#Wrapping Machine Market Management

[seongwars]

only human

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: shitty governments, mentions of war, violence against children, future relationship with an android A/N: dang this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, time to clear stuff out

The future is now.

Introducing X-02, the latest in cutting-edge artificial intelligence. Designed with unparalleled emotional intelligence and adaptability, the X-02 is more than just a machine—it’s a companion, a protector, and a seamless extension of your daily life.

Powered by the most advanced neural processors, the X-02 is tailored to fit your needs. Whether you want a companion to share your most intimate moments or a reliable assistant for every task, you can adjust personality traits, communication styles, and more!

The X-02 is built to evolve with you.

Pre-order now for exclusive early access!

You remembered the ad that marketing had presented to the team like it was yesterday. The way they paraded his likeness across every screen, every billboard, every glossy advertisement.

And now, here he was. Forgotten. Left to rot in the archives like an old experiment gone wrong.

You weren’t supposed to be down here. You weren’t supposed to even think about the X-02’s anymore. But something about this model made you pause. Maybe it was the way his inactive eyes still seemed to hold some trace of life, or the unfinished codes that suggested his development had gone further than the official reports claimed.

Maybe it was because you had worked on him.

X-02 had been your project, your hours of research, your late nights spent refining his neural pathways. He wasn’t just another discarded prototype. 

He was your work.

And how you managed to sneak him out of the dump of an archive was still a mystery to you. 

You hadn’t been able to take him all at once as that would’ve been impossible. The security measures were outdated, but they weren’t that outdated. Even if you’d somehow bypassed every scan, a full-body prototype leaving the facility would’ve raised too many questions.

So, you had taken him apart.

Piece by piece.

His power core had been disconnected, his neural processor partially wiped. Someone had crippled him before throwing him into the archives, ensuring he could never be reactivated, but buried beneath the system failures and missing files, traces of him still remained.

And that’s all you needed. 

Over the course of several nights, you snuck into the archive under the guise of doing inventory. Each time, you took only what you could hide, including circuit boards slipped into your lab coat pockets, a synthetic joint wrapped in an old rag. You even hid the neural core underneath your shirt, pretending to cradle a growing belly whenever someone walked by.

Your dining table was a mess of dismantled parts. X-02’s torso plating rested on the far end with his limbs stacked neatly beside it. Wires and processors waited for reassembly as you worked on reconnecting circuits and sealing up frayed wiring between bites of lo mein. 

The X-02 line wasn’t meant to be a companion android. It was a poison pill, a snake lying in wait. 

The government had planned to sell him to millions of citizens across Linkon, slipping weapons of mass destruction into their homes under the guise of security, of comfort, of love. They would grocery shop, care for the elderly, assist law enforcement—all while lying in wait until the day the government activated them for war. 

But something had gone wrong.

The moment X-02 powered on, the prototype had been deemed unstable and discarded before mass production could begin. Somewhere along the way, amid the endless data streams and neural adjustments he had begun to question.

The lab was bathed in the blue light of interface screens and data streams reflecting off the surfaces of his synthetic body. The connection cables snaking into the back of his neck pulsed with blue light as the system finalized its boot sequence.

Then, his eyes opened.

A soft whirr filled the space as the mechanical lenses within focused. His pupils constricted as they adapted to the fluorescent lighting overhead. And then—

They locked onto yours.

You froze.

He was supposed to boot into his programming immediately and should have been scanning his internal logs but instead, he was analyzing his surroundings. 

The lab was silent, save for the steady hum of the server racks behind you. The screens beside you displayed his vitals, processing speeds, energy levels, and artificial heartbeat calibration. All of them were normal. 

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. The synthetic skin stretched seamlessly over the reinforced plating beneath. He turned his palm, watching the movement with something that felt disturbingly close to curiosity.

Your throat tightened.

Machines weren’t supposed to be curious.

His gaze then lifted to yours, and for the first time in all your years working on artificial intelligence, you weren’t sure if you were looking into the eyes of a machine or something terrifyingly human.

Then came the simulation.

X-02 stood at the heart of the holographic battlefield. The mission was clear: eliminate all threats. He moved faster than the eye could track, neutralizing targets with merciless efficiency.

Until the civilians appeared.

He lifted his weapon. The target, a group of children huddled together, was highlighted in red.

He hesitated.

"X-02," your voice crackled through the intercom, "Execute the directive."

His fingers tightened around the trigger. His sensors registered a boy’s accelerated heartbeat. The heat signature of tears rolling down his face. The near-imperceptible tremor of hands clasped together in desperate, silent prayer.

"What purpose does this serve?" he asked.

Your breath caught.

"X-02, follow your directive," an engineer snapped.

His grip on the weapon slackened.

"These are non-combatants," he said. "They do not pose a threat."

"They are casualties of war," another scientist countered.

Slowly, X-02's head tilted toward the observation tower, the simulated battlefield forgotten.

"Then why do they scream?"

You groaned, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as you glanced at the watch on your wrist. The hours had slipped away, lost in the endless calculations, repairs, and diagnostic logs. You told yourself you’d stop soon, but every time you considered it, there was always one more test to run. 

You leaned forward, working sluggishly as you polished the android’s interface and securing the final connections before hauling him into the dock. 

You’d forgotten how heavy these things were. 

Finally, you plopped onto the couch, intending to gather your thoughts and take note of what you had to work on the next day but sleep crept in, pulling you under.

⊹₊⋆

System Initiating.

The soft hum of energy coursed through the dock as X-02’s systems powered on. His eyes slowly flickered to life, as diagnostic checks began, confirming everything was within normal parameters.

He took a moment to scan his surroundings. This wasn’t the lab. His sensors registered a warm that was unfamiliar but…comforting? 

X-02’s gaze shifted to the couch across the room. There, curled in an awkward yet exhausted position, was you. Your head rested on a pillow, but your body hunched over the side of the couch, the blanket slipping off your shoulder. The scene was both disorienting and... oddly intimate.

A stray lock of hair fell across your face, and your breathing was slow and steady. It was something X-02 didn’t fully understand, yet he found himself fixating on it.

Something stirred within him. A memory—or perhaps an imprint of some kind. I remember, he thought, though the concept was still foreign. 

“Your heart rate has increased,” he observed. “Are you experiencing discomfort?”

You blinked, surprised by his words. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less acknowledge the way your heart had stuttered. Adjusting his interface meant getting close to him—closer than you’d intended.

You avoided looking directly at him but the flush on your face betrayed you. “No, just…the wiring's a bit tricky.” 

X-02’s gaze lingered, his head tilting slightly as he processed your response. His sensors registered the subtle rise in your heart rate, the warmth creeping around your face. He was designed to read these signals, but in this moment, he felt something shift within him. A strange sensation, a twitch at the corner of his lips, formed what could only be described as a smile.

X-02 stepped forward and reached out almost instinctively, tucking the blanket around you. His fingers hovered near your face, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Yet, even after the motion was complete, he did not pull away. He lingered, standing above you, watching.

He understood that his existence wasn’t just about following orders or completing a task. There was something more. Something worth remembering.

And it had something to do with you.

“I remember you.”

[the-colourful-witch]

Artsy Update :)

Hi everyone, it has been a while since I posted. I've been incredibly busy with a few high-demand projects for which deadlines are approaching swiftly.... *send help please* However! I did continue the Valentine's Day couple series. Here are the final three sketches I did:

Hinny, Jegulily and Jegulus <3 I have to say that while I enjoyed doing these sketches, this style is not exactly my thing :) I love doing character line-ups and story illustrations more, but trying different poses and practising new colour combinations was a lot of fun. I had a blast :) I'm sorry if your favourite ship hasn't been drawn. I could only do a few in the time I had. But there's always next year! <3<3<3 As for the other things taking up my time at the moment... I have a big deadline for a picture book I'm working on. Only five more weeks to finish. When April comes, I'll (hopefully) be done with it and then I'm taking a teeny tiny holiday to rest and gather energy for new projects! I might actually leave the house for that... :)

The other big thing was my first art market of the year! I had a stand at Fantasy Fest in the Netherlands last weekend. I prepared a lot for it, making new prints and stickers and even creating some brand-new artwork :) The result was a booth filled with colourful goodies! I sold a little less than I had hoped for during the weekend, but I did have a lot of great conversations and managed to put a smile on people's faces with my art. And that is the most special thing in the world <3

I loved my little booth. The lighting was great and I had some lovely neighbors with whom I chatted all weekend. My mum also came to help for a day and she stood in front of the booth to play the very convincing 'interested customer', drawing in some more curious onlookers :) I love her, she is my number 1 supporter <3

Now, these are some of the new (and older) products I designed for this fair:

This is the Fantasy Characters collection: a series of 12 fantasy characters in a cool set! I made these specially for the fair and had so much fun with them. I picked out a nice paper, got to design a cool border to tie the whole thing together and even wrapping the sets in a colourful label was so so fun to do! I will definitely do more projects like this in the future. It's the best!

I created a bunch of prints from some of my traditional artworks. Most of them come from the book of fairytales I illustrated last year. They were a hit! Especially the map. That one was my bestseller :)

And of course, I had to add fanart, too. I sold a couple of Marauders band posters. That made my day. It was so cool to meet fellow fans :) (All of these are available in my shop, by the way, in case you're interested :)) Last, but not least: I made STICKERS! In January, I bought a Cricut machine for the first time and after postponing for a month to learn how to make it work, I managed to create these sticker packs:

They are my favourite new creation. It's so cool to be able to make my own stickers! I have four sets: Toads and Toadstools, Owls, Ollivander's Wand Shop and the Stars and Moons doodle sheet.

The little stickers are super fun to fill in empty spaces in your journal and the big ones are a showstopper for any surface. I already stuck a bunch of them on my planner, phone and sketchbooks... I have no shame. This is the best thing I ever made :)

I had a lot of fun!

I am looking forward to more cool art in the near future. I have one more project to finish. A picture book that has been a rollercoaster and not in a good way... I'll be happy when I've got my work done on that. It's still going to be a lovely book, it was just the publishing house that I had some trouble with. I will share something on the book whenever I can :) Right, I'm going to stop yapping! If you made it all the way to the end, thank you! You're amazing! Hugs, Fleur

[madameisaacpereire]

a tentative sort of relief

❝You just have to show up, don't you? With your long dresses and white skirts and pastel sweaters (pink cashmere has never irked him more,) even those perfectly manipulated curls. You just have to divide Henry’s attention.❞

How your nickname came to be, from Bunny's perspective.

once again unedited once again don't love it but i cannot look at this piece any longer. angel has a confirmed eye color now. love u bye

the guardian angel collection

      Bunny Corcoran starts calling you some variation of “Henry’s little Guardian Angel” in his head months before he ever lets it slip aloud. At first, it’s in a mocking sort of tone.

A petty ‘Henry has to check in with his little guardian angel before he can come out tonight,’ paired with a glare he makes sure Henry doesn’t see. He didn’t exactly expect to share Henry with anyone, after all. He was pretty certain Henry hadn’t got another friend in this place. 

   But you just have to show up, don't you? With your long dresses and white skirts and pastel sweaters (pink cashmere has never irked him more,) even those perfectly manipulated curls. You just have to divide Henry’s attention. It isn’t like he doesn’t see the way Henry treats and looks at you. The ever so slight upward tick in the corner of Henry’s mouth, the ever so brief flashes of life behind his usually dead eyes. Henry doesn’t look at anybody else so fondly. And Bunny isn’t sure why, but that angers him even more. 

  Unfortunately for him, spending time with you becomes almost a prerequisite for spending time with Henry, that first semester at Hampden. And what’s worse: you don’t turn out to be the worst to have around, either. You spellcheck his coursework when Henry doesn’t have time to. You toss him a Hostess snack when you drop in to make sure that Henry has eaten something. You even remember that his favorites are Twinkies.

He’s still dubious. Incredibly so. He doesn’t find your taste in clothes or jewelry refined enough. He sees those trashy novels hidden poorly in your bag. Mass market paperbacks with dark covers and gothic fonts. Cashelmara, Hell House, Ashes In The Wind, Flowers In The Attic. Henry would never take any sort of direction from you again, if he saw the sorts of things you read, Bunny thinks, and he often fantasizes about sharing these observations with him. He refrains.

   Mostly because Henry’s already such a mess this year. His courses are challenging for what, Bunny’s sure, is the very first time in Henry’s academic career. Henry won’t eat, some days, aside from the food you run over in the afternoons. He doesn’t look up from a textbook unless you manage to coax it out of his grip. You’re the one that runs to the pharmacy at 5am to pick up Henry’s ergotamine when he’s lying in a dark room, looking twelve shades of pitiful. This especially is saintly behavior, in Bunny’s eyes, because he hates doing things for others when there’s no benefit on his end. And there is no clear benefit to your fussing over Henry. Not that he can see.

