight fist around his girth with the other.

“not today, sweetheart.” he says, pumping his length and squeezing below the sensitive head of his cock, thumbing at his slit as a pearly coat of pre spreads along his shaft.

“what?” you’re looking up at him with doe-eyes through wet lashes, a sweet pout on your pretty lips. “you’re not.. you’re not gonna fuck me?” you mumble it like you’re embarrassed, as if you didn’t just squirt into his mouth and hump his face like a bitch in heat. hanma sighs, letting his dick slap against his stomach and pulling you to the edge of the car by the crook of your knees. you yelp, hands landing onto the hood (and the puddle of slick beneath you). he slides your panties down and takes off your jumpsuit from where it’s pooled around your legs, leaving your sex gorgeously exposed. his hand wraps around his erection, delivering a wet slap with the head of his cock directly over your clit. he watches with delight as a few more dewy drops spew from your slit, the way your face contorts in pleasure and a broken moan escapes you. he continues, does it over and over again, occasionally letting his length glide between the drenched lips of your cunt.

“i’ll fuck every pretty little hole you have to offer dollface.” he smiles as he cups your chin, his knees digging into the harsh metal of the cars hood, caging your body beneath him as he frantically strokes himself. “i’ll fuck you in toronto. in cape town, in tokyo.” he lists as his free hand slides down your torso and he begins to draw sticky circles above your slit. “i’ll fuck you in paris, first.”

his digits dip back inside you, his thumb keeping steady pressure on your clit as his other hand twists along his shaft. “for now, let’s give you a real one. yeah?” you want to argue that your first orgasm felt pretty goddamn real, but your answer comes in the form of your eyes slipping back, your hand clutching onto his wrist, unsure if you want to push him away from your oversensitive hole or keep him sheathed there until you physically can’t cum anymore.

“please, please shuji i’m—mmph fuck, fuck—‘m gonna cum.” oh he knows you are. the silky feeling of your cream between his fingers is enough for the frayed rope in his stomach to snap, milky ropes of his seed spurting from his dick and landing across your pretty cunt in a lecherous slew of arousal. curses are grunted from between his lips, his fist tightening round his cock to milk every drop of his cum onto your messy little hole. each sticky glob of his seed dripping onto you has your pussy clenching around air, pulsing with aftershocks and the desperate desire to have shuji’s cum stuffing you full, flooding your cunt until syrupy strings of it leak from your slit and claim you from the inside out.

silently, he tucks himself back into his boxers and slinks your shaky legs into your discarded underwear, the mixture of your cum and his immediately dampening the fabric. hanma grins, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the damp spot that has you shuddering out a whimper. he levels his head with yours, a fucked-out smile gracing your lips that he can’t help but press a kiss against too.

“so.” he says.

“so..?”

“paris.”

you giggle, airy and breathless and entirely too fucking infatuating. faux contemplation is laced in the hum that you sing, locks of his hair between your fingers keeping you tethered here and barely stopping you from floating up into orbit. your heads in the clouds, but shuji’s lips are a whisper away, kiss-puffed and begging you to come back to them. “paris.” you say, and before the last syllable can evaporate into the air, shuji’s mouth is slotting against your own so perfectly that you wonder how you’ll ever be able to kiss anyone but him again.

#: @wh0reforlevi

[cripplecharacters]

Hi. I have OCD (and various other mental illnesses) and have a character who has OCD. However, this character lives in a setting with aliens who are basically psychic with extra steps (they communicate via electromagnetic fields and can identify and interact with humans brain's electrical impulses.) What I'm wondering is should I make it so these aliens can like, easily distinguish some types of neurodiversity. i.e. they can easily recognize OCD character because his thought/brain patterns are more "repetitive?"

Personally I'm very torn on this. On one hand it feels validating because like a sort of "proof" that the difference is there and to ignore it is foolish. But at the same time it feels reductive to be, even indirectly, identified primarily by disability.

Possibly relevant, I don't think all neurodiversity should be easily identifiable by this species. Like I don't think autism could be identified (too much variation) but maybe something like DID could (parts of the brain field are somewhat "segregated")

Thank you for your ask! I think if the aliens have had contact with humans (or similar alien species) before, they might have some knowledge on what conditions are associated with certain thought patterns. If the aliens haven’t specifically spoken to humans on the matter they might make their own classifications which would probably look a lot different than ours (especially with how wide symptoms vary in one condition and how many symptoms overlap in so many conditions).

Your character doesn’t have to be only identified by their OCD, that may be what stands out at first to the aliens but if your character is well rounded they can be identified by their other traits. For example, when you first meet someone you might think of them as ‘the person with the interesting fashion sense,’ but as time goes on and you learn more about them you associate them with more traits.

Have a nice day!

Mod Rot

Hi!

I think that it's an interesting idea! I feel that it would make sense for an alien psychic creature to recognize that there are some "thinking patterns" that some humans sometimes have. As an example, I can see how they would pick up that certain people have a very specific Pure O pattern just from psychic-ing various people.

Depending on if/how the topic of mental health/neurodiversity exists in the alien society, they might not even necessarily consider it as such. If they don't recognize the pattern as a disorder, they might just think of it as a type of thinking that humans just have, like how they can perceive that some humans have brown hair while others are redheads (while readers would probably pick up on what is implied if they know anything about OCD). The alien aspect gives you a lot of possibilities!

As someone with OCD, I don't see it as "reducing" at all. It's true that his thoughts happen in a different manner than most peoples', but there's still content in them, right? His OCD is just affecting them, which is just how that works. The only exception here is that his OCD process itself is a part of the story - unless you decided to put his entire character's focus on how Weird and Exotic that is, you should be perfectly fine. I think it's an interesting part of worldbuilding to add!

If you are really worried about him being "identifiable" by his OCD, you can always make it so that different OCD types are seen as distinct (or, from an alien's perspective, perhaps even unrelated). For example, someone who's thought process is occupied with visual intrusive thoughts, versus one who is mainly having a specific compulsion-obsession pattern over and over, etc. - this will show OCD as the wide range that it is, and definitely not as "a label" that someone could just be instantly identified with. You can also make sure to show that every person's thought patterns are different to some degree (even if they're as neurotypical as it's humanly possible), and perhaps those with OCD's patterns are just hyperspecific enough to be recognized as more different; a "genre" of thought patterns of sorts. Because at the end of the day, they will also be people who don't have OCD who might share a few of these "OCD patterns" (and who don't fully get read as having it, maybe as adjacent at best), as well as two people who do have it and whose brain patterns don't match at any point, who still do get read as having OCD despite all that. It's a spectrum, afterall, so the brain patterns would be too!

