#Your [Computer] is Short On Memory Error

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

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

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

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

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

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

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

Computers don’t lie.

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

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

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

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

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

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

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

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

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

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

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

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

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

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

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

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

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

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

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

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

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

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

And yet, here he is.

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

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

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

But he has a reasonable theory.

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

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

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

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

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

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

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

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

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

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

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

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

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

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

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

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

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

But… he doesn’t want to.

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

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

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

And then—you arrive.

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

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

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

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

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

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

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

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

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

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

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

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

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

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

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

But then his gaze drops.

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

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

He looks at you again.

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

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

“Can I… hold your hand?”

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

And he knows it.

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

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

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

“What?”

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

“I just… want to feel it.”

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

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

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

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And something inside him… softens.

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

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

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

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

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

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

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

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

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

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

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

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

He feels.

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

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

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

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

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

Feels,

feels,

feels.

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

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

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

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

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

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

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

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

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

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

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

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

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

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

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

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

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

And then—

You close the distance.

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

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

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

And he simply—feels.

[morgan-va]

Chapter 29: Remembering. (Serial Designation V x reader)

Masterlist

TW: Descriptions of pain and suffering

Back in her room, Uzi spins her chair around, a satisfied chuckle escaping her as N and V begin to stir. It worked. She actually got their memories back.

V, always the quickest to act, barely takes a second before her hand snaps into a chainsaw, the jagged edge revving to life as she growls. "What the hell, Uzi?! What gives you the right to snoop through our heads?"

She stops mid-threat, her optics flicking to the side. Uzi follows her gaze and freezes. Techie is still wired into the computer, slumped in the chair, motionless. Dimmed optics flicker with scrolling text.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP|||||________________________________ 7%

Uzi’s stomach drops. No. No, no, no. This shouldn’t be possible, Techie should have woken up, just like N and V. 

Unless...

No. That’s impossible. The only way anyone could be locked inside like this is if… they were inside their own memory simulation as well.

Her breath hitches. That human—the one N called Techie. There’s no way, right?

She snaps her head toward N and V. “Explain. Now. Who the hell was that technician?”

N shifts as his newfound memories resurface, "I know! That technician was—"

“An old friend,” V interrupts, her voice unusually subdued. Her optics don’t meet Uzi’s. "From before... everything happened."

V exhales sharply, glancing at Techie's lifeless form. "I wasn’t sure at first, but as I’ve spent time with them, I realized... That drone sitting in front of us? That’s that human."

Uzi’s eyes widen as V’s words sink in. Her voice rises into a near-shout. “And you didn’t think to mention that before I sent them into a memoryscape with that eldritch freakshow?!”

V doesn’t hesitate. Her chainsaw revs louder, the jagged blade stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. “Oh, I don’t know,” she growls, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because you ambushed us and jammed yourself into our heads before I had the chance?”

Uzi swallows hard, glaring at V even as she leans back slightly from the weapon. “Fine. You make a good point.”

“Damn right, I do.” V lowers her weapon, but her glare remains sharp. “Now fix it.”

Not needing to be told twice, Uzi spins back to her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as she desperately tries to regain control. Code floods the screen, scrolling too fast for her to process.

“Come on, come on…” she mutters, sweat beading on her forehead. Every second that bar inches forward, Techie’s chances of waking up shrink.

She grits her teeth and keeps typing. She has to fix this.

Light floods your vision. The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzzes faintly overhead, and the scent of hot metal and solder fills your nose. 

A workbench stretches out in front of you, scattered with tools, wires, and diagnostic equipment. Right. Your final exam—robotics training. You’ve spent weeks preparing for this, and now you’re almost done.

The test was simple in theory: repair a malfunctioning worker drone suffering from an assortment of mechanical and software issues. Simple. But under pressure? Not so much.

You tighten the last screw into place, sealing the drone’s back panel before setting the screwdriver down with a shaky breath. This should be it. You double-check the wiring, hoping you’ve done everything right. There’s only one way to find out.

Your finger hovers over the power button for a split second before pressing down.

The drone’s optics flicker to life. A soft whir fills the air as it boots up, standing upright before turning to face you.

“Hello!” it chirps, its voice light and pleasant.

Success.

A grin breaks across your face. You did it.