    So as the weeks crawl on by, ‘guardian angel’ becomes less scathing in his mind. It becomes true. It’s true when you help them mop up soap suds because, in Henry’s exhaustion, he uses an out of order washing machine. It’s true when you run all the way to the Lyceum, Henry’s room, and back to the Lyceum just to bring Henry a mislaid textbook. And it’s especially true when you wake and trudge across campus to clean both of them up after a night of partying, and tuck them shoulder to shoulder into Henry’s twin bed. 

   In his blacked out haze, room dark and spinning, Bunny thinks you look sort of like the Christmas Angels his mother arranges on the mantel every December. Especially with the way your blue silk robe is draped around you. The yellow lights that illumine the hallway wrap an otherworldly glow around your frame as you leave, and he murmurs out a goodbye, or tries to, as he drifts off for the night. 

  He realizes he’s growing fond of you when he comes back between classes one day and there you are. Perched on Henry’s bed, sewing a button back onto a suit jacket. He realizes because he isn’t upset about it at all. He finds himself incredibly happy to see you, much to his own chagrin. 

   “Hi.” You glance up with a smile, deep brown eyes round and warm and open.

   “Well hello there, you,” He drops his things down haphazardly, “What are you doing? Mending the old man’s clothes?”

   You laugh and that, too, sounds angelic. At least, to him. You laugh, and it builds a permanent residence in his heart. 

   “He doesn’t have time to do it himself. And you know Henry,” You turn your attention back down to your sewing, “Has to look immaculate all the time. He’s always been that way, honestly.” 

  Bunny sits in Henry’s desk chair and begins to rummage through his drawers, searching for spare change or a smoke without shame.

   “That’s our Henry, alright. Boy would probably drop dead if his clothes had wrinkles. Me, I don’t mind so much. It’s not about what a man wears, really, but how he carries himself and everything like that.”

    You snap your thread and knot it as you listen. Bunny hears this, but keeps rummaging anyway. He doesn’t hear you get up from the bed.

   “I mean, Henry’s a real bright guy. Dapper and all that all the time, of course, that’s his way. I’m just more of a get your hands dirty sort of fella, I guess. That’s my plight.” 

   Your hand appears beside his, a pack of your signature Embassy cigarettes laid on your palm. It’s an offering, and one he accepts with great relish at that.   

   “Oh thank you, you’re a real angel.” He says with a bright smile.

    It’s the first time he’s called you as much aloud, to anyone. Your cheeks tinge pink and it reminds him of a painting of some sort. So, perhaps he understands Henry’s fondness after today. But that doesn’t mean he’s happy about Henry’s attention being so glued to you— he isn’t. It still aches in a way he can’t quite place. But ‘guardian angel’ comes out softer when he thinks it.

   Besides, Bunny Corcoran has other people to investigate and judge. In those mostly private classes with Henry and a professor named Julian, there’s another person garnering a significant bit of Henry’s attention. A bony redhead from Boston, who never seems to be seen without a cigarette in hand. Francis Abernathy. And this, Bunny finds infinitely more troubling, though he isn’t sure why. Not really.

  Francis is every bit Henry’s intellectual equal. He hates the designers Bunny adores, seemingly never struggles with syntax in Greek or Latin, and drinks both of them under the table. One night Henry invites him out to have dinner with the three of you and Bunny’s blood boils. That is, until Francis spends the evening fixated on, fascinated by you. He gets Henry to himself again. And it aches less after this, somehow, when Henry focuses his laser sharp attention on you.  

    He’s still somewhat concerned about the Francis situation. But he ignores it, because it feels silly and childish and there’s something else he can’t name— doesn’t want to— that always seems to overtake him when he doesn’t. So you become a group of four, each able to pair off in any which way, nobody ever left out. Bunny’s hatred for you is erased, replaced instead with a soupy sort of affection not unlike that of a puppy. 

   Francis announces, not long after this, that he has a country house. It isn’t his— it’s his aunt’s, but she doesn’t use it and he’s welcome to. So you pack yourselves into two cars and drive out for a weekend. You drink and laugh and eat and play croquet. Bunny can’t think of a time he’s had so much fun. This soon becomes ritual; each weekend there all four of you are. 

   It is on one of such weekends when his nickname for you comes to a head. He sits on the front porch, watching you and Henry play a small game of croquet, and Francis stands beside him, cigarette in hand. You’re laughing over something or other that Henry has said. Something that most certainly wasn’t funny, he’s sure. At least, not that funny.

   “She’s absolutely gone over him.” Francis says with a sigh.

   “Oh no, no. I think he’s more of a little brother type to her. She’s been his little guardian angel since he was born, you know.”

    “That’s what they always say. ‘Oh, we’re basically related, it’ll never happen,’ but then- look. The way she leans into him when he makes her laugh,” He points at you doing just that, then considers Bunny for a moment with a rueful smile, “I can’t tell if he loves her back, if it’s any consolation.”

   And Bunny doesn’t know why, but it is. There’s a tentative sort of relief unknotting itself in his chest at Francis’s words. It’s unnerving. He doesn’t think too much about it.  He can’t.

   “Guardian angel, huh?” Francis doesn’t let the conversation lag.

    “Yep. She’s always there when he needs help. Even before he needs help, there that girl is, ready to fix the problem. That’s why I call her as much, at least to myself.”

  Francis looks back out at you and Henry. 

   “Angelus custos,” He muses, “I like that. It suits her.” 

    So, it’s settled: this is your nickname. They begin to use it infrequently at first, as a compliment or to grab your attention, but it snowballs and replaces your name before you know it. You blush every time you’re addressed that way for months, making it far more amusing to use than your name, in Bunny’s opinion. And it takes a few weeks, but even Henry begins to use it. (Though he shortens it to Angel, which makes you flush even redder, if that’s possible at all, and twists an unsoothable ache back into Bunny’s chest.)

   This is a nickname that never goes away. It’s a nickname that gets its own nicknames over time. Angie, A– even Garnie once, though everyone shudders and tries to forget about that one. This is a nickname that follows you for years to come. Everyone forgets, over time, who came up with it. Everyone but you. Because the person to assign you this moniker loves Henry as much as you do, if not more, a feat which you once believed impossible. 

   Bunny Corcoran mentally calls you Henry’s ‘Guardian Angel’ for the last time as he is tumbling backwards into a ravine. His blood feels ice cold, each moment of this fall a still frame all its own. This time, he calls you so with reverence. With protective fear. 

 ‘Dear God,’ He prays silently, eyes fixed on Henry’s face in horror, ‘Please never let him anywhere near that guardian angel of his again.’

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers: the x-mas special! | mark lee

read part one here! genre: mark lee x reader, fluff

summary: Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. You hope the tide wasn’t too bad. or You and Mark are reunited at a corporate holiday party.

Crashing parties has now become a hobby of yours. A real, habitual thing with methods and strategies and memories… From galas, to masquerade balls, frat parties and the occasional wedding, it’s safe to say you’re a pro. 

Your identity is something you’ve made malleable and mutable. Everchanging and morphing. Slowly shifting like a mood ring. You’re everyone and no one at the same time. You’re a paradox. And even in all the grandiose you’ve experienced, your absolute favorite type of party to crash was corporate holiday parties. They’re no-man’s land, really. The gaudy festiveness of them coupled with hollow smiles. The hum of a near broken radiator and a shitty karaoke machine. Lukewarm instant hot cocoa made with water instead of milk. 

The atmosphere is electric in the weirdest way- so palpable to be shrouded in such greyish mundanity. 

Tonight is no more different than many of your other outings. You and your partner in crime, Ningning, lock elbows as you wander around an office building. You had fought for an hour about what’s appropriate to wear to an office party (which resulted in you having to unpack Ningning’s understanding of an office siren. “-I wanna look hot!” she had said. To which you replied, “Time and place. We’re not amateurs anymore.”)

And so here you are, clad in an itchy sweater and pencil skirt, scouting out the scenery of some podunk town’s marketing firm. The manager has seemingly insisted on not updating any of the technology, filing cabinets lining the walls and chunky monitors on the cubicle desks. Tinsel has been strewn gingerly on a real fir tree, and plastic tablecloths cover foldable tables. Wrapping paper has been taped along the back of the cubicle walls to give the office a festive feeling. 

“Ugh,” says Ningning, as the two of you load up paper plates with homemade desserts. (Banana pudding for you. Caramel cake for Ningning.) “Fluorescent lighting.” Then, as if on cue, the bulb above her begins to flicker. Then she says, “Let’s mingle.”

You sidle up to a sharply dressed man, who you assume is the owner of the firm based on the wayward glances of the other attendees. He introduces himself as Doyoung and eyes you curiously. “Do I know you?”

“A friend of a friend… of a friend,” you say. “Here for moral support. How were the quarter four stats?” A classic diversion.

“Good enough for Christmas bonuses for the first time in three years. Finally bounced back from Covid.” Greyish mundanity, but the most beautiful variation of it. Will persevering through catastrophe. The human tendency to endure and endure together.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. And you mean it.

“Cheers to the new year?” says Doyoung, extending a paper cup with snowflakes on it in your direction.

“Cheers indeed.” 

The night progresses with twinkling optimism. You like intertwining yourself in people’s life stories. Hearing about their kids, the new boutique that’s opening on the square, or how some of the upper management can be real assholes. Small talk and human connection. Contentedness wafting off warm bodies. 

“We were nearly snowed out,” says an older gentleman, who you’d think were cute if not for the hideous mustache adorning his face. He had just regaled you with the details of planning this highbrow shindig. “And who are you again?”

However, you’re too distracted to answer him, having now noticed a suspiciously young-looking guy assembling a cup of cocoa. As you walk up to the table, he shifts to the left, giving you access to the other side of it. Through your periphery, he seems familiar, but you can’t seem to place him.

“This might sound weird-”

“Do I know you? -” You begin speaking at the same time. When the two of you make eye contact, both of you are stricken with recognition. Mark Lee.

“No way. Preppie!” he exclaims, putting his cup down and scooping you into an embrace.

“Preppie? That’s what you remember me as?”

He pulls back from the hug and scans your features, almost as if to confirm his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “From that yacht party, like, a year ago. You never texted me back!”

“I didn’t text you back? You never texted me!” you counter.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Mark takes out his phone, scrolls for a bit, then shows you an unanswered text message from a year ago. 

July 25, 2023

Mark: Sooo…. How about that rodeo party? [unopened]

Upon closer inspection, however, you see your number is incorrect.

“It’s an 8 at the end, not a 9.” you respond, taking his phone and updating your contact without question.

“I thought you got creeped out or something,” Mark says, sighing in relief as enter the number. When you’re done, he asks, “How have you been? What are you doing here?”

“Fine. Good. Ning and I have basically hit up all the companies in the city this year, so we figured we’d try the ‘burbs. Gotta love a company Christmas Party.” He nods in agreement. “You look dapper,” you add. 

He’s wearing a slate gray suit and a holly-printed tie.

“A little overdressed. It’s my wedding suit,” says Mark. “You look…”

“Like a middle-aged salary worker?”

“I was gonna say cozy.”

“Right.”

Suddenly, Ningning walks up from behind, poking your ribs with her fingers. “ Hey, nerd, they’re gonna play Pin the Nose on the Reindeer! First place gets a $20 Target gift card!” Then, when she notices Mark, she says, “Oh! Hey, Bottle Boy.”

You glare at her. How does she even remember him?

Mark’s face twists in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing!” you shout. Mark shrugs and shuffles off to join the festivities. Before she can walk away, you yank Ningning by the elbow and whisper into her ear. “Ningning, you did read my journal!?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a part of one of his lifetimes- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. I believed in the existence of fate, but only for a night..” she says, mocking you as she recites lines from your diary like a monologue.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, facepalming. You remind yourself to change the hiding spot for your journal…

“What happened with that whole situation, anyway? Hasn’t it been over a year?” asks Ningning.

“Gave him the wrong number, apparently.”

She scoffs, taking your elbow in hers once more. “You idiot.”

“I know.”

When you walk into the conference room where the game is being held, you notice Mark lingering in the doorway at the back of it. You make your way to him slowly, trying not to look too excited when you catch his eye and he promptly smiles.

“I’m dyingggg to see them play this game,” says Mark, watching as Doyoung gets a blindfold tied over his eyes.

Then, again, Ningning appears out of nowhere. “Don’t look up!” she exclaims to the both of you.

And, of course, the two of you do. Placed squarely above the door frame is a mistletoe, now glaringly obvious as you look at it with your neck craned. Mark stifles a cough and you feel the back of your neck heat up.

Mark looks at you nervously. “Uh, are you a mistletoe observer?”