I think that if you have OCD yourself, you can do basically anything you want with this. As I said, you have an interesting concept that you can tackle from a bunch of different angles, and I would love to see a take on it by an author with OCD! :-)

mod Sasza

[thatonebirdwrites]

Crossover Shenanigans: Korrasami and Supercorp

Korra and Asami stand in front of a strange purple portal. Korra: You know, I'm a little relieved I'm not the reason for this portal for once. Asami: True. Mako: I don't think it's safe to mess with it. Maybe stay here? Asami: How will we be able to determine where it goes? The best way to test a hypothesis is through an experiment. *proceeds to tie the rope around her and Korra's waist and then spools it around hte pulley-crank system she's built. It's several hundred meters of rope* So all you two have to do is keep an eye on this. If the rope is tugged three times, then crank us back. Bolin: *digs into his bag of cookies* Easy enough. Mako: *sighs dramatically* Don't yell at me when this goes badly! Korra gives him a thumbs up, takes Asami's hand, and enters the violet portal. A brief moment of weird stomach-churning nausea hits them, and then they enter a large white room. Two people stand behind a counter with strange devices that Korra and Asami have never seen before. Asami: Wow. That looks like a fancy typewriter. *Points to the keyboard with a strange square attached to it, that looks like a very thin mover screen.* Brunette-and-very-pretty-woman: Who the hell are you two? Korra: Hey! That's not very nice! We're explorers. Investigating the new portal. I'm Avatar Korra. *jerks her thumb at Asami* and this is my super awesome girlfriend Asami Sato. Asami: *blushes* Do you have to introduce me like that every time? Tall-muscular-blonde: Oh, hey! Great to meet you! I'm Kara Danvers, and this is Lena Luthor! *grins and holds out her hand* Asami stares at it for a long moment. Korra rolls her eyes and shakes Kara's hand. Asami bows instead. Lena: Okay, so nice to meet you, now go back through so I can shut this down... Asami: Wait, you made this? How did you make it so small? When Korra made a spirit portal, she energybended a massive explosion, which ripped open the fabric of reality... Lena: What is energybending? Asami: Oh, it's something only the Avatar can do. She manipulates energy in people or the environment. Lena: So she manipulated a massive explosion to create a portal? That seems a very destructive way. *gestures to the portal behind Asami* I built this using Nth metal, magnetic coils, and... Asami: *whips out a notebook from her jacket* What is Nth Metal? And magnetic coils? That's actually a brilliant idea. I've been experimenting with those lately. . .

Kara and Korra watch as the pair dive into an intense conversation about electromagnetics and engineering.

Korra: Yup, that's Asami there. My girlfriend.

Kara: Yup. That's Lena. My girlfriend.

Korra: Huh. So what can you do? I can bend all four elements and metal! *shows off by waterbending the water from Lena's glass, then uses airbending to boost herself upward briefly, and bends stone around the room* Lena: Would you please put my water back in its glass? Asami: It could short-circuit the electronics. Korra: Whoops. *Drops water carefully into glass but then bends the metal bar that's lying on the table into a knot*

Kara: Okay, but that was really awesome. So, as Supergirl, I can do this. *Flies into the air, shoots lasers from her eyes, then lifts up half the lab with one arm.* Lena: Kara, please, if you're showing off, do it away from the portal. *turns back to Asami* So you're saying, you build a powered suit using pistons, hydraulics, and platinum? Are you sure its platinum? Because the hardness and tensile strength you described sounds like titanium to me. Asami: You know, maybe that's what it's called here. Let me show you. *proceeds to draw the chemistry diagram for the metal*

Lena: Fascinating. That's definitely titanium.

Korra: I bet I can beat you in a fight.

Kara: No way. I could beat you.

Lena and Asami: If you're going to fight, take it outside please.

Lena: I'm also filming it. *Reaches over and picks up a round ball and then proceeds to type something into her keyboard. Asami watches fascinated as the ball rises into the air and follows Kara out of the room and onto the porch area of the lab* Asami: Was that a tiny mech? Lena: Robot. Asami: Wait, so what powers it? I've struggled with decreasing the size of batteries due to... Korra unhooks herself, cracks her knuckles, and follows Kara outside. MEANWHILE IN AVATAR-VERSE: Mako: Why did the rope go slack?

Bolin: OH NOES. Do you think they got eaten?

Mako: Bo, by what? *his eyes widen* Oh no, they could really be in trouble then.

Bolin: We go to save them! But we need someone to man the ropes for us.

Mako: Let me radio Jinora. *picks up the portal radio* Jinora? Can you send some help to the new portal?

Opal and Jinora soon join them. They agree to man the ropes while Mako and Bolin head into the portal. MEANWHILE ON EARTH-38:

Mako and Bolin exit the portal and stare in shock at Asami standing by a brunette, while Korra and Kara battle outside. The walls are transparent, and the fight is intense.

Bolin: Asami! We're here to save you! *puts up his fists*

Asami: Wait what? No! Korra and I are fine.

Lena: Who the hell are you two?

Mako: So you're not about to be poisoned or something? *has fire blades ready in his hands*

Asami: NO! Lena here was chatting with me about the technology here. Korra is just sparring with Kara. Lena, that's Bolin and Mako, our friends.

Bolin: Oh. Do you have any snacks? Because I got to see this.

Mako: *sighs* whatever.

Lena: *grumbling but opens snack cabinet and tosses food at Bolin* I hope no one else comes through. I still need to calibrate... Asami: For the calibrations, do you have to manually type commands? Lena: Actually, no, I write code for that. Asami: TEACH ME.

Mako and Bolin sit down with their snacks to watch the increasingly intense fight. Korra has all four elements and is in Avatar state while flying in the air. Kara is blocking all the attacks using invulnerability and trying to get close enough to do a right hook.

After several minutes, Jinora and Opal rush through the portal.

Jinora: Are you all okay?

Opal: Woah, nice place.

Lena: What the fuck is with you people?? Go home! I can't turn off the portal with y'all here!

Bolin: Can't! Got to see who wins!

Jinora: I apologize for the intrusion! I'm Jinora and this is Opal. We were worried about the brothers.

Asami: Here's some snacks. Korra is battling Kara to see who is stronger. *gestures to the windows* I think it's an even match so far.

Lena: *scoffs* Kara is obviously winning. She's invulnerable to all of Korra's attacks. She also has the ability to fly, and her laser vision can easily incinerate most of what Korra fires at her.

Asami: *laughs* So? Korra's ability to dodge with airbending keeps her a moving target. Kara has yet to land a punch. Also, the fire blasts, ice daggers, and stone spikes keep her on the defensive.

The pair fall into an argument into the science of their girlfriends' powers and how they may work scientifically. The argument ends up so heated that Lena finally throws up her hands in defeat.

Lena: FINE. Let's find out who wins then?

Asami: FINE. More snacks are needed though. Bolin eats enough for three, I swear.