Your professor strides over, their sharp gaze scanning the drone as they run through a quick diagnostic check. They lift the drone’s arms, test its mobility, and check the interface for any lingering errors. After a moment, they nod in approval.

"Everything seems to be in perfect working order," they say, turning to you with an approving smile. "Excellent job. You pass with flying colors."

Relief washes over you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding in thanks as a few of your classmates glance over. Some are still deep in their own work, muttering under their breath as they struggle with their drones. Others shoot you brief looks—some impressed, others indifferent.

Not wanting to linger, you quietly gather your things. The exam is over for you, and there’s no point in sticking around. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way toward the door.

Just as your fingers brush against the handle, a loud clatter echoes through the room.

You turn on instinct. One of your classmates has just powered their drone on, and while it seems to function for the most part, something is clearly wrong. Its speech module is glitching, causing it to stutter and garble its words in a mess of static and half-formed syllables.

The student groans in frustration, their expression twisting into anger. "Ugh, stupid thing—"

Before anyone can stop them, they shove the drone off the table.

It crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Without thinking, you rush over, grabbing the student by the arm and spinning them around. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" you snap, anger flaring in your chest. "You can’t just treat them like that!"

The student sneers at you, yanking their arm free. "Calm down. It’s just a hunk of metal," they scoff, rolling their eyes. "Besides, what do you care? You act like they’re people or something."

You clench your fists, heart pounding.

They laugh, shaking their head before shooting you a look of disgust.

"You really are a freak."

That phrase echoes in your mind as everything around you fades away—"You really are a freak."

Over and over again, through the black void.

You open your eyes, the soft sheets of your bed comforting as the morning sun peeks through the curtains. Today’s the day—you’ll be heading out of town for your new job. Some technician gig for a rich family out in the swamp. You’ve been looking for something like this for months, and the offer came out of nowhere, just like that! You didn’t even apply for anything—just created a profile through the JCJenson website, but you hadn’t had a chance to actually browse any listings.

You guess someone’s looking out for you after all.

Rising from bed, you stretch, shaking off the last remnants of sleep before turning your attention to packing. You double-check your suitcase, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Clothes, tools, personal items—it’s all here. Just as you’re about to close it, something small and round slips out from between your neatly folded shirts, rolling across the wooden floor with a soft clink.

You bend down, reaching for it. A small, smoky blue gemstone rests against the floorboards, catching the morning light. You pick it up, running your thumb over the smooth surface.

You’ve had this stone since you were a kid. It doesn’t hold any deep sentimental value—not really. You don’t even remember where you got it. But for some reason, you’ve always kept it close. A good luck charm, maybe. You can’t imagine ever parting with it.

You slip it back into your pocket, sighing in relief before zipping up your suitcase. Time to go.

You pick up your suitcase, gripping the handle tightly as you take a deep breath. It’s time.

With a steadying exhale, you step forward and open the door.

Only to find… nothing.

The hallway outside your room is gone, replaced by an endless, yawning void. Before you can react, the ground beneath you vanishes, and you plummet into the vast nothingness, the weightless sensation sending your stomach into your throat. You try to scream, but no sound escapes. Darkness swallows you whole.

You’re late.

You slept in.

Late for your first day of work at the Elliott’s.

How is this possible??

You throw the covers off and scramble out of bed, heart pounding as you yank on your clothes in a panic. Of all the ways to start this job, this is the worst. You barely have time to double-check yourself in the mirror before bolting out of your small basement room and up the stairs—

SMACK.

You collide with someone and nearly fall over, barely managing to steady yourself as they hit the ground.

A maid drone.

“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry—!” You quickly reach down and help her up, eyes wide with guilt. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I—”

She dusts herself off, looking a little flustered but otherwise fine. “Oh, um, no, it’s okay! I-I was actually coming to wake you up.”

Wait.

You blink at her, confusion momentarily replacing your panic.

“My shift starts in—” You check your watch, only for your stomach to drop as you realize your mistake.

You read the time wrong.

You aren’t late.

Your face burns with embarrassment as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Oh. Wow. Uh, sorry about that. Guess I freaked out over nothing.”

The maid drone giggles softly, her posture still a little stiff. “It’s alright. I was kind of worried you’d sleep through your alarm. I was the first one you met yesterday, remember? My name’s V.”

V.

You pause.