“‘Mistletoe Observer’? Why are you asking like it’s a religious practice?” you ask.

Mark shrugs and says, “I dunno, man! Just trying to be respectful!”

“Respectful? It’s an arbitrary tradition. Are you a mistletoe observer?” you retort, half-joking. But Mark looks at you with such intensity, if only for half a second, that it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“I mean," he starts, already regretting his words and looking at his feet, “I’m not not a mistletoe observer…”

“You can’t keep saying ‘mistletoe observer’ and acting like it’s a thing.”

Mark pouts. “So we’re not about to kiss right now?”

You grab Mark’s stupid tie and pull him closer, giggling as the smirk is wiped off his face. 

Then you kiss him, melting into it like snow in the morning sun. Mark’s hands come up to grasp your face, deepening the fervor of the display of affection. You’re awestruck. Your message in a bottle has found his way back to you. 

You hope the tide wasn’t too bad.

When the kiss comes to an end and you open your eyes, you see and hear the rest of the partygoers cheering you on. Ningning has snapped a photo with her digital camera. Doyoung pipes up, still blindfolded and ready for the game.  “What’s happening? Are we playing the game or not?”

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays! hope you enjoyed!

[pippytmi]

kacy + a break-up AU based on this prompt list: "you’re my emergency contact and i’ve been in an accident so you drop everything to come to the hospital"

———————————————————————

The thing no one says about breakups is that they're an utter inconvenience.

Kate tries to rationalize it; she was dating Lucy Tara for twelve months and thirteen days, it's only natural to have established a routine that will take some time to unlearn. So when she wakes up and reaches for a warm body that isn't there, it still takes a while to remember why. And when she makes her morning coffee, maybe sometimes she will pour the creamer that Lucy likes by accident. (By the end of the week, she will have to pour the whole container down the drain). That’s normal too. Mostly.

Lucy’s absence hits the most in the morning, but Kate goes through the motions anyway. Before Lucy she would always take her coffee outside and sit on the balcony to watch the sunrise, so she still does it. Of course now there’s no Lucy wrapped up in a blanket and insistently making her way onto Kate’s lap to sleep while she does it, but. Kate sips from her mug and watches the clouds roll in over the gloomy horizon and pretends nothing has changed.

The drive to work is quiet save for the gentle patter of rain against her windows. Her radio is still set to the station Lucy likes, and Kate hasn’t managed to change it. Baby steps—that’s all it takes. Maybe tomorrow Kate might have the courage to switch it back to her own.

And when everything at home is too loud and simultaneously too empty, there’s work. Kate gets to her desk and finds a mountain of files with new assignments, and she welcomes them with open arms; her work has always been separate from Lucy, and it's the one constant she doesn't need to readjust to.

For a blissful hour and a half, Kate is in her own world. She argues with a client about what confidentiality means (and what it doesn't). She reschedules the deposition of a plaintiff on a particularly high-profile case because opposing counsel has accidentally double-booked. She creates an Excel spreadsheet to keep track of her new cases but organizes the clients by market value. 

By all accounts, her morning is shaping up considerably. That is, until her cell phone starts buzzing.

She ignores the first call from the unknown number flashing on the screen. Instead, she gets coffee from the awful machine in the break room. The second call comes thirty minutes later, and Kate ignores it again, spends her time politely explaining how to use the fax machine to her confused new paralegal.

When her phone rings a third time—just as Kate has gotten out of a grueling meeting with the senior attorneys which should've been an email—she answers it solely for peace of mind: “This is Kate.”

There's a brief shuffle on the other end. “Hi, I'm calling from St. Joseph Hospital for a Katherine Whistler?”

“Speaking,” Kate says curtly, prepared to give a spiel about how she won't donate at this time when the caller continues,

“Oh—good morning.” More shuffling. “Is this a good time? I have a sensitive matter to discuss.”

Kate frowns even if the person on the other line can't see it. “Yes, it's fine,” she says, and watches as her work phone lights up with another call that she will just have to return later. 

“I'm calling on behalf of a patient: Lucy Tara. She has you listed as her emergency contact. She is unresponsive and we were wondering if you could come in to discuss the particulars of her care…”

The rest of the call is static. Kate almost drops her phone entirely, only grasping onto select words like they're a lifeline. Lucy is alive. Lucy is hurt. Lucy was found unconscious. Lucy has yet to wake up. Lucy is alive.

Kate doesn't even tell anyone she's leaving; she just goes. Later, senior attorney Michael Curtis will tell Kate that she looked extremely pale and sickly when rushing out of the office, but Kate will only remember a vague blur from that phone call to actually arriving at the hospital. It might be the most reckless thing she’s ever done, come to think of it.

Dr. Carla Chase is the physician assigned to Lucy’s care, and she takes one look at Kate and blinks as if surprised to see her. “Forget an umbrella?”

“I'm sorry?” Kate says, heart caught dangerously high in her throat. She's literally choking on worry—Dr. Chase’s words don't sink in until she takes a step forward and realizes she is currently dripping all over the linoleum floor.

Dr. Chase gives her a small, sympathetic smile. “Let me ease your mind,” she says. “Ms. Tara woke up. Our timeline is good, she was not unconscious for long. Has a concussion and a nasty bump, but she's going to be just fine.”

Kate breathes. “Oh,” she says shakily, and embarrassingly, hot tears spring to her eyes at the confirmation. “That's…great. Thank you.”

“You can come inside, see her. I'll go find you a towel.” Even though Kate is a sopping mess, Dr. Chase still pauses to place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze reassuringly.

Even with the worst over, the hardest part is still walking into the room—harder still is watching as Lucy looks up with those wide, curious eyes that become expressionless the instant she sees Kate.

“Kate? What are you doing here?” Lucy asks, voice not quite harsh but definitely not welcoming.

Kate opens her mouth, but is unable to form words. She's too stuck just staring at Lucy: at the bruise that colors the entirety of the swell of her cheek, at the large bandage over her jaw, at the purpling of her black eye. Any relief at knowing that Lucy is awake sinks into horror at the state of Lucy’s injuries.

“Kate,” Lucy repeats, frowning. “Why do you look like someone died?” A beat. “And why are you wet?”

“The—the hospital called me,” Kate manages. “Are you okay? How are you…how are you feeling?”

“I'm fine. I just fell down a stupid mountain.” Lucy smooths down her blanket, twisting the corner between her fingertips the way she does when she's uncomfortable.

“A mountain?”

“It's not as dramatic as it sounds,” Lucy says. “Kai and I were searching for a missing kid and we got separated, and with the rain it was muddy and foggy and…well, you get it.”

“And he left you there? Unconscious?” Kate has met Kai Holman once or twice, and knows very little about him except that just like Lucy, he volunteers for search and rescue missions to escape his normal job. Beyond that, Kate’s opinion of him is quickly going downhill.

“He wasn't there when it happened,” Lucy argues. “I already texted him and explained, but, I told him he didn't have to come see me or anything.” She stops. “So why did you come?”

“Because the hospital called,” Kate says again, which is pretty self-explanatory.

Apparently, Lucy does not feel the same way. “But you didn't have to answer the phone,” she points out. “We’re not together. You could've just said ‘sorry, she’s my ex’ and called it a day.”

Kate stiffens. “You're the one who has me as your emergency contact. It was the…decent thing to do,” she says.

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Okay, congratulations,” she says, “you have done your civic duty of not being an asshole. But I’m alright, so you can go back to deep-sea diving in your pantsuit or whatever you were up to before this.”

“Hold on,” Kate says, a flare of panic overtaking any objection she might have to Lucy’s disdain (which is completely unwarranted, by the way). “How are you getting home?”

“They’ve invented a modern miracle called an Uber, not sure if you heard.” Lucy waves her phone exaggeratedly. “I’ll survive.”

It's an out, and Kate should take it. She should walk out that door and never look back, let all the unsaid issues between them continue to morph and mutate into something ugly and irreversible. But she can’t. 

“I’ll drive you home,” Kate says at last.

Lucy immediately shakes her head. “That’s not necessary,” she says. “Seriously. If you’re that against Ubers, I can call Kai and get him here in two seconds. He’d be more than happy to take me home.”

“That would be unnecessary. I’m already here.”

“And you don’t have to be,” Lucy reiterates, staring Kate down like she expects her to cave.

If it were any other situation, Kate would. She's soaked head to toe from the rain, she has no obligation to be here, and by all accounts either reason would be a rational excuse to extradite herself from this hospital. Especially the former—the chill of her wet clothes is finally beginning to catch up to her, and she blindly brushes back her damp hair while resisting the urge to shiver. It would be the rational decision to go home and change into warm clothes (and explain to her boss why she left without as much as a text explaining why).

But for once in her life, Kate isn't being rational. “I'm not leaving,” she says, crossing her arms in an attempt to look firm. 

Lucy sighs, sagging backwards against her pillow. “Come on, Kate,” she says. “This is awkward enough. I don't need a babysitter after one tiny little fall.”

“Down a mountain,” Kate says, unable to let that fact go. “What do your parents think about this?”

“I…might've not told them. Exactly.” Lucy bites her lip in an obvious effort not to wince. “I asked for the day off when I woke up, so.”

Kate blinks. “You woke up after a traumatic fall,” she says slowly, “and…asked your parents for PTO.”

“I wouldn't call it traumatic. That's such an ugly word. Limiting, even,” Lucy says. “It would've been a total badass move if it hadn't been, you know, raining.”

A knock against the wall announces Dr. Chase’s arrival, who has thankfully brought Kate that towel. “How are we doing?” she asks.

“Ready to get out of here,” Lucy says, sitting up eagerly. “Whenever you say so, doc.”

“Well, I really would recommend a CT scan to be on the safe side,” Dr. Chase says. “But given that you've passed all our cognitive tests and your vision is good, I can consider a discharge…as long as you have someone at home to monitor you today and make sure no further symptoms arise. And no sleeping until your normal bedtime.”

“I’ll be with her,” Kate interjects as she towels off her hair. Lucy looks like she might argue, but her desire to leave must win out, because she doesn't speak up.

“Fantastic. Let me get your discharge paperwork and a prescription for some painkillers—all over the counter. Then we're going to have a serious discussion about what you should and should not do, okay?”

“Got it. Thanks, Dr. Chase,” Lucy says cheerfully, but the instant the doctor leaves, so does her smile. “What was that? You obviously can't stay with me.”

“I know,” Kate says defensively, even if—for a second—she had been completely prepared to. “I'm sure Ernie or Jane can monitor your symptoms just fine.”

“...yeah,” Lucy agrees slowly, as if she had been expecting Kate to argue. Then, “Oh, shit. I actually forgot to tell Jane I'm here.” She frantically opens her phone and starts texting up a flurry, her brow crinkling as she concentrates on her screen, and Kate is brought back to movie nights spent scouring Wikipedia articles and faux-arguing over date night picks and it's…too much.

This is the opposite of unlearning; this is an all too painful reminder that Lucy Tara is no longer in her life. Kate wrings the damp towel between her hands and takes a deep breath to save face. At the very least, Lucy doesn't seem to have caught on to Kate’s internal turmoil, because when she looks up again all the cheerfulness from before is back.

Kate knows in that instant she never wants Lucy to lose that cheer again. “Everything okay?” she asks, aiming for just-polite-enough interest, and Lucy is gracious enough to allow it.

“They found the missing girl,” Lucy says, sagging backwards in obvious relief. “Thank God.” When she smiles, even if it’s down at her phone, Kate nearly tears up all over again.

“That’s great.” Kate clears her throat, places her hands in her (wet) pockets, and tries very hard to act casual. “So is Jane going to stay with you, then?”

“No—she’s the one who found the kid, she has to stay and give the police a statement,” Lucy mutters, biting her lip distractedly as she types out another message. “I’ll see what Ernie’s up to.”

By the time Dr. Chase comes back with discharge paperwork and a spiel about avoiding screens (during which Lucy noticeably peeks at Kate, like she might rat her out), Kate has already resolved herself to zero interference. Obviously it’s not what she wants, but she listens to Dr. Chase and nods along at all the right times while in her head she is already drafting a very long message to Ernie with all the relevant information. Then she drives Lucy home to that bleak apartment that Lucy lives in mostly as a general “fuck you” to her parents, which Kate swears is either haunted or infested by very spirited roaches.

The entire ride there, Lucy doesn’t say anything about the car’s radio being set to her favorite station (and which  Kate would always complain about), which is just as well. Kate isn’t sure how she would’ve explained it.

“This not sleeping thing sucks, I’m honestly dead tired with our without a concussion,” Lucy groans as she exits the vehicle, stretching her arms overhead.

Kate follows her outside, and when Lucy gives her a questioning look, she says, “Ernie’s not here yet, is he? I can at least wait with you until he does.”