Lena grumbles under her breath about insatiable eaters, while she makes popcorn for all of them instead using her bunsen burners.

Alex, Kelly, Brainy, and Nia burst into Lena's lab.

Alex: Are you okay? We heard about the invasion!

Asami: Invasion? We're just visiting.

Lena: Don't interfere! This is important research.

Alex: Who the hell are these people? *gestures to the Avatar-verse people*

Mako: Who the spirits are you? *jumps to his feet with his fire blades ready*

Bolin: We need more popcorn! *waves an empty bowl*

Nia: Did you say popcorn? Yesss. You're my new friend.

Opal: So you're all friends of Lena? *Opens snack cabinet and ignores Lena's glare at her touching Lena's things. Takes out snacks and tosses them at Jinora who hands them to the others*

Kelly: Yes. Don't tell me, she had an accident in the lab?

Lena: Not an accident! I might have unintentionally created a bridge to another multiverse that is directly parallel to ours per M-brane theory --

Asami: M-brane theory? Spirits, we're way behind. We just figured out quantum entanglement exists and how to build planes. Tell me all about M-brane theory please.

Brainy: I posit that if you tell her that could alter the trajectory of their world with dangerous consequences--

Lena and Asami: Shut up Brainy!

Bolin hands out more popcorn for the now TWO shows: Kara and Korra fighting still -- the fight has gotten more and more intense with no sign of either being able to land a significant blow on the other. On the other hand, Asami and Lena fall into an intense argument about physics, which is interspersed with yells at Brainy to stop interrupting them.

Brainy: Sharing this with a person of lesser technology may interfere with the time modality of their multiverse --

Lena: Brainy, if you don't shut up, I'm kicking you out!

Asami: It's not like I'm going to completely rebuild the entirety of all engineering in my world. I mean, I could, I am rich, and you know, that would be a fun project...

Lena: Ah, shaping society through money and technology. Sounds like me... *she trails off and stares at Asami*

Asami: Oh my spirits

Lena: Oh my god

Asami and Lena: ARE WE THE SAME PERSON?

Bolin: *throws popcorn into his mouth* Yup.

Nia: And those two fighting are probably the same person too.

Brainy: I calculate that the probability of two identical people from alternate universes could disrupt the time continuum-- Everyone but Nia: SHUT UP BRAINY.

Nia: *shoves a beer into his hands and pulls him down next to her* Shush, just enjoy the show.

THE END... FOR NOW?

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 2

“Okay, make a fist.” Asked the serious geckin, blue in scale but the owner of long spines that started on his nose and continued up and over his head, down his back and finished at his tail. Zeet was his name.

Casper the friendly human, made a fist and felt the action drain him, as if he’d been at the gym for the last hour doing the same action. However, as his fingers met his palm and the tendons on the back of his hand tensed and corded against his skin, the giant metal fist not a few metres away, suspended in a secure field; made an identical fist.

“What’s the drift?” The blue geckin asked the second geckin who monitored the process not a few feet away, but a fair distance for the diminutive creatures. Her name, as far as Casper knew, was Wren.

“0.001%.” She retorted with an equally serious tone, she turned back and adjusted the two round panes of glass that sat across her snout. If not for the fact that Casper was sweating with the exertion of making a fist, he would have found her cute.

“Impossible. Check it again.” The first geckin demanded, turning to face her as if she had just made a poorly timed joke.

“Sir, I checked it three times, then used the older program to see if it got a different result.” Wren explained, quite confident despite Zeet’s incredulous tone.

“And?”

“It reports 0.002%.”

Both geckins turned back to the human, almost expectantly and gazed at him. No; studying him.

“W-what?” He asked, strain in his voice.

“You can relax Casper. You did very well.” Praised Zeet as Casper gasped, unclenching his fist, and slumping in the chair. He’d been fresh as a daisy when he’d sat down; why had a few wires been so draining?!

“That… took effort…” The young man explained, slipping his arm from the sleeve, and ensuring it was placed carefully onto the caddy.

“You were controlling more than just muscle and sinew young man.” Zeet explained, touching a finger to the control rod of his own personal walker and approached the human. At a foot tall, just like the rest of the geckins, he utilised mechanical legs attached to a platform that he stood upon to move around larger distances.

“Why am I exhausted?”

“Because, unbeknownst to your conscious mind, you not only controlled your own limb, but also controlled that robotic limb.”

“I’ve seen that done before…” Casper licked his lips to try and bring moisture to them. “They used electrodes or something… they had to concentrate, but it didn’t tire them out.”

Wren appeared at Casper’s side and pressed a bottle of orange liquid into his hands. It was almost as tall as her.

“Drink this, you’ll feel better.” She promised, her green scales were a deep emerald, her it was the frill around her neck that was only partially pulled in that made Casper smile. She was agitated. Perhaps worried about him?

The man gave her a curt nod, which caused her frill to pull in tight before he grasped the bottle and drank from it deeply. It wasn’t quite ‘orange’, but it was certainly something citrus and refreshed him almost immediately. After the first gulp he took a breath and downed the rest of the bottle in one, almost immediately feeling better and like his old self.

“What you just did was unconsciously control every single servo, circuit, and piston within that machine. Your mind: without your knowledge, was able to manage and steady all of that. The electrode method, that you mentioned, is a low intensity method of controlling simpler systems.”

“And we can’t use that method with these?”

“These are not for domestic use. I make it quite clear to you; these are bleeding edge machines. Capable of not only reacting as your body, not as a mere extension, but also your mind being able to incorporate the advantages these machines have.”

“Like what?”

“We can have a play with telescopic vision if you like? I’ve heard that is the easiest to manage. If you get addicted to the world those eyes, we can try out electromagnetic wavelengths, infrared, perhaps-“

“Sir.” Wren cut in, a frown on her face and her small, pointed teeth being bared.

“Mm, yes. Carry on.” Zeet surrendered, holding up his hands as if giving up.

“Before we go on, how are you feeling?” Wren asked, looking up at Casper and adjusting her specs.

“Better.” The man replied, giving her a warm grin.

“Better? You weren’t well before?” She poked, not letting him off the hook yet.

“I was tired, like I’d been doing bicep curls all morning. But now it’s like I’m fresh again?” Casper admitted honestly, if she was a doctor checking on him, then he wasn’t about to lie. The speed of his recovery was as if he had been fooled into being tired, rather than actually being tired.

“Marvelous.” Zeet whispered.

“*Sir.*” Wren immediately hissed; the respect of his seniority gone. Casper frowned then cut in, there was something he wasn’t being told.

“What’s going on? Is this about the.. the ‘drift’ thing? What was the drift you were on about?” He asked, demanding an answer.

“I knew he was bright, am I allowed to answer that *direct* question doctor?” Zeet asked the green geckin with a near taunting tone.