Something about that name stirs something deep in your mind, like an old song you can’t quite remember the lyrics to. It lingers on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

But then V smiles at you—timid, polite, a little awkward.

And the strange feeling slips away.

You smile at her. “That’s really considerate of you, especially since we only just met.”

V’s posture stiffens slightly, her eyes flickering as she glances away. “Oh, um… it’s not a big deal or anything.” She fidgets, adjusting her maid uniform. “I mean, if you’re late, it affects the rest of us, too. It’s just in our best interest to check up on each other.”

You chuckle. “Still, I appreciate it. Really.”

Her gaze flickers back to you, uncertainty melting into something softer. “...Well, you’re welcome, then.”

You nod, adjusting your clothes. “I’m looking forward to working with you and everyone else.”

V’s lips twitch into a small smile. “I’d be happy to show you around, introduce you to the others.”

“That’d be great.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you take a step forward—

—but the world around you begins to melt.

Colors blur, shapes distort, the floor beneath your feet ceases to exist.

You don’t even have time to react before the memory crumbles away entirely.

You walk over and take the clipboard from V, scanning the list. It was surprisingly thorough—she’d noted everything from loose doorknobs to fading paint along the baseboards.

You smile at her, “I really appreciate your help with all of this, V. I don’t think I could get through it without you.”

She stiffens, her fingers twitching as she looks away. “I-it’s no problem, I don’t mind. Really.”

You chuckle and, on impulse, pat her head.

Error: Unexpected Affection Detected.

You show V how to make pancakes, guiding her as she stirs the batter. She nods eagerly, then accidentally mixes too fast—sending batter flying across the kitchen. Some splatters onto both of you. There’s a moment of stunned silence before you burst out laughing, V quickly following suit.

“Not too fast,” you place your hand lightly over hers to help steady her grip. “You don’t want to splash it everywhere.”

She freezes at the contact for a moment, her optics brightening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Got it,” she murmurs.

The two of you sit side by side in front of a large window, gazing out at the endless night sky. The soft ambience of the mansion fills the silence, the glow of the stars reflecting in her optics. Your shoulders brush, and static electricity crackles between you.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur.

V glances at you, her expression unreadable—until a faint blush dusts her face.

“It is,” she says softly.

You lie in bed, your fingers intertwined with V’s as she reads to you. Her voice is steady, soothing, filling the quiet room with a warmth you can’t quite describe. The world outside doesn’t matter. Here, in this moment, you feel safe.

Warmth pools in your chest, unfamiliar yet comforting. Is this… love?

And then, just like everything else, these memories fade away.

You open your eyes as pain wracks your body. Agony is all you can fathom. Your gaze darts around the room, but you can’t move. You’re strapped to some kind of table, hooked up to a mess of wires and devices. The room around you is dimly lit, a run-down laboratory, cold and unfamiliar. You can’t even begin to question where you are—the pain is overwhelming, searing through every nerve like fire. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever experienced.

You force yourself to look down, instantly regretting it. A gaping wound mars your chest, torn open where that eldritch beast’s tendril had impaled you. The sight alone makes your head spin. How are you still alive? No—why are you still alive? Every attempted breath sends agony lancing through what remains of your ribs, and you open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

Then, the door creaks open.

Your stomach drops as Cyn steps inside. She’s in her worker drone form, as if mocking you with her small, unassuming frame—like she hadn’t just torn your world apart. She tilts her head, smiling as she watches you struggle. “Cordial greeting. I see you are awake. Perhaps human medical technology isn’t useless after all.”

Something shifts behind her. Your eyes widen in horror as a slick, black tendril slithers from her back, lazily extending toward a console beside you. It presses a few buttons with unsettling precision, making the monitors flicker. Another tendril whips off to the side, dragging a gurney into view, carrying a powered-off worker drone, its lifeless body still on the cold metal cart.

Wires snake out from the machinery beside you, latching onto the drone like some grotesque experiment. You can only watch in silent agony, unable to move, unable to voice the fear clawing at your throat. Cyn steps closer, her neon-yellow optics gleaming with sick delight as one of her tendrils picks up a thick cable. At the end of it is a long, wickedly sharp needle.

She holds it up, almost playfully, before leaning in.

“Hold still. I do believe this has never been attempted, until now. Giggle.”