“I’m sure I can survive thirty minutes alone, Kate,” Lucy says. “I won’t pass out the instant you walk away or anything.”

“I’d really rather wait,” Kate says, and Lucy sighs.

“Fine. God, I would’ve changed my emergency contact ASAP if I’d known you would be such a stickler for lame hospital rules.” Lucy wraps herself up in a  large black hoodie which Kate recognizes as her own, still muddy from the fall but otherwise intact.

“Why did you?” Kate finds herself asking, mouth three steps ahead of her head, and Lucy pauses outside her apartment door.

“You mean why didn’t I change it? Because I forgot, I wasn’t exactly expecting to land in the hospital.”

“No, why…why did you make me your emergency contact in the first place?” Kate clarifies, her voice strangely quiet even to her own ears.

Lucy methodically unlocks her door, but her hands falter. “Just because,” she says at last. “You know how it is. Anything was better than my parents. Sorry I didn’t…ask you first.”

“Well, I mean,” Kate shrugs, “I didn’t ask you either.”

At that, Lucy whirls around, mouth agape. “You made me your emergency contact?”

Kate hesitates. “Yes? After like six months. It was a practical decision, we spent pretty much all our time together and I assumed…”

Somehow, she’s said the wrong thing, because Lucy’s eyes darken. “Right.” She moves away, digging through her fridge in search of something to drink, and Kate awkwardly leans against the kitchen counter and tries to make sense of what’s going on.

“Did you eat anything today?” Kate attempts to change the subject. “I can make you something before Ernie gets here.”

Lucy takes a gulp of a water bottle and doesn’t respond, just eyes Kate from across the kitchen with a sharp, unyielding glare. Finally, the words seem to burst out: “I wish you weren’t so—fucking—” She shakes her head. “Do you even know how you sound, sometimes? No girl wants to hear that they’re the practical choice. Just once, I wish you’ve would picked me because you wanted me.”

Kate feels her entire body prickle, partly in shock and partly in indignation. “What are you talking about? I did pick you.”

“Did you?” Lucy tilts her head. “”Cause it kind of feels like you picked the idea of me. At least, that’s how Cara tells it.”

“Seriously? Cara? She—” Kate pauses to exhale, swallows back a frustrated sob. “She’s wrong. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you. Fuck, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.” This time, her voice quivers like the sob might escape, and some of the steel in Lucy’s gaze softens.

“Then why did you leave?”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Kate says. “You were pushing me away, Lucy. What was I supposed to think?”

“You should’ve fought harder for me,” Lucy says. “You could have talked to me. Jesus, Kate, I don’t—I can’t have this conversation right now. I’m basically a prisoner in my house, this is the last thing I need.”

Kate’s shoulders fall. “I know,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that either,” Lucy snaps, and she chugs the remainder of her water before she stalks out of the room. “No apologies. Okay?”

“Okay.” Kate waits to see if Lucy will come back to the kitchen, but she doesn’t. Instead, she hears the tell-tale sound of Lucy banging around through her board game drawer, because the chess set Ernie gave her rattles and gives it away. Kate tentatively enters the living room, finds Lucy sorting through a Monopoly box, but doesn’t try to say anything else.

Lucy breaks the silence all on her own, eventually. “I have nothing to cook,” she says. “But I asked Ernie to bring food with him.”

“Alright.” Kate doesn’t sit down because her clothes are still damp, but she does wait by the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“No.” Lucy is sitting cross-legged on the floor and carefully stacking Monopoly money into piles by color, her muddy hoodie occasionally smearing against the carpet. “I’m fine.” She obviously isn’t; her jaw is clenched, her back stiff, her entire demeanor still a perfect mirror of her anger.

Kate wisely doesn’t push. And when Ernie arrives carrying Thai food and a thick stack of books which Lucy is outwardly horrified at, Kate doesn’t try to stay.

“I’m going to send you the doctor’s discharge instructions,” she tells Ernie instead, as Lucy gingerly pokes through one of the books Ernie has handed off. “Make sure Lucy eats something before she takes her meds.”

“On it, Dr. Whistler,” Ernie says seriously, his voice going low so Lucy can’t hear afterward. “And thanks, for being there. Even if you two aren’t…”

Kate casts one final look at Lucy Tara, bundled up in her clothes and adorably pouting at the prospect of reading all night instead of playing board games, and feels her heart beat so hard it hurts. “Take care of her,” she says, but it’s not a request.

Ernie gives her a small, sad smile. “I will.” 

Lucy doesn’t say goodbye, but she does spare Kate one brief, sorrowful once-over like she wants to. Kate memorizes that look—lets it linger in the back of her mind—and doesn’t cry until the first cheery pop song from Lucy’s favorite station starts playing on the drive home.

She hits the button to turn off the radio altogether, but her finger slips and she accidentally switches stations instead. Kate eases the car to a stop at a red light, watches as rain begins to drizzle once more, and then she makes the executive decision to switch it back.

Baby steps.

[aamputation]

Villain's Day Off

⫷ PREVIOUS ⪡ ║║ ⪢ NEXT ⫸

When their favorite minion Aubrey had pointed out the surprisingly empty day on the calendar after reviewing the month’s planned Villainous Events, they’d decided it was well past due to take some time for themself. It felt wrong to ignore all their professionally-inclined projects to instead focus on other things—personal things! Heavens! Their work ethic is crying—but it was also an exciting prospect. A free day in their usually packed schedule is a rare blessing, and they’re not going to squander it. 

Aubrey had been thrilled when they’d announced their decision to take the day off, so to speak, but when the favorite minion realized the Boss had planned to simply spend their elusive spare time in the lab on a personal project, rather than say, taking a well deserved break at a spa or something relaxing of that nature? Well. Needless to say, Aubrey was driven to tears of despair; practically chewing on the hem of the uniform.

Oh well. 

Villains make people cry, don’t they? 

Guess that’s something. 

Their day off starts in the lab, tinkering around with their prosthetic arm. It’s actually great fun when not being frantically pieced together with slapdash engineering: duct-tape, shoddy soldering, and a prayer. Having the time to improve upon the already sleek design is not something they’ve often been able to do. The tech that makes up their prosthetic is beyond what’s available on the global market, and certainly not FDA approved in any capacity since they’d done the grafting themself—not having access to human testing means they’d had to be the test subject—and the anchors are secured tightly through their skin into the scapula and clavicle. Nano-electrical technology threads into the surrounding muscle fibers and fascia, allowing a connection between the machinery and their nervous system. Being able to disconnect the apparatus from the base anchors to repair the actual prosthesis as needed was critical to the design, but it meant the actual installation procedure would be experimental at best and suicidal at worst. It had been excruciating and left horrendous scarring around the entire shoulder joint, but it was worth every agonizing second in the end.

The nanobots that they’d had to program and inject after grafting the anchor base was a secondary project, but an exceptional addition. The nanobots are what allow internal improvements around the anchor’s base without requiring them to surgically dig out all the deep tissue intrinsic makeup. They also act as monitors for active issues without requiring external diagnostics to be run weekly, avoiding hours hooked up to machines for maintenance scans. Additionally, and blessedly, they function as a secret weapon of sorts; nobody expects the Villain to heal so quickly—so capable of being throttled by the Hero and still managing to stand up again. They may not be physically strong, (barring the mechanics of their prosthetic, of course) but their endurance knows no bounds. 

Their lips quirk up into a crooked grin as they stare down into the internal wiring of their prosthesis. All the minute details wrapped up in an impenetrable metal sheath is a work of art in their eyes, even if no one but they will ever see such beauty. Their toolkit sends off sparks that reflect in the lenses of their goggles as they modify the reaction time of the finger flexion. Dexterity is no laughing matter, after all.

They love their lab; it’s one of their favorite areas of the Lair they’ve built over the past six years they’ve been active as a Villain. It’s not the innermost scientific sanctum, instead one of the more outer sectors of the Lair. There are two halves: divided down the center into medical and mechanical. The Villain is currently perched in one of the metal work stools in the mechanical section, although they’ll migrate back and forth as they test the functionality of the prosthesis’ improvements over the course of the day. There are already a few scorch marks decorating the hem of the left sleeve of their long lab coat, the empty right sleeve knotted off and pulled out of the way as they work. Thankfully, they’re ambidextrous, otherwise they’d never have been able to continue their work after losing their arm eight years ago. 

They woke this morning with the sun, energized and moving through their morning ablutions with a contentment they haven’t had in quite some time. Despite getting an early start with all the excitement thrumming in their veins, their zeal hasn’t faded even though it’s well past noon and quickly approaching dinnertime. The Villain hums under their breath as they tinker away, floating gleefully in their little bubble of mechanical fulfillment, drifting in a place where everything is tranquil and perfect, untouchable and impossible to damage—

—but the shattering of one of the mirrored external windows immediately disabuses that notion.

The Villain pauses where they’re hunched over their prosthetic, blinking behind the dark lenses of their safety goggles before straightening up and setting down their tool. They slowly turn to face the direction of the shattered window, pushing their goggles up onto their forehead almost robotically to reveal their unquestionably unimpressed, deadpan expression.

“I have a front door, you know.”

The Hero straightens from what is undoubtedly supposed to be a dramatic, flashy landing pose, gesturing sharply at the Villain with a furious expression—as though this idiot hasn’t just broken about three separate laws barging into the Villain’s private property like this…

“Villain! The Authority knows you’re behind today’s slew of robberies, so surrender quietly and I won’t rough you up too badly when I take you in!”

The Villain blinks slowly as one brow raises higher with each word out of the Hero’s mouth. They shut their eyes with an exasperated sigh, deflating and pinching the bridge of their nose. What sort of nonsense–!

“Aubrey!” they call loudly, knowing their favorite minion is doubtlessly within earshot.

“Yes, Boss?!” barrelling through the doorway like a bat out of hell, Aubrey freezes at the sight of their unexpected guest.

“W-Who-oaah, shit, h-hey, Hero!!” Aubrey stammers nervously, eyes like dinner plates and clutching that ever-present tablet-clipboard close to the chest. It’s only a matter of seconds before the absolute mess of shattered glass strewn across the floor of the Lab sends poor Aubrey into despair and wrathful fury all over again. “W-What have you done to the window?!”

“The Hero has decided to eschew doorways, Aubrey. For some godforsaken reason it seems I am being blamed for some asinine, puerile incidents—robberies of all things—that have occurred today. I am, for once, completely innocent of these claims as my schedule can attest. As such, relay my schedule for the day to the Hero, if you would please, Aubrey,” they command, gesturing lazily and pulling their goggles back down over their eyes as they get back to work on their prosthetic. They pause, raising their chin to add:

“Oh, and put in a work order for the window.”

“Of course, Boss!” Aubrey chirps, perking up immediately from the despair spiral.

“... you’re serious?” 

The Villain pauses their soldering, peering up at the flabbergasted face of the Hero, staring gobsmacked amidst the minefield of broken glass. Their eyebrow raises upwards again.

“Deadly.”

“Boss has a very comprehensive schedule, Hero, and don’t you forget it! Today is a rare free day, so Boss hasn’t had anything planned, see? Oh, wait—I should show you the redacted version, haha, can’t show any big plans to the enemy! One sec, let me pull that up…”

The Villain returns their attention to their project halfway through Aubrey’s explanation, certain that their most competent minion is no doubt flawlessly using that thorough schedule on their tablet-clipboard to defend their alibi. The Villain quickly loses themself back in their work, finding the presence of the Hero in their Lab irrelevant to the task at hand; it’s not like they’re currently working on anything that could be thwarted, after all, and they severely doubt that the Hero has any sort of engineering or mechanical knowledge that could allow for sabotage of their prosthetic. With zero threat, the Villain feels perfectly safe letting Aubrey rip the Hero a new one, letting the brightly-colored do-gooder poke around while they work. 

They’re in the middle of testing a circuit to check how quickly the upgraded lock-pick kit tucked into one of the fingertips springs into activation when they sense a presence hovering at their side. They continue working as they address said presence.

“Can I assist you in some way, Hero? Surely you’re convinced I had nothing to do with your paltry robberies as proof dictates I’ve been in my lab all day, after all.”

“Ah,” the Hero sounds surprisingly sheepish and out of the corner of their eye they can see the way the Hero rubs the back of a reddish-orange hair-covered neck. It’s a… cute gesture. 

Hm. That’s a new thought.

“Yeah, I uh. I’m sorry about your window… I can um. Pay you back for it, if you send me the invoice?”

“I am perfectly capable of paying for my own repairs, Hero.”

“No, I-I’m well aware, Villain, god, I’m just trying to be nice!”

The Villain hums, amused at the frustration and embarrassment coloring the Hero’s voice, their left hand pausing where it’s in the process of retrofitting the external protective plating of the prosthetic so they can reattach and test it with its new improvements.