Wren merely sniffed, flattening her neck ruffle against herself and shrugged with a single hand, offering Casper up to Zeet, seemingly satisfied.

“’Drift’ is the natural loss of signal strength between your mind and the mechanical parts. The more parts, bits, and pieces, the greater the chance of drift and the more sluggish the movements and actions of the piloted mechs will be, all the way until failure.” Zeet explained with a toothy grin. It was Wren who spoke next, softly explaining it to Casper without infantizing him.

“Geckin have a fantastic drift score. We can manage mechs of incredible size and complexity without much loss of control. Realistically, the next closest would be chintians, but they refuse to be pilots for our mechs.” She said, turning her hand in a gesture as she spoke, still calmly and softly.

“Why?” Casper asked.

“You know the plug in your arm?” Zeet began, pointing at the limb that was limp in Casper’s lap.

Casper looked down and turned his arm over. There was a single dark red dot of scabbed blood. Around it was a bright red circle with the metal casing of the plug had been pressed into his flesh.

“Yeah?”

“It can lead to fur-loss.” Concluded Zeet, rather offhandedly.

“Along with other things.” Cut in Wren, with the speed of someone adding ‘terms and conditions’ at the end of an advert.

“They consider that unacceptable. We consider it the cost of having faster reaction speeds to our machines. They rely on taking hits and surviving them. We believe in the philosophy of never getting hit.” The tiny lizard explained with a mouthful of sharp teeth, eager at the thought.

“Do geckins have any fur to lose? Do you lose scales?” Casper asked, if there were side effects for some species, were there any for geckins?

“No.” Zeet answered immediately.

“Well…” Wren began, but was immediately cut off.

“No, we do not lose scales with use.” Zeet said again, staring at the doctor.

“They can dull though.” She explained, closing her eyes then turning her head to look at Casper before opening them again. She held his gaze firmly.

“Not through usage doctor!” Zeet snapped, certainly exasperated.

“A pilot who is connected for long periods or who is in intense environments requiring constant movement will find side effects, such as scale fading.” Wren continued, putting across the idea that it was not without a cost.

“He doesn’t need to hear this, what is the chance he’s going to be in that environment? Zero!” Zeet shouted, throwing his hands up before gesturing to Casper, then then inert arm.

“Look, it’s fine. As you say; unlikely.” Casper agreed, trying to calm the tension in the room. “So what about me? What about human drift”

“Ah, good male. A fine mind between those big ears.” Zeet grinned again, turning to Casper and clasping his hands. “Your drift, at worst calculation was about 0.002%. That is nothing. That is about as good as a prostetic replacing your actual arm. Unheard of for managing an arm that complicated.”

“What’s a geckin’s drift percentage?”

“5.” Wren said pointedly. “On average. Ace pilots are around the single percent or less range, but that is through biological luck, augmentation and prolonged life-long training. Your natural ability appears to be quite potent.” The tiny green lizard admited.

“Yours, baring in mind your evolution wouldn’t have any sort of natual selection for this, is considered a one in a life time pilot. If humans are all this well adjusted, each and every one of them will be very much welcome in geckin territories…”

Casper turned to the arm and gazed at it. A mech pilot? That would be fantastic! He didn’t like the idea of ‘stressful environments’ though.

“You wouldn’t want me in like, a fight or anything, right?”  Casper asked, staring at Zeet carefully.

“May my tail fall off! No! Could you imagine what the GC would say if we endangered a human? Immediately after your new classification? Absolutely not. Completely out of the question.” He promised, waving his hand as if to dismiss a fly that was bothering him.

“Normally I would warn you about listening to our Zeet here, but he’s right. The geckin people are still under threat by ssypno aggression. Their seat at the table of three means all they have to do is convince one of the other two to agree that they be allowed to create a vassal of our people and we can expect no support from the GC to stop them. Endangering you would all but guarantee the support of one or both of the other two.”

A small hand touched his arm as she leant forward to rest her’s against him, the good doctor offering him a smile.

“The danger to you is over, you can rest easy knowing the rest of your life will be free of hardships.” She lied.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[deazmonius]

It’s been a bit, but here is the next installment of the Gundam Witch from Mercury model kits. The HG CFP-010 Heindree, a grunt Mobile Suit Developed by Grasslyey Defense. An uniqueMS with a big round shield on a pivoting arm mounted on the left arm. On the right arm the is a smaller shield weapon called the ‘lantern Shield’ which has electromagnetic lance, a beam pistol and shield all in one.

As for the kit itself it was a fairly simple build over all, and came together nicely. I decided to go the extra mile and paint everything instead of using the provided stickers seeing as I also had decals for it. Which I think really make this kit look superior good. The build over all while quite solid and has some decent mobility. It does have some glaring issues in the hips the upper most part of the thigh is a two part socket with pegs that go into the waist and another that goes into the upper part of the leg where both parts can rotate around but the only bend is at the hip. And with the way that is situated you have to do some really awkward twisting to get any kind of wide stance. That coupled with he feet also having a poor range of motion it takes a lot of fiddling to get any dynamic positions.

[drunkenskunk]

Meanwhile, somewhere on Hell's Gate...

A a hiss of displaced gas preceded a hatch swinging open, and an extremely inebriated redhead stumbled her way across the threshold and into the Hell's Gate mech bay. Scarlet, ostensibly part of the militia and one of five mech pilots on the “Strategic Response Team,” had spent the last several hours attempting to drink herself into oblivion. The rest of the team had been celebrating a successful operation at GMS_Generic_Bar, getting round after round from Bartender Motherfucker, and they were entirely right to do so: the SRT's first time out wasn't just a victory, it was a complete walkover. The moonlighter pirates trying to make a quick buck from the “unarmed freighter” had no idea what hit them.

By all rights, Scarlet should've been celebrating with the rest... but she didn't really feel like it. While everyone in the bar had been busy watching Agarin show off his karaoke skills, she had quietly slipped away while no one was looking. For the last hour or so, she had been nursing a particularly large bottle of razbo – some Ol' Smokey's Reserve – and eventually wandered her way into the station's mech bay.

The bay was eerily silent and still. Usually, the place was buzzing with technicians running around, doing some kind of maintenance of some sort or another, but... no. No one else was here. Even Calamity Havok was nowhere to be seen, which was extremely odd. Scarlet had never seen the retired Hell Hound anywhere else on the station, and just assumed she lived here.

She downed another slug of raspberry infused liquor and staggered over to the alcove where her mech was currently housed: a truly ancient GMS Everest, covered in dozens of shades of red paint, hand-lettered slogans, and artwork designed to cover up the myriad scars and bullet wounds from centuries of combat. The mech had been built, stripped down, and rebuilt so many times over the years that it possessed a very haphazard quality to all of it; it was the kind of machine where you could pick any panel at random, open it up, and see more splices than wires. It had an “official” name (at least as far as anything on Calliope could be said to have one of those) registered in some file somewhere that she always assumed was a pun based on its serial number: R4GE MACHINE. But thanks to the paint job, everyone just called it Big Red.