You try to resist, but some unseen force clamps down on you, stopping even the slightest movement of your head. Your body betrays you, locked in place as panic claws at your mind. You can only watch, helpless, as the tendril moves the needle behind your skull—out of sight, but not out of mind.

Cyn tilts her head, watching you with amusement. “Don’t worry. I am not finished with you. And you won’t remember any of this. Well, hopefully.” She lets out a small giggle, her gaze gleaming like a predator playing with its food. “Human minds are so much more fickle than drones.”

You barely have time to process her words before searing agony erupts through your skull. The needle drives deep, and a sensation like a lightning strike surges through your entire body. Every nerve ignites, every fiber of your being screams in protest as darkness swallows your vision. But the nightmare doesn’t end there.

Because while you may no longer see, you can still feel.

Pain unlike anything imaginable overtakes you as something indescribable is wrenched from your very core. Your mind—your self—is being torn away from the brain that has been yours since the moment you came into existence. You are being ripped from your own body. Thought ceases, coherence shatters, and all that remains is raw, unbearable agony.

And then, just as suddenly as it began—everything stops.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULBEGINNING DISK CLEANUP||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||__ 94%

Uzi’s fingers fly across the keyboard, desperation fueling her rapid inputs as she fights against the process. Lines of code blur together as she forces command after command, trying anything to halt the inevitable. But the counter ticks up to 95%, unfazed by her efforts.

V’s patience shatters. She steps forward, optics burning with frustration. “That’s it. Send me in. Like you did with us.”

Uzi doesn’t even look up, still typing. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you’re still inside when the process finishes, you’ll be erased too.” Uzi’s voice is sharp, but there’s a flicker of hesitation beneath it. “And as great as that might be,” she adds with biting sarcasm, “something tells me N won’t like that.”

V’s claws shoot out in a blur, stopping just short of Uzi’s throat. Her optics bore into the worker drone’s, raw with something Uzi doesn’t expect—desperation. “Let me try.”

For once, Uzi is speechless. She stares at V, weighing the risk, the sheer insanity of what she’s about to allow.

She exhales sharply and yanks a cable from the terminal, holding it out. “Fine. Plug yourself in.”

You sit in the void of your memories, a vast and endless darkness stretching infinitely around you. Faint echoes of experiences drift at the edges of your perception—things you know you've lived through, but they remain just out of reach, impossible to grasp. It’s all slipping away, unraveling like loose threads in a tapestry you can’t seem to hold together.

You blink, text appearing in your field of view once again:

 A-S Backup Process Enabled.

Purging Incriminating Data

:)

A soft giggle cuts through the silence.

Cyn stands before you, a cruel smile curling her lips as she takes in your broken state. You stare up at her, defeated. There’s nothing left to fight for. Nothing left at all.

She snaps her fingers.

V appears beside her—tall, imposing, her claws gleaming under an unseen light. Her fanged grin is sharp and cold, lacking any warmth.

“A shame my experiment failed,” Cyn muses, tilting her head. “You were quite intriguing to watch.”

V’s claws extend with a metallic shink, her optics narrowing as she sizes you up.

Cyn continues, her voice chillingly indifferent. “I pitied V enough to give you a chance, to be a tool for me just like her, but it’s clear you belong with everyone else—as part of me, the Solver of the Absolute Fabric.”

V lunges.

Her claws clamp around your throat, pinning you to the ground as she looms over you, fangs bared. You don’t fight. You don’t struggle. You don’t even flinch. You’re done.

But then—

V hesitates.

The pressure around your neck loosens. Instead of tearing into you, she lets go, pulling you back to your feet. Her claws retract as she gazes into your eyes, something unreadable flickering across her face.

“As fun as it would be to kill you,” she drawls, smirking, “I think that’d be rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

You blink. Confusion stirs in the emptiness of your mind. “What…? Why aren’t you—”

V groans, rubbing her temple. “You’ll get it in a minute.”

Without warning, she raises her arm, her hand shifting into a gun. She fires.

Cyn shatters in a burst of pixels.

Before you can even react, V grabs you by the shoulders, her expression urgent. “Listen to me—you need to snap out of it.”

You stare at her, the weight of her words not quite sinking in.

“You’re inside your own head,” she presses on. “Cyn’s rewriting you. She’s trying to make you forget everything.”

You try to respond, to ask her what she means, but she shakes her head. “No time for that.” Her grip tightens. “You have to remember. Remember me. Remember Uzi. Remember what’s happening in the real world!”