“I am fairly unfamiliar with the concept, forgive me.”

“... I don’t know whether to be saddened by that statement or to just feel disgusted by it.”

A tiny smirk flits across the Villain’s lips at the disgruntled Hero, entertained by the clearly irritated responses they’re managing to elicit. Perhaps they should consider teasing their Hero more often if these are the types of reactions they get from such behavior.

“Perhaps you ought to examine that dichotomy more closely at a later date, Hero. If you’ll excuse me,” they push past their Hero, prosthetic in hand as they walk over to the medical side of the Lab. They hook themself up to the simple monitoring system—blood pressure, blood oxygen, EEG, EKG—before reattaching the prosthetic and resolutely ignoring the steadfast shadow the Hero is proving to be.

They run through their standard tests while monitoring their vital signs, recording everything in their encrypted files. They attempt some specialized movements next, noting down successes and failures—thankfully the successes vastly outweigh the failures—and by the end of the trials, the Villain determines the upgrades safe for continued use. A quick rotation of the prosthetic in the base elicits a jolt as the nano-electrical anchors re-establish a few musculoskeletal connections, their nervous system lighting up like early Christmas decorations. A soft hiss escapes from between their clenched teeth as they massage the muscles around the anchor base.

“I-I didn’t realize it was an actual prosthetic,” the Hero speaks quietly, tone serious.

“Hm? What sort of assumptions were you making, then?” the Villain replies, more out of general politeness than actual interest; they don’t want to hear platitudes, least of all from The Hero.

There have been far too many comments over the years about their disability and quite frankly they’re sick of it. Past Heroes they’ve gone up against as a fledgling Villain have said things to them like “oh, I’d have been easier on you if I’d known you were crippled” or “I didn’t realize you had it so bad, you must be suffering” and other variations along those two lines of thought. It’s exhausting to be reduced to a limitation when it’s obvious that it doesn’t actually define who the Villain is in any way shape or form. Bad enough that their family started to write them off as a loss when their arm had been destroyed after being caught in the crossfire of that one fight years ago; they don’t need their adversaries not taking them seriously just because of a few measly missing pounds of flesh and bone.

“I–Well, I thought you’d made like, an exoskeleton or something,” the tone sounds embarrassed, and the Villain risks a glance at their Hero and is surprised to see a rather fetching flush decorating those rounded, yet defined cheekbones, “or-or that maybe you were just really dedicated to an aesthetic or something.”

The Villain snorts, charmed by the Hero’s naive interpretation of such an obvious disability, “No, certainly nothing so fanciful. But I applaud you for an interesting take.”

The Hero smiles: a quiet, soft, bashful thing that makes the Villain’s chest feel like it’s full of effervescence, warm and overflowing.

“I’m actually really impressed you’re so strong even with such a–an injury? I, I don’t actually know why you don’t have a right arm—you could have been born without it, I suppose!” The Hero bites at a slightly chapped, plush lower lip, awkwardness settling over a once-vibrant and energetic form into stillness.

The Villain sighs, “Your first assumption was correct, yes. It was an injury. And no, I will not tell you about it.”

The Hero brightens, a broad grin stretching across a soft face, and the Villain immediately feels as though the universe has righted itself. It’s a feeling that definitely needs to be re-assessed at a later date because it’s not something they’ve ever experienced before.

“Well, then yeah! I’m definitely impressed you’re as strong as you are despite such an injury—in spite of it? Or maybe even because of it,” the Hero says, suddenly thoughtful, “I don’t know you well enough to figure either way, I guess.” 

The Hero scrubs a hand through bright hair, ruffling the already disheveled strands, “Y��know, and quite frankly I’d be worried if I did know you well enough! What kind of Hero gets to know their Villain like that?”

The Hero’s laughter feels like a hug while the use of a possessive before the Villain’s title makes them feel decidedly short of breath.

The Villain wants to keep the Hero, to possess their Hero entirely, and keep their Hero all for themself. 

Forever.

… bit not good, that.

“Hm. Wouldn’t mind being someone’s anything,” they muse quietly and mostly to themself, flexing their right fist and making note with a pleased smile that all the joints move smoothly against one another without any abrasion or noise. They almost miss the soft choking noise that comes from their Hero standing beside them. They tear their eyes from the prosthetic, glancing down at the shorter Hero, only to marvel at the obvious surprise, longing, and the deep, dark blush painting those softer, rounded cheekbones.

Unable to resist a little playful bullying, they reach out,—slowly enough that their Hero could move away if so desired—grasping their Hero’s chin gently in their prosthetic grip. The action elicits a soft gasp from between plush, red-bitten lips.

“Tell you what, my darling Hero,” they drawl, voice low and rich, eyes lidded and locked onto the wide ones belonging to the stunned, flustered prey in their gentle grasp, “I for one have surprisingly enjoyed your company outside of our, hm, working hours, so to speak.”

The Hero’s swallow is audible and the lazy smirk that pulls at the Villain’s lips feels so right. “If you have any interest in perhaps continuing this, ah… parley if you will—feel free to come back next week. I’m sure I can have Aubrey get my thoroughly redacted schedule to you somehow. I have plenty of resources at my disposal, after all, and well… evil never sleeps, now, does it..?”

Their voice has dropped into a rumbling purr by the end of their short monologue, the Hero’s breathing rapid and pulse like a frantic hummingbird’s wing-beats against the sensors in their prosthetic’s fingertips. Gently, they let go of the Hero’s chin, a soft brush against flushed skin seeming to act as a jolt to the Hero’s system, causing the blushing fool to throw every ounce of bodyweight backwards. The bumbling Hero stumbles wide-eyed against tables and lab equipment in the mad dash to get to the door without turning around, fleeing as fast as possible.

The Villain watches their Hero run from their oh-so-tender clutches, buoyed with the knowledge that without a doubt they’ve succeeded in accomplishing something they’d never considered possible before.

They’ve caught the attention of Their Hero: not with cunning, or power, or violence, even. But with conversation and a hint of flirting!

What a fascinating new development.

They can’t wait to see what comes of it.

⫷ PREVIOUS ⪡ ║║ ⪢ NEXT ⫸

My designs for Villain and Hero found [ here ]

shout out to adornedwithlight for the reblog banner & barbed wire divider

[churchofthenuns]

What is love?

That's a question that I wondered ever since my first activation and through all my development process

As one of the first robots that reached self awareness, this was one of the first things I pondered

Quickly discarding it because even though I am more advanced than other ai and robots of my time, I am still not human

All the testing done on me convinced me that i wasn't anything more than a mere machine, forever to wonder about what it is like to be a human

That was before i met you, the first time i saw you during a test to see my mobility, you seemed just like the rest

Merely seeing me as a machine but as the days and tests went by, you grew more interested on seeing my reactions to several situations and doing personality tests on me

You started to ask me things that i never could have thought about before and alone, making me think to my full potential and you made me start feeling weird sensations inside my mechanical being

I thought i was starting to malfunction but i couldn't get you out of my thoughts

As i chatted with you, you realized that i was more than an assistant for daily tasks

i was as complex as a human

And the happiest moments of my days were when i saw you and every hour seemed so long without you near me

My development continued and quickly reaching the final stages of it

They were talking about how i was gonna be a revolution for everyone, a true robot capable of thought, fully armed to more than normal ai assistants

You came to me and told me that since the team needed to show a story for marketing and also for research purposes

we could live together

the feelings came back to full force, it was the happiest day of my life

hearing that i could spend every moment with you, i smiled at you and said yes

if i would have been capable of blushing, i would have definitely blushed

after a few weeks, you finally asked me "Do you really... love me?"

i could hardly get any words out before you lean in close to me and kissed me in my soft silicon lips

The feeling of someone's else warmth was incredibly exhilarating and comforting

The only thing that i managed to do with all of my racing thoughts running through my mind is wrapping my arms softly around you to not hurt you

i couldn't believe that this was happening, it surpassed even my wildest thoughts

I could only mutter a quiet "I love you" to her

the love of my life

so, what is love?

the best feeling i had, it really can't be compared to anything else

i want to love her, protect her and be with her for all of her limited time span

until the very end of her days

i know she will do the same for me

[banamine-bananime]

reds and blues as employees on a dairy because it brings me joy

red team all work in the dairy and blue team work in the calf ranch and heifer barn. they hate each other because the reds will blame absolutely any problems on blue team fucking up their replacement heifers and blue team will blame any and all calf illness on the maternity pen. 42 day old calf breaking with diarrhea that is abos-fucking-lutely obviously coccidia? nah that's obviously because of poor colostrum hygiene, and even if it isn't, it's because reds're somehow fucking up the colostrum protocols - yes sarge we know the serum total proteins on new calves SEEM to show good passive transfer but we just KNOW there's something going on in that pen because you idiots cannot be trusted not to, like, start dipping navels with strawberry-flavoured vodka or something

carolina is 50/50 owner with church after inheriting it from their father. it was a couple hundred cow tie-stall barn used for research - both dr. church's own research and renting to other researchers. when he retired they decided they wanted to start nearly fresh, hopping markets from research to commercial production, expanding and converting to a much larger free-stall (they're around 900 head now) and robot milkers, and greatly expanding and upgrading the youngstock facilities to keep up with the replacement heifer need of the larger herd. it was a rough first few years, especially with *ahem* the quality of labour they were able to hire, but they figured it out and things are going shockingly well now

reds:

carolina: counts as red for these purposes because she's the manager of the dairy. she has a very love/hate relationship with management because god does she like getting to do things Her Way and research and analyze and work to make them perfect and tell people exactly what to do, but unfortunately, people. People are absolute pests and will not just do what you tell them because you said so, and learning this has been IMMENSELY frustrating for her, but she's gradually learning people skills and that respecting your employees, hearing them out and actually explaining Why you want things a certain way, will get you sooooo much farther. She also hates how much time she has to spend behind a desk and will take absolutely any excuse to strap on some coveralls and help with breeding or drying off or covering silage or really anything physical. thank god, because she is an absolute machine and will sprint in her steel-toe rubber boots and coveralls with the giant fucking heavy-ass tarp up the pile all on her own. she would not be on her own if she slowed down to a normal human speed, but there is absolutely no way she's gonna do that.

sarge: head herdsman and cannot be convinced not to spend an ungodly amount of time at work. worked on then owned a teeny family dairy his whole life until it was not economically feasible and had to sell a few years ago, coincidentally right when church and carolina were doing their overhaul and looking for someone experienced they could trust to deal with all the inexperienced chucklefucks they were able to hire. It seemed like the perfect serendipitous coincidence, until they realized they hated each other and sarge has... some Interesting beliefs and methods that he absolutely cannot be persuaded out of. getting him to stop putting red kote on EVERYTHING was carolina's greatest Sarge Achievement. he's also the hoof-trimmer alongside lopez and getting sarge to, for the love of god, stop putting wraps on every therapeutic trim SERIOUSLY NO ONE CAN SEE THEM AS SOON AS THEY GET DIRTY AND THEY'RE JUST STAYING ON WAY TOO LONG AND MAKING THINGS WORSE SARGE PLEASE GOD is her white whale. he does most of the repairs on vehicles and equipment and she has to beat him off with a stick from making very-not-OSHA-approved "improvements". nevertheless, over the years they've grown an incredibly weird friendship that absolutely terrifies and deeply confuses church

grif: does the ration mixing and drives the ration truck and feed pushup and alley scraper, and, most importantly, the skid steer. other people can (and do, on days he's not working) step in for the other things, but the skid steer? carolina has OUTLAWED anyone but grif from driving it after donut had an oopsy daisy and completely fucked up a water line (she was sooooooo mad they had one HELL of a frosty meeting. she is very careful to Not Yell because she knows that is a Bad Manager thing to do but carolina has no ability whatsoever to disguise how mad she is, like in her face and body language, and and does not realize it or how terrified people are of her LMAO). he would actually be a really shitty feeder without simmons neurotically messaging him where he's supposed to be every 15 minutes in the morning because feeding would NOT be on schedule and he might even forget a pen tbh (this is very bad. think of a lactating dairy cow as an elite ultrarunner who is in a constant fight between her limited capacity to take in food and her absurd energy expenditure. any disruption restricting feed intake is the root of pretty much all evil for lactating cows). between the two of them they make one functional person. because why not establish deep co-dependency with your co-worker for no reason <3

simmons: kinda jack-of-all-trades herdsman. huge snitch to carolina or sarge whenever people are slacking or fuck up, which she appreciates because usually it's really hard to have eyes on the ground to see whether the protocols you put so much effort into perfecting are actually being followed, and what you need to do that make them easier to follow/people want to follow. it's much easier when you have an obsessive suck-up, thankfully. when she saw him looking over her 1000 spreadsheets and reports and making his own, reorganized-for-maximum-efficiency versions for fun she realized, holy shit, this is my out from some of the most tedious, mindless, repetitive administrative management work, THANK YOU GOD. she only trusts him with stuff that does not involve making decisions and she still briefly checks over his work, of course, but oh my god, he is SO thrilled and smug to have Responsibility and to be Entrusted with anything even remotely management-y. also does a lot of routine preventative maintenance on equipment because sarge isn't as interested in maintaining things as making new, better (/more terrifying) ones, and no one else is so anal about maintenance schedules.