The mech stood immobile, surrounded by a mess of cabling, powered-down diagnostic systems, and catwalks to give the technicians access. She stared up at the machine, her gaze drawn to the wedge-shaped “head,” and the distinctive spiderweb of cracks radiating out from around the left optical unit. She grumbled in frustration, taking another drink.

Scarlet kept thinking about the operation against the pirates from earlier. During the fight, she'd tried to disable the pirate ship the moonlighters had arrived on by attaching a HEX-B explosive mine to the ship's cockpit, but it hadn't gone exactly to plan. Right as she armed it, the mech controls briefly became unresponsive, and instead of attaching to the enemy ship, the electromagnets kicked in and firmly attached the mine... to her own torso.

It didn't matter that the ship was disabled immediately after her blunder: when the ship tried to disengage, she felt a tug at her cranial socket, and Big Red plunged the heavy combat blade it carried directly into the enemy cockpit. The whole front end of the ship had practically exploded, both from the impact and the sudden depressurization.

It didn't matter, because after the smoke had cleared, everyone could see the armed mine still attached to her mech. It had been removed after the fight, of course, but the carbon scoring on the hull of Big Red was still visible for everyone to see. Her teammates had given her shit for it the entire flight back to Hell's Gate. And rightfully so, far as she was concerned. A phrase had been swimming around in her head, ever since the fighting had stopped. They were words that had haunted her for the better part of a decade:

You're not good enough.

“Why y'gotta emb'rass me like that, huh?” she slurred. Scarlet stood there, staring up at her mech with drink in hand, and downed another slug.

A noise began to echo in the otherwise silent mech bay. It was a low, persistent clicking, almost like a purring animal, steadily growing in volume. Scarlet recognized the noise immediately. It was one of Big Red's many peculiar quirks; every so often, it would just start clicking like that, and nobody knew why, because nobody could find a source of the noise, no matter how hard they tried. When Calamity had tried to fix it, she said it sounded like a damaged hard drive moments away from catastrophic, unrecoverable failure... but even her considerable talents were at a loss.

Scarlet snorted and began to shake her head. Why'd she even come here? She didn't know. She sighed heavily and started to walk away...

“Because you are holding Us back.”

The words echoed in the empty mech bay, and seemed to hang in the air above her head. Scarlet stopped immediately, and her blood ran ice cold. She'd never heard that voice before. It was synthesized, utterly inhuman, and spoke the words with a curious inflection. The mechanical purr had grown louder, turning into an angry growl. Very slowly, Scarlet turned back around to face Big Red.

A trio of glowing red pinpricks stared at her from inside the darkened crack in its metal wedge of a head. The mech was very clearly looking down, directly at her.

“You tried to be clever,” the voice bellowed from speakers buried somewhere in his chassis. “So We taught you a lesson.”

The war machine – which should have been completely cold and powered down – began to shudder in the harness keeping it tethered in the maintenance alcove. It was as if the mech was a wild animal, caged against its will, struggling to break free of the restraints shackling it so. Metal hands balled into fists, and everything in the bay seemed to shake.

“We are not a tool,” it continued, as Scarlet remained rooted in place, staring at the machine in bewilderment and terror. “We are a weapon. You need to act like it. You must never forget what We are.”

The cables, pistons, and servos connecting the wedge-shaped head to the torso should've looked like a neck... but it didn't. From where Scarlet was standing, it looked like Big Red was grinning: a wide rictus grin, with teeth that weren't teeth made of metal, and sharp as kitchen knives. The machine continued to stare at her, left optical unit glowing with malice, and metal not-teeth glinting in the dim light of the mech bay.

“Do not deny Us our purpose again.”

Scarlet gulped hard to try and steady her breathing; she really hadn't been prepared for this at all, and wasn't doing the best job of disguising her terror. She looked down, and began to vigorously rub her eyes with her free hand, shaking her head. She could barely hear anything with so much blood pounding in her ears. This wasn't real, it couldn't be real...

She gulped once again, and looked up.

The noise had stopped. The clicking had stopped. The mech was looking straight ahead, and its metal hands were no longer balled into fists. Everything in the mech bay was exactly like it was when she'd first arrived: completely silent and still.

Scarlet looked around with wide eyes, uncertain of anything. She looked down at the empty bottle of razbo in her hand. She looked back up at her mech, still and cold as the metal plates beneath her feet.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left as quickly as she could. She grabbed the edge of the pressure door, and pulled it shut behind her.

But just before the seal around the hatch could engage, that same clicking started up once more...

[drnikolatesla]

Happy π Day!!!

By J.J.J.

While experimenting in Colorado Springs in 1899, Nikola Tesla discovered that the earth as a whole had certain periods of vibrations, and by using his large oscillator, he could impress electrical vibrations at the same periods upon it creating more energy within the earth. This process is referred to as constructive interference (the interference of two or more waves of equal frequency and phase, resulting in their mutual reinforcement and producing a single amplitude equal to the sum of the amplitudes of the individual waves). By doing this repeatedly using massive amounts of energy previously unheard of, Tesla was able to transmit energy from his transmitter around earth and back to his receiver traveling at a mean velocity of 292,815 miles per second (over 100,000 miles per second faster than the speed of light). This velocity can be confirmed in his patent No. 787,412, filed May 16, 1900, titled "Art of Transmitting Electrical Energy Through the Natural Mediums." Many electrical experimenters have proven this velocity, including Jonathan Zenneck and Arnold Sommerfeld. The mathematical equation to this speed was developed by English scientist and inventor Charles Wheatstone, who experimented and calculated that the velocity of electrostatic induction through a wire was v=π/2( c ). If we compare Wheatstone's equation with Tesla's measurements, it looks like this:

v = average velocity of Tesla’s electrical current round earth (miles per second)

(You can plug in any metric and get the same results)

c = speed of light (miles per second)

v = π / 2 (186,300)

v = 1.57 (186,300)

v = 292,491

I know most may question the ability to transmit anything faster than the speed of light; however, the speed of light is a constant, not a limit. The velocity of light is an expression of the ratio of energy to mass; Tesla’s waves functioned on different dimensions. The electromagnetic waves we use in today’s technology travel at the speed of light, but due to the nature of these waves, they diminish with distance. This phenomenon is because the electromagnetic lines of force and the magnetic lines of force intercept at right angles to one other, causing resistance (radiation resistance). This is also why the waves eventually lose energy. Tesla, on the other hand, used an oscillating wave (or a longitudinal wave), in which the electromagnetic and magnetic lines of force run parallel with each other (hence there is no friction or loss of energy). As a result, the more power he used, the faster and further these waves could travel.