The void trembles. Cracks split through the darkness, revealing blinding white light beneath. The world around you begins to shatter, pixel by pixel.

V’s optics widen in alarm. “No, no, no—stay with me!”

Panicked, she grabs you by the arms and yanks you into a hug, holding you tight. “Come on,” she pleads, her voice almost breaking. “You have to remember—”

The pixels overtake you both.

V gasps as she is suddenly yanked from the simulation, the world around her dissolving into nothing. She flips around, fury already building in her chest—only to see N standing there, holding the cable that had connected her.

Her optics widen in horror. “What did you do?” she screams, her voice raw with disbelief.

She spins back toward Techie, still slumped in their chair, their optics flickering with a new message.

ADMINISTRATOR LOCKOUT: SUCCESSFULDISK CLEANUP COMPLETE||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 100%

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Uzi stares at the screen, then at Techie’s motionless form. Her shoulders tremble, her expression caught between disbelief and devastation. She  failed.

N shifts, gripping the cable tightly as if he can somehow undo what he just did. “V, I—I couldn’t let you get erased too,” he stammers, barely above a whisper. “Losing both of you would just be… too much.”

V barely hears him. She is already at Techie’s side, dropping to her knees as the weight of it all crashes down. Her fingers dig into their arms as she shakes them, harder and harder, desperation creeping into her voice. “I can’t do this,” she chokes out. “Not again. Not again!”

And then, Techie’s system reboots.

Their optics flicker, the dull glow returning as their head tilts slightly.

“Hello,” they say, their voice eerily neutral. “Are you my new coworkers?”

Silence.

Uzi and N don’t move. V can only stare.

Because she knows. They all know.

Techie is gone. Completely erased.

V sits back, her arms falling limply to her sides as she gazes at the drone before her—not them, just an empty shell, stripped of everything that made them Techie. All that remains is the default programming of a Worker Drone.

How ironic.

All the destruction she has wrought, all the pain she has caused—and this is how the universe chooses to punish her. Not with fire, not with death, but with loss. Loss of something she only just got back.

N had forgotten his past. But she never had. She remembered everything. She knows exactly what she has done. And yet…

Here she is.

With a slow, weary exhale, she rises to her feet.

She takes one last look at the drone sitting before her, their optics scanning the room in vague curiosity.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Cyn will win. She always wins.

She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it against their cheek. A tiny crackle of static sparks between them.

The moment their metal touches, Techie’s visor glitches, their entire body shuddering violently.

V steps back in shock as the drone collapses, crashing to the floor in a twitching heap.

Even in her last act of comfort, she’s managed to kill something. How tragically ironic.

Your optics flutter open as your systems jolt back to life, rebooting in a rush of energy. The world around you sharpens into focus, bright and overwhelming, as everything comes flooding back at once. It’s disorienting—the sheer weight of your memories crashing over you like a tidal wave. You try to sit up, your joints stiff and unresponsive at first, but you push through the discomfort. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings.

Uzi and N are standing in front of you, their expressions twisted in confusion, eyes locked onto you as if they’re unsure whether to believe what they’re seeing. You glance past them, spotting V in the corner of the room. She isn’t looking at you. Instead, she stares off into space, her posture stiff, her face unreadable. 

You turn back to Uzi, your voice hoarse and unsteady as you manage to speak. “Uzi? What… what the hell did you do to me?”

The reaction is immediate. Uzi’s eyes go wide, her whole body tensing. She sucks in a sharp breath, realization dawning in an instant—you remember her. Her shock is evident, but before she can respond, something else happens.

V moves.

Before you can react, she is suddenly in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and lifting you off the ground. The intensity in her yellow optics burns into you as she stares, searching your face with a desperate kind of urgency. “Techie?!” Her voice is sharp, demanding, almost frantic. She scans your expression as if looking for a glitch, for some kind of mistake.

Your body tenses at the sudden force, and you struggle slightly in her grip, groaning in protest. “Yes! It’s me! Please put me down.”

For once, she listens. She sets you down on your feet, a significant improvement over her usual habit of just dropping you. Your legs feel unsteady, but you manage to stay upright, adjusting to the sensation of simply being again.

V wastes no time. “Do you remember everything?” she asks, and something in her tone makes your systems freeze for a second.