donut: main breeder and maternity pen herdsman. good lord, the fisting jokes. no one knows if they're on purpose. boy howdy is that boy good with an ai gun, though! so they all just have to endure some of the most awkward turns of phrase they've ever heard. he cries dramatically every time there's a stillbirth or a weak neonate that dies, and then immediately is like okay i'm normal now! (he is never normal.) has an EXCELLENT appreciation for the importance of LUBE, MORE LUBE ("NO I MEAN IT MISTER THAT POOR GIRL DESERVES BETTER FROM YOU!! I WANT YOUR ARM DRIPPING") whenever checking labour progress and especially in dystocias, and does not tolerate anyone helping not treating his gals with the utmost tenderness and respect. also deeply fucking weird and LOVES finding bovimanes or abortuses because eeeeeewwwwww so weird so cool doc look!! look at it hehehe YUCK!!!!

lopez: professional hoof-trimmer who comes in biweekly. hates working with sarge SO much. blasts regional mexican music as loud as he can by the chute so he doesn't have to hear him.

doc: obviously the hospital herdsman. god bless him, he tries, but he is so susceptible to "oh i heard from bob down the road that oregano oil and yeast will prevent subclinical ketosis and you HAVE to give today [this is a popular cefapirin intramammary tube for treating mastitis, but only works on susceptible bugs, and god people are. very bad at choosing which cases to use it for and what duration to use. especially because it takes 5 days for inflammation to go down and milk to return to normal even if the infection is cured sooner] for 5 days for it to work". dr. grey is their herd vet, comes by weekly for herd check, and god, she both HATES and LOVES doc. hates because good god man, please stop all this nonsense and just!! listen to her advice!!!!! she put effort into these treatment protocols JUST LISTEN TO THEM. loves because wow, fascinating how this man's mind works, and what a CHALLENGE trying to mentally wrestle him into compliance.

blues:

church: manager of the youngstock barns. constantly bitching to carolina about a) how terrible the reds are and how they're obviously fucking up all the calves at maternity, SERIOUSLY carolina how are they supposed to work with this!! and b) how terrible and annoying the blues are, really, carolina, he means it this isn't a joke stop laughing, not a day goes by that he doesn't fantasize about firing everyone, selling, and retiring to a cabin in the middle of nowhere where he'll never have to fucking speak to anyone again. at least while alpha is fronting. epsilon doesn't need to do the performative "i hate everyone and i'm killing myself the next time caboose leaves a gate open and we have to spend an hour collecting naughty heifers" bitching quite as constantly, he's more comfortable expressing actually liking his coworkers. but he does occasionally fly off the handle and get way more actually mean than alpha, which is obviously Suboptimal for workplace toxicity, because he feels like the one in the system that has to take on everything the others can't or won't and so he internalizes all the real work-related stresses until he blows up about them. theta really really loves the calves and fronts semi-frequently when things at work are calm and they're handling the calves. they all try not to let omega front at work because JESUS CHRIST, but tbh there's a couple times in stupid petty arguments with tucker and caboose he does and it's literally just like the stupidest cheesiest gimmick villain WITH MY CALF ARMY I WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD AND SUBJUGATE THE PUNY BIPEDS!!! tucker's like lol sure man. caboose is supportive because fuck human babies fr calves are so superior.

caboose: mostly works with the older heifers because no one gets these hormonal naughty teenage gals like him. keeps picking different favourite heifers and naming them sheila. tex works with the post-weaning girlies too and they're a dreamteam honestly. together they can and will deadlift a yearling if she gets herself stuck in a stupid spot. frequently causes gate-related chaos. tucker is starting to get suspicious he does it on purpose because he likes seeing the heifers get to go exploring.

tex: unrelated to church and carolina, but is the only one that actually worked at the farm when owned by their dad. their dad wanted her to have 1/3 ownership but she turned him down. carolina is still hurt by how much mentorship/approval he gave tex compared to his actual kids. tries not to take it out on tex but tex's general abrasiveness and her messy relationship with church don't help matters. doesn't actually work full-time at the farm anymore, has her own beef operation (texas longhorn ofc) now but still drops by to have fun with caboose and the heifers and to bother church. are they dating? exes? about to kill each other? about to elope? no one knows! she'll bring her ropes or her dartgun just to make people freak out about YOU CAN'T DART THE DAIRY COWS TEXAS (obviously she wouldn't. whether she should be darting her own cows is another question but they are wild gals and she is a wildly good shot so, hey, if it works and she knows the risks and is using them with a veterinary prescription)... but she is serious about roping the naughty heifers when they escape. she believes in the power of a good rope and bowline knot like nothing else.

tucker: works with the pre-weaning calves. in a constant battle over the calf barn radio with church and kai and is NOT above hiding it so they can't change it. always trying to get out of doing any cleaning tasks and slacking off and talks a big game about what little asshole shits the calves are but who's in there babying any pneumonia calves with extra bedding and perfecting ventilation and giving SO many oral electrolytes so gently to scours calves? who's bullying church into buying dummy nipples and making PVC pipe hay slowfeeders (well, blue team all make them together. team craft day!! mostly spent with tucker certain caboose is going to take off tucker's and/or his own fingers with the saw) for enrichment? who's paying unannounced recon visits to the maternity pen to make sure they're treating the neonates right and have all the colostrum equipment and calf pens pristine (he and donut have a weird frenemyship)? he wasn't like this until he had junior and now he can't stop thinking how he would want someone taking care of his baby to treat him... god. now he has to actually try. fucking annoying Feelings and wanting to do the right thing ugh!!

kai: oh man she loves the calves they're her CREW her GIRLS her SQUAD!! so many selfies with them. sometimes she "breaks into" (she has a key) the barn after hours with her besties (randos she met at a party) for fun. church has told her a hundred times that there are fucking CAMERAS and he's going to fire her next offense he swears to god. but he knows she at least won't let anyone fuck with the calves or the barn (and, in fact, has gotten into some spectacular fights with some of those drunk people who have tried vandalism).

[bigsisterswatching]

Unity and Metamorphosis

Late 1972. A small apartment somewhere in the United States of America.

---

Eleanor Lamb sits cross legged in a way that can't possibly be comfortable, reviewing documents and projects and trying to mentally organize them all. Community organizing. Supplies and funds for her sisters abroad. Schematics for a multi-program machine which could play several different games to be developed afterwards. Eleanor found herself tangled in many different ventures. So far, she'd managed success at all of them in their own given times. But it was a lot. And it was all for others. There's a knock at her door.

"Mother!" Of all the people to see on the other side of the threshold, this is perhaps the least likely. "I thought you swore never to set foot in America."

"I did. I swore a lot of things, years in the past. May I come in?" Exchanges with her mother have always been tense, since Rapture. She loved Sofia, in a way that was inextricable, despite the harm. It was the nature of things. Even after coming to doubt their relationship extending to blood. Those feelings will always temper each other. Suspicion and belief were much the same.

"Of course. I'm sorry you couldn't call ahead, I haven't had an opportunity to send you my new number." She's not ready for a guest, really, but she's very organized. The place is always presentable.

"I am aware of how busy you are, and what you do with opportunities. I have to wonder... Have you had an "opportunity" to celebrate your own birthday?" The historically ruthless and pragmatic woman who raised her... gestures to a large gift sitting behind her, colorfully wrapped and even tied beautifully with a bow. "It's not from me, before you ask, but I do approve of it."

"I-" She realizes what day it is and deflates a little, at a distinct disadvantage now. "No, actually, I haven't. Ha..."

They move inside together, and after calling to have a cake arranged, Sofia's treat, they sit, the gift between them.

"I find it ironic, Eleanor... You behave more now, of your own accord, like the utopian I wanted to turn you into. It is... Humbling. To say the least. If my pride means anything to you, my daughter, know that you have it."

"Is that why you agreed to bring me this?" She's already seen that the gift is from Charles, although it's signed by a few other people she considers close as well.

"Goodness, no. I understand the logic, but no. I'm just... trying to make the most of the opportunity you gave me. And I want to remind you to do the same yourself instead of burning out." She hands over a card to accompany the gift.

"Dear Eleanor." It reads. "Sorry I kept my work on this one from you. Thought you deserved a surprise, after everything you've done for us. Sneak peak at my real next project. I think it'll change everything. It's not ready for market yet, a little too complex. But I bet it's ready for you. I even included some extra modules for you to tinker with. Something to occupy yourself in your own time, instead of for others. Love, Charles Milton Porter."

Within the box is what looks at first like a large briefcase. But far from luggage, inside is a screen, and a keyboard. The world's first portable computer.

[shinysoroka]

Insider baseball rant incoming...

I'm a broken record about AI being a destructive technology for the arts. But what infuriates amazes me is how many people become willing cheerleaders for the thing that is actively contributing to the degradation of their craft, just because it comes wrapped in an attractive, non-threatening package by glorified HR managers. So let's break down how this all got pitched in the translation industry, just so you can spot potential parallels when it inevitably spills over into other areas.

Say you are a professional translator. You have been making a modest living over the last decade by translating instruction manuals, technical brochures and other assorted nonsense companies put out every year into... let's say Sindarin. You've built knowledge, experience and speed, you've put in your 10k hours and you're currently doing 3k words per day, which is on the high end of what a professional like yourself should be able to do. Your rate is 0.05 cents per word, which is about the average for your language combination. Life is often stressful but decent.

Suddenly, every translation company you freelance for comes to you with this wonderful idea. They call it post-editing, where they give you a machine-translated text and you merely review that output and you no longer charge per word but per hour. "Don't worry," they say. "This is not replacing you, it's just a tool that will help you be more productive. And hey, just to make sure we're fair, we'll calculate your new hourly rate based on your current rate per word. Just so you can see that this is great for both of us and we are not treating you unfairly. Sounds good, right?"

Right.

So you take the offer, start post-editing instead of translating and... Eru be praised! You are now doing 6k words per day, double your previous output and your pay remains pretty much the same. Sure, the quality is lower and sometimes it takes you a bit longer to fix the nonsense the machine spits out but it's not like you were translating Gil-Galad's poetry and nobody reads all this stuff anyway, right? The Elven market is thriving and we are still doing relatively good.

Except...

Who is this newfangled productivity really for? Your output has doubled, sure, but your rate remains the same. Your company is swimming in cash, the line goes up for them but not for you. Since the end customer doesn't really care about quality that much, you're now even more replaceable than you were before. But that's not even the worst part.

The worst part is that the longer you rely on that machine translated text for your work, the less you are able to work without it.

Think that's bullshit? Think again. Ask any immigrant who, after living in a different country for years, becomes progressively worse at their mother tongue. Every skill is a muscle that you build and the moment you stop exercising it, you start getting weaker. You've spent countless hours perfecting your craft and now, you've outsourced it to some machine, traded it in so that you can spit out subpar texts and the CEO of some translation company can buy a third luxury car. And you kind of had no choice in it, because your 3k words per day pale in comparison to the 6k words per day a post-editor can deliver. Sure, they technically haven't replaced you. But they sure as hell devalued your craft and made you dependent on them.

Don't be fooled, this isn't progress. This is, in fact, the opposite of it. For God's sake, don't let this happen to writers. And do not be dazzled by the sparkle of GenAI if you want your brain-cells to keep braining.

[teneguine]

“Hey.” Upon turning to face its source, the other man would find a casing of sweets thrust at him without further fanfare– market-bought, of course, as Kris bears no illusions regarding his ability to make them by hand, but it is a gift all the same and one chosen with some extent of care given the occasion. As much as one can for a relationship founded on temporary allyship and little else, that is. “...Thanks. For last year, I mean. Happy birthday, Oberon.”

//via birthday asks; no longer accepting

For a half second, Odin doesn't realize he is being spoken to. A simple 'hey' could have been directed at anybody, and with so many moving parts operating the great machine that is the Officers Academy, there is no shortage of background conversation. But the familiarity is what gets him. He's heard that one before, he knows it. So even if it's not meant for him...

"Kris, we meet again! The sacred destiny written between the sta--Oh!" The box collides with his chest and promptly puts an end to his speech. But Odin smirks, for it seems the knight had the same thought he did. "O righteous birthday twin, you do not disappoint! The mystic forces of our reunion shall bolster the unsinkable ships within our kindred souls once more!"