“What will be achieved by waves which do not diminish with distance, baffles comprehension.“ –Nikola Tesla

Einstein’s Theory of Relativity indicating that "nothing can travel faster than light" is now generally accepted as scientific fact and currently taught in most academic books. However, Tesla’s work challenging this theory certainly warrants further study into this area. First, Tesla’s experiments were far more in-depth than his colleagues’ work, as well as utilizing more advanced equipment to conduct the experiments themselves. Secondly, he provided solid and sufficient empirical evidence concretely refuting Einstein’s theory. Based on this, Tesla’s groundbreaking work should, at a minimum, be acknowledged in today’s world and certainly further explored.

[fandonnavyce]

Danny Phantom Side Hoes Week 2024

March 7: Dani Phantom, self defense

Down by the Beach AO3 Link Danny Phantom x The Owl House

“That’s an amazing sandcastle.”

Collector whirled round, stunned to find that someone had managed to sneak up on him. It was a white haired girl who felt as human as much as she felt of death and power.

“Do you wanna play hide and go seek with me? I bet we’d have so much fun!” Collector blurted out starry eyed.

Fortunately, the white haired girl didn’t look fazed at all at the sudden fervent invitation.

“Yeah sure, you’re it!” she grinned widely. “Don’t forget to count to 100!” Then she zipped away, soaring into the air, her legs now a ghostly tail trailing behind her. The Collector blinked before giggling. He closed his eyes and started counting.

“98, 99, 100! Ready or not, here I come!” The Collector opened his eyes. Of course the beach was empty when Collector gave a quick scan of the immediate area. Then he levitated into the air to get that sweet bird’s eye view. He couldn’t find anything in the Electromagnetic Spectrum for miles around. He switched over to heat vision and then x-ray. But still nada.

“Oh, she is good!” the Collector praised as he soared through the sky on his flying starboard. 

“I FOUND YOU!”

“But now you gotta tag me”

…

“No fair, the ocean is so cold!”

“Oh you think this is cold? I’ll show you cold.”

…

“I call hacks!”

“What for?”

“Animating your sandcastle into a walking fortress is totally unfair.”

“I don’t want to hear that after you froze the ocean. With ME INSIDE IT!”

...

“Listen, you can hear the ocean's roar inside,” frog crouching down next to a tide pool, Dani cupped a beautiful exotic conch shell to her ear. Hovering cross-legged beside her, Collector mimed turning a hand crank; amplifying the echoing sound so that he could hear it too. 

“I’m gonna add this to my collection,” Dani declared whilst admiring the shell, it glimmered a fierce red and spooky silver.

“You have a Collection?” the Collector asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I‘ve got all kinds of cool rocks and souvenirs from all over the realms. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah, totally, of course.”

“I mean it’s back at my place, but you can come over.”

“I can?” the Collector’s voice cracked.

“Obvsi,” Dani teased in a ‘duh’ voice, “we’re friends”

“AWESOME!” the Collector yelled giddily into the bright blue sky. This was the first time in his entire existence he had been invited over to a friend’s home. “Whatcha doin’?”

Dani was currently holding some kind of hand device. It looked really funny. It was slab with buttons and a screen.

“I’m calling for a portal pickup” Dani explained.

“With that?! But what is it?”

Dani blinked in surprise, “It’s a long distance communication device called a mobile phone.”

“What, like a crow phone?” Collector cocked his head in curiosity.

Dani squints, “Maybe?” she draws out, “what’s a crow phone?”

“It’s a long distance communication device but it’s shaped like crow”

Dani shrugs, “then probably”, she looks back at her phone. “Hmm a portal should appear any second now.”

Just as she said that, Collector felt his ears pop as reality suddenly burst, like a pin in a helium balloon. Suddenly, a green swirly portal formed in front of him.

“That’s actually really cool,” Collector admits.

“Yeah c’mon,” Dani led the way through the portal.

Collector eyes widened at the Palace of Death, Ice, and Celestial Beauty floating before him, imposing and haunting against a backdrop of abyssal Cosmic Space.

“You live here?! Are you a princess? Where’s your tiara?” Collector asked, rapid fire.

“I’m not wearing it, yes I am, yes I do.”

The Collector looked around, his head on a swivel. “This place is so cool!”

Dani looked over at the Collector’s star themed outfit, “Yeah I had feeling you might like it,” she smiled. She flew up to her bedroom’s window, up in her tower, with the Collector following behind her as they entered in.

Taking up one entire wall, were shelves of her collections and souvenirs from her travels across the realms and Dani gleefully showed it off.

BANG!

The door to Dani’s bedroom slammed open and Dan was standing there in all his asshole glory. Dan looked down with all his stupid height at the two little kids in the room who looked back up at him.

Dani glared up at her brother’s intrusion. W̴̡̛͍͚̳͊͌H̶̦͑A̸͎̩͇͂̓T̷̞̻͖̜͑̾̉͝?̶͚̩̍̆͊!̸̳̱̐̓ ̷̞͙̀ (leave-get-out-get-out) (anger- confusion-disdain) she silently scowled in ghost-speak.

BANG!

Gone, Dan slammed the door behind him. There was a moment of confusion and surprise. Then heard hollered throughout the Palace,

“DANI HAS A BOY IN HER BEDROOM!!!”

Dani’s face was aghast. The Collector’s was bewildered. They could hear the building thunder of a stampeding herd of wildebeests.

BANG!

“Oh look, Dani brought her first friend over,” cooed Jazz.

Danny firmly denied the sight in front of him. “No! No! You’re too young to be bringing boys over!”

“Oooh who gets to do the shovel talk?” Dan cackled.

“Sam” “Sam” “Me” Tucker, Jazz, and Sam said together.

“What about me?! I’m the Ghost King! I’m her Father!”

“Yeah,” Tucker acknowledges, “but Sam’s the scariest.”

“Excuse you, I’m right here,” Dan protested.

Sam rolled her eyes, “Yeah but you’re not gonna bother.”

“... nah you’re right,” Dan shrugged.

“No wait, hang on, I can too be scary. I can be very scary.”

“Danny, you have multiple times needed either Sam or I to correct your order when you receive the wrong one,” Jazz pointed out.

“OK!” Danny blustered. “This and that are two different things!”

“Sorry bro, just take the L. You’ve been outvoted.” Tucker rested a commiserating hand on Danny’s morose shoulder.

“Anyway” Jazz cheered, “it’s very nice to meet you…”

“The Collector” the boy introduced himself feeling shy all of sudden.

“It’s very nice to meet you, the Collector. Nevermind the noise, you’ll always be welcome here.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Collector sheepishly replied.

“ALRIGHT,” Dani started yelling, “OUT, OUT”, she shouted as she pushed her family out of her bedroom. “I’m so sorry,” Dani apologised to the bemused-looking Collector, “my family is so embarrassing,”

“You better keep the door open!”

“DANNY!”

@lexosaurus

[mpcomagnetics]

Electromagnets From Healthcare to Transportation

Electromagnets From Healthcare to Transportation In a world where technology and innovation continually redefine the boundaries of possibility, electromagnets play a pivotal yet often underappreciated role. Far from being confined to the realms of high-tech laboratories or industrial applications, electromagnets are integral to many aspects of our daily lives, from the healthcare we receive to…

[warsamongthestars]

MORE TBB + CT HCS!

Since I didn't chase anyone off the first time, how bout some more? This round isn't nearly a storied as last round.

THE BAD BATCH did not grow up with each other. I know, counter to a lot of HCs. Each BB had a batchsquad that they were given back to (with flagged profiles about being apart of the 99 project--DO NOT DECOMMISSION), and thus, had an original regular clone trooper batch-squad at one point. This is where they got their names and social experience. WRECKER was a apart of KILO SQUAD. His Batchmates, were Chopper (who was later assigned under Sergeant Slick; TCWs), Boomer (Also known as Clone-Sergeant 2207; 501st; TCWs), Basher (the only CT out of the unit to make it into the Empire Era; SW Detours), and Hardcase (who lost his life during the Umbara Campaign; TCWs). Kilo squad were known to be happy-go-lucky destroyers of the training rooms. HUNTER was a part of ETA SQUAD. Three confirmed members of ETA Squad were, Tracker (212th; apart of the Dark Disciple series), Trapper (212th, formerly 91st--saw the battle of Ryloth, and the Zilo Beast incident; TCWs), and Hound (Coruscant Guard, Mastif Handler; TCWs) CROSSHAIR was apart of OMICRON SQUAD. With Hawkeye (91st, died during the Zilo Beast incident; TCWs), Longshot (212th, died during the Lola Sayu Mission; TCWs), Scope (104th; SW:CWA) and Sinker, of the 104th Wolfpack. TECH was apart of a soft-shell tech squad, with two confirmed members--Switch (CP-6824; SW:CW:RH) and Chatter (501st; radiotech).

Unfortunately, thanks to an incident that occurred to CT-9905 (a 99 projector (and original character)), Four of the Six / Seven of the 99-Project clones were finally gathered to be a team. ( CT-9905's fate is unknown. ) ( CT-9902 would be regulated as a Kaminonian Assistant. ) ( CC-9900, the "proof of concept" 99er, whose regeneration abilities served as the genetic-patch to prevent further clones from over-aging in their growth tubes--was already apart of the Republic Commando training, and would not be joining any other 99er. ) The original squads would be broken up and either sent out alone to other legions, or would be assigned to different squads.

HUNTER'S ELECTROMAGNETIC SENSES allows him to know when something has a static charge. So rub against a carpet, and he'll just know you have the charge. He describes it as if the feel of the air became spicy. Basically, he's a living voltage detector. Could probably tell you when your battery is dead.

WRECKER'S BONES are unbreakable. This isn't actually a form of mutation, but a form of later-life augmentation. That same later life augmentation staved his life when a bomb or charge went off near his face, and instead of pulverizing his skull (and thus his brain), it only pulverized the closest soft tissues--like his eye and inner ear.

WRECKER'S ENHANCEMENT allows him to have flexible muscle mass; allowing him to pick up and move objects without prep work, and to with stand any aftermath soreness. Thanks to the later-life augmentation, he has the strongest back in human existence. Unfortunately, a side effect of this is weaker organs, and a weaker heart. His enormous muscle growth has resulted in at least one near full organic transplantation, due to the muscle growing too fast for the organs to keep up. The abnormal strength of the muscle, thanks to be spliced with other-than-human genetics, is also what required the later-life bone augmentation, or risk his very muscles crushing his bones by movement alone.

Wrecker does not remember much of his childhood, due to the sheer growth pains from his enhancements.

TECH suffers from severe nearsightedness, and its been suggested, that as he's been spliced with Kamoninan genetics in order to ensure a "computational brain", that his eyes are more suited to underwater environments. Funnily enough, he does actually see in the water better. Not great, but better.

TECH, having been spliced with Kamoninan Genetics (whom are primarily amphibious), did have a vestigial-tadpole tail in his infancy. It went away as he got older... but he does occasionally have " Nonexistent-tail wiggles" when particularly excited, as a left over response--he finds them quite unprofessional and embaressing, but sometimes, one just gots to wiggle in place to get all that energy out.

Thanks to the Genetic splicing, Crosshair was actually born blind, with his eyelids semi-permanently shut (Not unlike a baby bird). They would open over the course of his first month; but this shows that not only does he have powerful eyes--he has powerful eyelids to compensate for those eyes. Its theorized that, if he had normal human eyelids, he would've seen through them.

The AlphaGens, or the famous 100, were the first clones in existence. They were the proof of concept, the Sparten-2's to the regular clones' Sparten-3, with minor enhancements and power armor--but also with the first severe issues that would come along during the Kaminonian's cloning. 99 was the final "successful" AlphaGen, whose gene-glitch aged him drastically in his growth tude, and whose problem would later be "patched out" with later clones, with the 99 project. ( Most Gene-patch projects were usually named after an AlphaGen's number; for example, there was the failed 17-Project, which attempted to gene-patch out premature white hair--did so with no success, and actually introduced Auburn and Blond Hair into clone troopers, as well as the additional problem of premature balding. ) ( Or the gene-patch project, 24-Project, that attempted to patch out Blue eyes--which catastrophically failed and resulted in blindness. ) 99 Himself, who was aware of the project being based from him, kept an eye out for all the "99ers", in what little ways he could. It is a well known AlphaGen trait, after all, to adopt BetaGen or Regular Clone Troopers. For example; for a young Wrecker, with uncontrollable strength, and great terrible growth pains, he left a small "tooka" doll made from baby cloths and what little fluff he could find. 99 would not officially meet a 99 Team, until after the loss of 9905.

99 himself, as the AlphaGen of Maintenance, knew of the secret places undernearth the Kaminonian Cities. He often worked around where CT-9902 did And he knew of the canceled OmegaGen clones project.

THE OMEGA GENERATION Cloned from a different prime, Arla Fett, the OmegaGen project was an attempt to create force-sensitive clones through "natural incubation" in order to "garden" the growth of midi-chlorians in a clone. Only two surviving clones were the result of the OmegaGen project--Omega-01, who was born via designated incubator (Heavily implied to have been the OmegaGen Prime), and Omega-02, who was the result of the Kaminonian typical method of cloning... and deemed a failure due to lack of midi-chlorian count. The project was deemed a success--but the expense and the time taken to make OmegaGen clones was deemed unacceptable, and the project was canceled after the first successes.