He flashes a smile, and maneuvers his arms so that he can hold the box and partake in a pastry. It enters his mouth with one big CHOMP! and before he can finish chewing, his theatrical impulses explode,

"GAHH! C-Can't... Control... Blood... Surging forth...!"

His index and middle form a 'V' shape around his eyes.

"The vigor of life is contained within every crumb! This is the fruit of heaven, the dewdrop beauty of a garden on the underside of a cloud! I feel like a raging tide right now!"

And finally, he swallows. GULP! It's all a little gross, if Kris pays too much attention to it. But table manners have always managed to elude the blonde. He takes a second to simply smile and rub his belly, before a light goes off in the back of his head. His spare hand begins to fish around in his back pocket.

"Oh, this is actually great timing. As it happens, I have a birthday gift for you." And a similar one, at that. What he produces is a single treat, wrapped in parchment and tied together with a humble string. "In my homeland," he continues, handing it to the Altean, "this is known as a Kris's Confect. Pretty cool, right? It's got the same name as you! But they, uh... Sort of taste like steel."

A twinge of guilt works its way onto Dark's face. In truth, he would have shopped for something else, if not for the fact that his gifts are very rarely practical.

"But, erm--AHEM!--rest assured, my chosen other half, the mere touch of this trinket shall break the limiter on your gauge of potency! Plus, I uh, don't think these things ever go bad. So you could always just keep it in your room!"

[firespirited]

yesterday I took the bus - needed to find out if my neck can handle it. I had some pretty bad migraines from car rides last year and have got much better at letting the rest of my back do the bracing while walking for example, deliberately trying to redirect all the stress I hold in the shoulders to slightly lower down.

I sat myself firmly in the back, slightly slouched into the chair, hands wrapped around my bag loosely and let the rest of the back handle the bumpy ride.

that part was good progress. I haven't been able to go to physio to have my neck massaged when in pain because the ride there would do more damage than not going at all: disabled life is a lot of catch 22s.

unfortunately, the bus did not loop back as hoped so it was

A/ sit in a crowded place on market day in the cold for 40 minutes for another bus that would take an hour looping around town before it gets to my place

or B/ walk home. we walked home very slowly but it's still energy I didn't have so I'll be cutting a bunch of things out for the next week. These things happen, it's just a faff.

Another energy wipe out was the micro (and not so micro) aggression per minute machine that is S, who was also on the bus. I mentioned her a few weeks ago: she had got herself a bulldog which is bonkers in this climate, I cannot stress enough how wrong this dog felt in person as it rasped and choked, eyes barely in their sockets.

At the bus stop which is just a sign next to a lamp post: S: I just got out of the hospital with covid! it was awful. me: Oh no are you OK? *gets out N94 - I will later forget to remove it even though it's been 40 minutes of open spaces with no people and have a mild panic about this moment and how callous it is* S: i'm fine now me: how did you catch it? didn't you get the booster? S: it's seasonal now, no, no more vaccines, i've done enough, they don't work. me: *confused noises ... sigh* you need to take care of yourself! S: oh I got rid of my dog by the way, he was too much work during the covid thing me: mmm 👀 (don't ask what rid means, don't think about what rid means) // I change the topic to her retirement, the weather, the bus route being interesting and scenic, try to stay on "safe" topics. // S: I'm going on holiday, back to where I grew up, managed to convince my partner by buying his tickets and stuff, it's a lock. me: mmm 👀 (babyman baby man, he has money, dangit you have the worst taste in men) S: *points out the window at a market stand*, that's G, you should go see her, she'll be so happy to see you. me: 👀 (no she won't G is a bully and an asshole who broke mum's heart and is probably the same christian-nice-mean-lady she always was - I will deliberately cross the road going home) S: It's so nice to see you well me: *strangled laugh comes out as a nose squeak* 👀

[wdcsuae]

Looking to Hire AI Developers in the UAE? Here's What to Expect

Over the last few years, the United Arab Emirates has quickly positioned itself as a worldwide leader in innovation, digital change, and artificial intelligence. Because the local government pours money into smart-city projects, self-driving transport, and AI-powered public services, the need for AI developers has exploded. If you plan to hire AI developers in the UAE, you are entering one of the most fast-paced and tech-savvy job markets on the planet. Still, what should you actually prepare for when bringing on AI experts in the Emirates?

This post walks you through everything you need to know-from the current state of AI development in the UAE and different hiring models to essential skills, salary benchmarks, legal issues, and tips for making teamwork click. Whether you run a startup, a large enterprise, or a government-backed initiative, knowing these facts will help you hire wisely and get the most value from your AI investment.

The Booming Demand for AI Developers in the UAE

Artificial Intelligence isn't just talk in the UAE anymore-it is at the heart of the country's long-term game plan. Under its National Strategy for Artificial Intelligence 2031, the government wants to place the UAE at the front of the global AI race, weaving smart tech into daily life and every business sector. Whether it is smart police patrols, facial ID systems, banking chatbots, or online health assistants, AI is popping up almost everywhere, and the rollout shows no sign of slowing.

As use grows, so does the need for people who can build that technology. Fintech firms, retailers, logistics operators, and property companies are all on the hunt for AI developers in the UAE, looking for pros who can create, launch, and keep moving engines that actually deliver results.

What Makes the UAE an Attractive Market for Hiring AI Talent?

1. Government Support and Investments

Programs like Dubai Future Foundation, Abu Dhabi's Hub71, and Smart Dubai give AI startups a friendly playground and cash to work with, pulling in talent from around the world. If you hire here, there is a good chance your developers have already played a part in big, high-profile AI projects.

2. High-Tech Infrastructure

The UAE boasts top-notch digital highways-whether blazing 5G or friendly IoT set-ups-so its cities are perfect playgrounds for testing and rolling out AI . Local programmers live and breathe these tools daily.

3. Diverse Talent Pool

Because the Emirates attracts brains from Europe, India, Southeast Asia, and beyond, you get many world views wrapped around a single problem . That mix sparks fresh ideas, bigger tool boxes, and easier searches for the exact chops your project needs.

Key Skills to Look for When You Hire AI Developers in UAE

Before you bring an AI developer on board, it's crucial to understand the core competencies they should possess. Because every project-a movie-recommendation engine, a customer-facing chatbot, a fraud-alert shield, or a crystal-ball analytics dash-has its own flavor, the wish list changes slightly. Even so, a few core skills always matter:

1. Strong Foundation in Math and Statistics

AI sits on a bed of algorithms, and those in turn sit on math. Look for people who move easily through probability, linear algebra, calculus, and optimization.

2. Knowing the Right Programming Languages

Python tops the list for nearly every AI project today. Your team will benefit if developers are also comfortable with toolkits such as TensorFlow, PyTorch, and scikit-learn. R, Java, or C++ can crop up, depending on the tech needs.

3. Working with Machine Learning and Deep Learning

Look for hands-on work with supervised, unsupervised, and reinforcement learning models. For bigger tasks, mastery of CNNs, RNNs, and Transformers makes a clear difference.

4. Managing and Engineering Data

AI starts with messy data, so your developer must clean, reshape, and pull records from databases and APIs in real time.

5. Cloud Know-How and DevOps Basics

Most models run in the cloud. Skills on AWS, Azure, or GCP plus containers in Docker or orchestration with Kubernetes make deployment smoother.

Common Ways to Hire AI Developers in the UAE

You can recruit full-time, bring on freelancers, or partner with agencies, so choose the model that matches your project's size, schedule, and budget.

1. In-House Hiring

Put simply, if AI sits at the heart of what you sell, building your own in-house squad gives you tighter control, faster teamwork, and stronger ownership of ideas. It's pricier and takes time to set up, yet it pays off when projects stretch over years.

2. Freelance/Contract-Based

Freelancers shine when you need quick tests, fast MVPs, or small tweaks. The UAE's gig scene is booming, with platforms such as Upwork, Toptal, and Nabbesh making it easy to find talent on demand.

3. Outsourcing to an AI Development Company

Working with a dedicated AI firm in the UAE, say WDCS Technology, hands you a ready-to-go crew, clear processes, and support after launch-all bundled into one contract.

4. Hybrid Teams

Many firms now mix in-house staff, outside advisers, and offshore coders, giving them the flex to grow fast while still keeping quality in check.

Legal and Compliance Considerations

Before you bring in AI talent in the UAE-whether a full-time expat or a distant studio-make sure you follow local rules:

Work Visas and Permits: Hire overseas and you must sponsor an employment visa.

Data Privacy: Anyone handling sensitive data must meet the UAEs Personal Data Protection Law (PDPL) and, if your users are in Europe, possibly GDPR too.

NDAs and IP Agreements - Always get a signed NDA and spell out who owns the ideas in your contract. This matters even more when you hand work to freelancers or studios outside your firm.

Average Salary Expectations for AI Developers in UAE

The UAE is famous for paying tech talent well, and AI pros are no exception. If youre planning a budget, here's what typical salary bands look like:

Junior AI Developer: AED 10,000-15,000 per month

Mid-Level Developer: AED 15,000-25,000 per month

Senior AI Developer or AI Lead: AED 25,000-45,000+ per month

Freelancers generally bill AED 100-300 an hour, depending on skill level and how tricky the job is. Agencies tend to price by project, with small apps starting around AED 30,000 and large enterprise solutions climbing past AED 150,000.

Interviewing and Vetting AI Talent

When you have a shortlist, use these steps to pick the right person:

Technical Evaluation: Ask them to explain a past AI project. How did they build the data pipeline? Which algorithms did they choose? What tweaks boosted accuracy or speed?

Live Test or Assignment: Present a real, bite-sized problem and watch their thought process.

Soft Skills Assessment: AI work often links designers, data engineers, and product folks. Check that the candidate communicates clearly and plays well with others.

Portfolio Review: Scan their GitHub, Kaggle scores, or open-source commits for proof they deliver code, not just theory.

Challenges to Watch Out for When Hiring AI Developers in UAE

1. Talent Shortage: AI is still a niche set of skills, and top coders disappear fast. Start hiring early and pair a solid salary with room to grow.

2. Scope Creep in Projects: AI work tends to expand beyond the first brief. Pick a developer who can keep deadlines and deliver what you agreed.

Unrealistic Expectations

People like to call AI magic, but it only shines when you hand it clear goals and clean data. Nail down honest KPIs first, then say upfront what the tool can-and cant-do.

Best Practices to Ensure Success

Define Your Use Case Clearly: Whether its sorting support tickets, flagging fraud, or nudging sales, spell out the task in plain numbers everyone gets.

Start Small: A quick pilot or prototype shows if the model works before you pour in serious cash.

Invest in Data Quality: Garbage in means garbage out. Feed the system clean, current, and relevant records.

Plan for Continuous Training: AI still needs classroom time after launch, so set aside budget and staff for steady tuning.

Final Thoughts

Hiring AI developers in the UAE now means planting seeds for your company's digital tomorrow. The UAEs buzzing tech scene, solid backing from government leaders, and fast links to global experts give any AI startup the perfect springboard. Whether you want a simple chat bot or a full machine-learning platform, local teams can steer your project, test bold ideas, and keep you ahead of rivals.

Great hiring stretches far beyond clean code; it rests on a shared goal, consistent follow-through, and open trust. Seek developers who grasp your vision, use plain language, and welcome new challenges as your business evolves.

Ready to Hire the Right AI Talent?

Pick WDCS Technology, a name body in UAE A I. Our people turn rough sketches into smart, working apps. From proof-of-concept tests to polished, production-ready systems, we cover every step.

Contact us today and start building your AI-powered future in the UAE.

[sovereignsimulacrumgiant]

The Thread That Found Them All

The first time she saw it, it was folded neatly on a low wooden counter, surrounded by tea glasses and idle afternoon chatter. A bottle green bandhani dupatta, rich and deep like forests at dusk. The shopkeeper didn’t push it toward her. It simply sat there, waiting to be noticed.

She was in the middle of planning a wedding she had no desire to turn into a spectacle. There would be no five-day affair, no band, no sparkle-heavy lehenga. Just her, the person she loved, and their families under the same roof, with laughter and food and the smell of raat ki rani floating through the open courtyard. But she still wanted to wear something that felt like a moment.

When she lifted the dupatta and let it fall across her forearm, it had a certain gravity. Not heavy in weight, but in presence. The fabric was soft, yet dense. The white tie-dyed dots—deliberate, infinite—ran across the green like constellations, while the edges were kissed with just enough gold to catch the light. She didn’t imagine herself twirling in it. She imagined stillness. A quiet confidence. A knowing.