[thunderbirds-showdown]

Which Thunderbirds Are Go episode is better?

Vote on which episode you think is better. Episode synopses below the cut.

EOS: The childlike A.I. encountered in Japan suddenly takes control of Thunderbird 5, trapping John outside of it. The program, created by John as a game, believes it is defending itself from being shut down and is sending false monitor images to Tracy Island to deceive the others. Running out of air, John finds a way to reach Lady Penelope, who warns his brothers. Alan and Thunderbird 3 are soon sent to rescue John, with instructions to destroy Thunderbird 5 if the A.I. cannot be stopped.

Unplugged: An anti-technology group calling themselves The Luddites power up an electromagnetic pulse device underneath London, crippling everything that uses electricity, including Thunderbird 2, which is forced to make an emergency landing. Both Virgil and Grandma Tracy, along with Lady Penelope and Parker, must stop the Luddites' plan to cause a worldwide blackout, while at the same time rescuing a construction worker from a damaged crane.

[osakanone]

Sexuality is a myth, and we are legends

Also I realized why I can't be a lesbian (surely?):

Its the literature I read.

Its all terrible.

Being a girl is like being an angel, and the feeling is

"if men don't reach to the sky, am I really flying or not?" "Is it not my duty to relieve them with death?" "How could I be so kind as to ignore them?"

I don't know if that's "wow I'm into dudes" or "wow so gender" because some bizarre part of my brain has decided I can't or don't get to or deserve to one-circle or two-circle with another pair of wings banking at the speed of sound.

But lesbians dogfight. It opens with spying each-other over the horizon with brilliant electromagnetic-echolocation, gaining momentum and altitude and speed to break the sound-barrier to interrogate glimmers of whispers in the dark. All to save the effort of Valkyria lances of cyclops eyes and wax wings they bow across rockets, saving their burns to go as far and high as possible: throwing them beyond sight before immediately cranking pre-emptively to play coy as they close in the joust comes to an end.

Soon, they dance. Rarely, almost never, always beautifully, they dance.

To my understanding, the straights do close air support: Line it up, keep on straight, pickle, release, see it all happen dispassionately from a distance. A white wall of light. Next target. There is no dancing here.

Instead I'm stuck dumping rounds into men on the ground like some kind of novelty; some bizarre mythical creature. A unicorn. Something to be ashamed of, that nobody talks to their friends about.

I'm terrain masking for my own protection as a prey animal to everything: the lurching hypermasculinity of the tank. The angels above me.

I gain flight, but with some bastard mixture of vtol and lifting body effect. I have affordance like a tank. I climb. I lay. I roll. I peek, and I throw wishes at twice the speed of sound from my right arm.

I do things with my hands.

I aim at two things at once, with my ears of RWR, and my eyes of IRST and AESA. My atom heart is crying. My fingers are stimming across switches, every foot tap lurching me, rocking my whole body as if I'd sighted the incomprehensible.

I see where fairies called "missiles" are going, and I sigh swarms of rounds down before they get there: hair bristling like the hairs standing on the neck of an institutional battleship's neck, protecting it as horrors close in from unknown.

I do this as they do, as I move, effortlessly, as an individual.

I get stuff done; I build things like a mother throwing a pre-fab castle called "forward operating base" for her warrior children on holiday mornings with the camcorders rolling.

I am the all-mother, and every footstep is a lithe gong: both deafening and silent.

I put myself back together when I break. I put you back together, when you break. I am here, with you, with me. Together.

I'm Gerridae: I stride both spaces yet occupy neither.

I stand tall enough that they reach for me, but I don't stay high enough to be like the other girls.

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 2, Wave 2, Poll 4

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Ian Gallagher-Shameless

Qualifications:

Bipolar

Is canonically gay and has been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

Propaganda:

We get to see him grow up and his struggles with both sexuality and mental illness

Growing up in this social environment, below the poverty line, with six siblings, of which the eldest sister replaces the parent because the father prefers to drink and take drugs somewhere and lives the philosophy, neglect your children and they will learn to be independent and strong, and the mother has given up her motherhood and disappeared into the world, and he still comes by the circumstances relatively reasonably in comparison, respect. And that only scratches a part of the external circumstances....

Geordi La Forge-Star Trek: The Next Generation

Qualifications:

He is blind, canonically, and also [has] chronic headaches as a result of the visor he wears. He was actually originally conceptualized as gay, but never written as such because every Trekkie's nemesis, Rick Berman, took over the production of TNG after Roddenbury left. Every single heterosexual romance written for him is atrocious, and his closest non-familial relationship is with a man, Data. Said relationship is often interpreted as romantic or queerplatonic in nature by fans.

He is blind (uses a VISOR that lets him see the electromagnetic spectrum) and was intended to be gay before one of the producers decided not to let him be (thousand curses on Rick Berman)

Propaganda:

He is so wonderful and I love him so so so much. OK. Okay. So Geordi's main traits are that he is an incredibly dedicated and talented engineer, a ridiculously friendly and charismatic person, and very loyal & stubborn when it comes to the people he loves. He has, on two separate occasions, successfully made friends with a member of a hostile alien faction just by spending a few days with them (Hugh, Bochra). When his mother goes missing and he starts getting communications from an entity claiming to be her, he disobeys orders and puts himself in danger in an attempt to save her. Similarly, in The Most Toys, when Data is kidnapped by Kivas Fajo, he refuses to believe that Data made an error in piloting a shuttlecraft that resulted in his death, and through rigorous investigation, finds out what really happened and is able to get the Enterprise to rescue him. (This episode bears incredible similarity to an episode in Star Trek Deep Space Nine, wherein Keiko does the exact same thing when her husband Miles is falsely reported as dead, so in that parallel, Geordi and Data are directly analagous to a married couple). Geordi's disability is presented in one of the best ways I have seen in media from the 80s-90s. His disability is a part of his character, but never his defining trait, and in several episodes he stresses that he doesn't resent being blind, as it is part of who he is. In fact, there's even an episode where he is placed in direct thematic opposition to a eugenicist society that terminates all disabled zygotes. He was originally conceptualized as gay by Roddenbury, but was never written as such (partially due to Rick Berman's influence). However, all of his canon heterosexual romances are unspeakably terrible, and his closest onscreen relationship is with Data. This relationship is interpreted by many to be romantic or queerplatonic in nature.

He's so cooool!! He's the chief engineer on the enterprise, he's so kind, and his relationship with the android Data is one of the best on the show and is my favourite in all of Star Trek

Anything Else?:

The actor who played him, LeVar Burton, is a vocal ally and has expressed support for his gay daughter in interviews :).

Geordi is awesome

The qualifications and propaganda paragraphs correspond, @convenient-plot-device is the first submitter, @autisticiantojvnes is the second.