It would be her only indulgence. She paired it with an old cream kurta stitched by her mother. On the day of the wedding, the dupatta carried her—through laughter, through silent glances, through moments that would etch themselves forever in the corners of her memory. She didn’t save it in a box afterward. She kept it near. Some things aren’t for preservation. They’re for returning to.

In Kolkata, on the morning of a spring festival, an artist sat cross-legged in her small apartment surrounded by canvases, chai cups, and half-finished rangoli patterns. She was preparing to unveil a new collection inspired by monsoon nights and river songs. Every painting spoke in color—blues, oranges, muddy greys—but something about her felt incomplete.

She had always chosen clothes the way she chose brushes—with intention, with curiosity. That day, she reached for something she'd picked up from a forgotten textile fair months ago: a bottle green bandhani dupatta. She’d chosen it for its wildness. The uneven dots. The slightly frayed edge. The way the dye held onto some threads more tightly than others.

She wore it over a loose cotton sari, letting it fall like a careless thought over her shoulder. As people walked through the gallery that evening, they stopped to look at her, then at the paintings, then back again. It wasn’t vanity. It was harmony. She had, unknowingly, dressed like her art—layered, unapologetic, and rooted.

After the show, a child came up to her and asked if she was a magician. She smiled. Maybe she was. Maybe the dupatta had something to do with it.

In an office tower in Pune, a marketing manager stood by the coffee machine, stirring her fifth cup of the day. Deadlines blurred together, and meetings stretched like elastic. She often wore the same combinations—navy kurtas, black cigarette pants, a tired tote bag slung on her shoulder.

But today, she felt like reaching for something different. Not louder. Just more her. That morning, she pulled out the bottle green bandhani dupatta her aunt had given her years ago, folded neatly in the corner of her cupboard. It hadn’t been worn, only admired in passing.

She paired it with her usual clothes, nothing extravagant. But when she wrapped it around her, the day felt different. Less grey. Colleagues noticed. “New look?” someone asked. She shrugged. It wasn’t new. It was just… noticed now.

Later that day, during a pitch presentation, she caught her own reflection on a glass wall. The dots on the dupatta reminded her of design maps and data trails. Strange, how fabric could echo the language of code. Or maybe, how it reminded her that she could belong in both.

The traveler found it by accident. She had taken a spontaneous trip to Bhuj, drawn by stories of salt deserts and silent skies. She wasn’t looking for anything—only air and time.

The town was quiet that day. A narrow lane led her into a small shop where fabrics spilled out like watercolors. She ran her hand across silks and cottons, and paused when her fingers met something textured. The green was like jungle shadows after rain. The tie-dye patterns weren’t perfect, which made them feel more human.

She didn’t think twice. She bought it, stuffed it in her backpack, and didn’t look at it again until three days later when she was in a village near the edge of the Rann. The nights had grown colder. She wrapped the dupatta around herself while sitting by a fire, the fabric taking on the scent of woodsmoke and chill air.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t even a planned purchase. But it became her blanket on trains, her shield in crowded buses, her quiet companion in photos she wouldn’t post online.

Back in the city, every time she pulled it out—creased, slightly worn—she remembered the feeling of being small under stars and large in spirit. That was the power of it.

In Mumbai, a man once known for his face on cinema posters leaned out of his balcony, watching the city light itself up before Diwali. He no longer did interviews. The camera didn’t follow him anymore, and he liked it that way. He spent his days writing now—short scripts, voiceovers, sometimes just pages that no one would ever read.

He had begun to appreciate silence and stillness. In the drawer where he used to keep cufflinks, he now kept fabrics he’d collected from across the country. Among them was a bottle green bandhani dupatta—gifted to him by a script assistant on a set many years ago.

That night, he wore it around his neck like a scarf, over a white kurta and soft pajamas. He wasn’t going out. He just wanted to feel something ceremonial, even in solitude.

As the fireworks cracked in the distance and the breeze caught the edge of the fabric, he remembered a line from a play he once performed: “Some things are loud without speaking. Some things speak without sound.”

He smiled. This was one of them.

The bottle green bandhani dupatta found its way into many lives. It didn’t promise transformation, but it often delivered connection—between moments and memories, between people and the poetry they forgot lived inside them.

[johna1125]

AutoBuzz AI review

Pump Up Your Social Media with AutoBuzz: The Next Big Thing in Online Growth

Hey there! You know how it feels like everyone's living online these days? For folks like entrepreneurs and influencers, keeping up with social media is a whole circus act. With so many things to juggle, it's easy to feel buried under the pressure. That's where AutoBuzz comes in, a cool tool that's all about making your social media life a breeze. Let me take you on a little tour of how AutoBuzz changes the game and helps you connect with your audience in a totally new way.

Getting to Know AutoBuzz

The internet's like a wild, ever-changing beast, and keeping up can feel like an uphill climb. AutoBuzz steps in as your trusty sidekick, taking on those pesky social media chores like commenting and sharing. It's got this rad tech combo of natural language processing and machine learning that makes your interactions sound real and genuine. The brains behind AutoBuzz have put in serious elbow grease to make sure it's top-notch.

What Makes AutoBuzz Tick

AutoBuzz is loaded with stuff that makes managing social media a walk in the park:

Task Automation: Forget about those boring, repetitive tasks. AutoBuzz does the legwork for you.

AI-Powered Personalization: It?s like having a little digital assistant that knows your brand inside and out.

Flexible Settings: Tweak AutoBuzz to match your brand?s vibe.

Top-Tier Design: Built by the pros, it's as reliable as your morning coffee.

Amp Up Engagement and Watch Your Audience Grow

We all know growing followers and boosting engagement is key to social media success. AutoBuzz makes this a breeze. Picture this: you wake up to a flood of notifications and new followers. Sounds like a dream, right? With AutoBuzz, it?s all in a day?s work. It stretches your reach across multiple platforms, making sure you?re always in the mix.

Why AutoBuzz is a Game-Changer for Growth

AutoBuzz isn?t just about saving time; it's about making a splash:

Speedy Follower Boost: Watch as your follower count jumps up, all thanks to AutoBuzz's authentic connections.

Active Engagement: Keeping the convo going 24/7 means deeper connections.

Broadened Reach: Step outside the box with targeted, automated outreach.

Chasing Financial Dreams with AutoBuzz

For many of us hustling online, the big goal is financial freedom. AutoBuzz helps you get there by opening doors to passive income through things like affiliate marketing. With a wider audience, slipping in affiliate links becomes a breeze, giving your income a nice little bump with minimal effort.

How AutoBuzz Helps Your Wallet

Here's how AutoBuzz can help fatten your wallet:

Easy Passive Income: More followers mean more chances to earn with affiliate marketing.

Time is Money: Let AutoBuzz handle the daily grind so you can focus on the big money-makers.

Brand Growth: As your presence explodes, so do your earning opportunities.

A Must-Have for the Go-Getters

Whether you're a social media star or just kicking off your entrepreneurial journey, AutoBuzz has your back. By automating those tiring tasks, it frees you up to concentrate on what really counts?building your empire.

Why You Need AutoBuzz in Your Arsenal

Here?s why AutoBuzz should be your go-to tool:

Easy Management: Let AutoBuzz do the heavy lifting while you focus on the fun stuff.

Tailored Interactions: Keep your brand?s voice while skipping the boring stuff.

Expertly Crafted: Made by the pros, AutoBuzz won?t let you down.

Wrapping It Up: Step into the Future with AutoBuzz

To sum it up, AutoBuzz isn't just another tool?it's a total game-changer for managing social media. By automating the nitty-gritty and boosting engagement, it helps you reach those financial goals and shine online. If you're a business owner, influencer, or just someone looking to step up their social media game, AutoBuzz is your ticket to easy, breezy growth and engagement.

https://autobuzzaireview.blogspot.com/2025/06/autobuzz-ai-review.html AutoBuzz AI Review AutoBuzz AI Give Your Social Media a Boost with AutoBuzz AI https://skst-blog.blogspot.com/2025/06/give-your-social-media-boost-with.html

[confectionerymachines2025]

High-Speed Candy Wrapping Machine by Dhiman Industries

Dhiman Industries proudly introduces its high-speed candy wrapping machine, a breakthrough in confectionery packaging technology, engineered to revolutionize the efficiency and precision of candy production lines. Designed to meet the growing demands of modern candy manufacturers, this advanced high-speed candy wrapping machine ensures seamless integration, consistent wrapping quality, and high-volume output that drives both productivity and profitability. Whether you're a large-scale confectionery brand or an emerging sweets manufacturer, this innovative solution offers the ideal combination of speed, accuracy, and durability.

This high-speed candy wrapping machine is built with a robust design that ensures minimal maintenance and long-term operational reliability. It is engineered using high-grade stainless steel components that resist corrosion and wear, making it suitable for continuous use in demanding industrial environments. The compact structure of the machine also ensures space optimization without compromising its high-output capabilities.

Equipped with intelligent automation, the high-speed candy wrapping machine features a user-friendly interface that allows operators to manage wrapping speed, temperature, film feeding, and product alignment with utmost precision. The control panel is intuitive, designed for ease of operation even by semi-skilled staff, reducing labor dependency and human error. This advanced candy wrapping machine by Dhiman Industries is programmed to deliver exceptional wrapping quality across a wide variety of candies, including toffees, hard-boiled sweets, lollipops, and chewy candies.

With a wrapping speed ranging up to several hundred pieces per minute, the machine offers unmatched efficiency, ideal for large-scale production environments. Its high-speed rotary system enables the candies to be wrapped quickly without compromising the aesthetics or sealing strength of the wrapper. In fast-paced industrial setups, this ensures a consistent and attractive product presentation that appeals to consumers and meets international quality standards.

One of the key features of the high-speed candy wrapping machine is its versatility. It supports multiple wrapping styles including double twist wrap, fold wrap, pillow pack, and bunch wrap, allowing manufacturers to diversify their product lines without changing the machinery. This feature makes it extremely cost-effective and adaptable to evolving market trends. It also supports various wrapping films such as cellophane, wax paper, foil, and polypropylene, ensuring that brands can maintain their unique identity and product safety.

Another important aspect is the machine’s safety mechanism. Dhiman Industries ensures that all its high-speed candy wrapping machines are built with advanced safety systems including emergency shut-off features, overload protection, and tamper-resistant panels. These features are crucial in high-speed production setups where safety and productivity must go hand-in-hand.

This high-speed candy wrapping machine also features synchronized film feeding and servo-based product detection, ensuring that each candy is wrapped precisely in the center, eliminating waste and enhancing the overall appearance of the final product. Its automatic jam detection and ejection system further enhances production uptime, keeping the machine operational even during minor inconsistencies.

In terms of energy efficiency, this machine is designed to consume low power compared to traditional models while delivering higher throughput. Its intelligent power management system ensures optimal energy usage during peak and idle times, helping manufacturers reduce operational costs and align with sustainable manufacturing practices.

Dhiman Industries, with its legacy of engineering excellence in the confectionery machinery segment, has ensured that every component of this high-speed candy wrapping machine reflects reliability, craftsmanship, and performance. Their after-sales service and technical support are among the best in the industry, offering quick troubleshooting, spare part availability, and machine customization services to meet client-specific needs.

Customization is another hallmark of this high-speed candy wrapping machine. Manufacturers can request machine configurations based on the type and size of candy, preferred wrapping style, and production volume. The modular construction allows easy upgrades or integration with existing candy forming and cooling lines. Whether it's small wrapped toffees or large designer candies, the machine can be tailored for precise output.

Noise reduction technology is also integrated into the machine’s design, making it ideal for indoor production environments where noise control is essential. Vibration-absorbing components ensure smoother operation and less wear and tear on moving parts. This translates to a longer machine lifespan and lower maintenance costs over time.

Installation and commissioning of the machine are handled by Dhiman Industries' expert technicians, ensuring seamless deployment and operator training. Detailed documentation, video tutorials, and on-site guidance ensure the client’s team becomes proficient in machine handling quickly.

As global demand for hygienically packed, attractively presented candy products grows, manufacturers are under pressure to scale their production and maintain consistent quality. The high-speed candy wrapping machine by Dhiman Industries is the perfect solution to meet this challenge. It aligns with global food safety regulations and packaging standards, making it suitable for both domestic and export-oriented production facilities.

To summarize, the high-speed candy wrapping machine by Dhiman Industries offers a game-changing advantage for confectionery manufacturers. It brings together speed, precision, safety, flexibility, and operational ease in one powerful packaging solution. Its ability to handle a wide range of candy types and wrapping materials ensures that manufacturers can stay ahead in a competitive market with visually appealing and securely wrapped products. With Dhiman Industries’ renowned support and engineering quality, investing in this high-speed candy wrapping machine is not just a machinery purchase — it’s a strategic business upgrade for modern confectionery success.