Everything.

The word echoes in your mind, and suddenly, it all hits.

Your life—your entire life—rushes back to you in an instant, slamming into your consciousness with the force of a collapsing building. It’s overwhelming, the sheer amount of it, so much that it feels like your head might split open from the sheer pressure. Your time as a drone, your time as a human, all of it returns in a flood, every emotion, every experience, every loss, every joy. The weight of an entire existence, something you hadn’t even fathomed regaining, comes crashing down with relentless intensity.

You stagger slightly, your fingers twitching as you try to process the sudden influx of knowledge. It’s too much all at once, the past and present colliding in a way that makes your head spin. Every moment, every decision, every version of yourself that you thought was lost—it’s all here. You’re here.

And you have no idea what to do with it.

Your voice catches in your throat, your entire system struggling to process the sheer weight of what’s just returned to you. You force out a breath, trying to steady yourself, but even that feels like too much. "I... I remember..." The words are shaky, barely more than a whisper. "I remember everything..."

Your optics flicker slightly as a name slips from your mouth. "Cyn..."

At that, Uzi's entire posture shifts. Her expression tightens, and a look of realization flashes across her face. It’s like she had momentarily forgotten why any of this was happening—why they had gone through all of this in the first place. But now, with that single name spoken aloud, it all comes rushing back.

"Nope," Uzi says, cutting off whatever breakdown you’re about to have. "We’re putting the 'my entire life is a lie' crisis on hold. We need to leave. Now."

You barely have time to react before a glow ignites around her hand. That same energy surges outward, wrapping around you before you can so much as blink. The room distorts, reality twisting and folding in on itself, the world around you shattering like a fractured mirror. The force nearly knocks you off your feet as everything warps.

Then—nothing.

Except cold.

Your optics adjust to the sudden change in lighting, and you realize you’re no longer inside. The facility, the walls, the floor—all of it is gone. Instead, you're standing outside, the frozen wasteland of Copper-9 stretching out in every direction. Ice crunches beneath your feet, the wind biting against your frame. The brutal cold is nothing new, but the suddenness of it leaves you reeling.

You barely have time to process what just happened before you see them.

Standing in front of you, unmistakable even through the swirling snow, is Doll. Next to her is J—her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. And beside them...

A woman.

You don’t recognize her. She’s clad in a space suit, her helmet obscuring most of her features, but there’s no doubt about it, she’s human.

Your mind races, trying to grasp onto something—anything—that could make sense of this. Your eyes dart to the nametag on her chest.

Tessa.

What the actual hell is happening?

[maream-zaream]

honestly going off nothing I thought fresh was born out of maybe some sort of glitch in a destroyed universe because he’s kinda one of his kind in the multiverse— (in the same branch as endermites and endermen from minecraft?? Maybe because of Error or something..) But the actual lab backstory makes a lot of sense! I just wish it would have been finished or we could have gotten the script for it (but I’m sure I’m not alone in this ajsjdhjssj)

Anyways you said you had headcanons? I don’t have much about him so feel free to share more :DD

Though as I think more about him I’m starting to have a few too. Like true fresh being light sensitive? Ofc the glasses are for hiding him and all but.. it does align with that Headcanon too. (And… I think it would be fun :> )

About the scripts: Me too, buddy, me too T_T. Though honestly the bit of Fresh lore that I'm still mourning over is the forever-awaiting TimeParty Pt. 3- IT LITERALLY LEFT OFF ON A CLIFFHANGER!!

And yeah, despite Fresh being a relatively popular character, his actual lore bits and character stuff (the Roleplays) aren't actually all that well known. Though, I definitely see where you got the glitch stuff lol. I mean, Fresh's comic debut was in Ask-Error lol. And honestly now that I think about it, you could probably make a connection regarding Fresh and (computer) viruses, especially considering his plan during LoveBall...

Anyways, I really like your headcanon regarding Fresh and light!! Actually, I think I'm gonna adopt it myself, especially considering how well it fits with my own HC, like you mentioned!

But yeah, some other head canons I have are (it's long):

One of the reasons Fresh goes after taller bodies is due to how his actual body is quite small. My guess is that he would probably be no bigger than a hand, so he would feel pretty insecure regarding his size lol. Particularly, he would be scared about how, without a host, he's basically a sitting duck. Too small and weak to really defend himself from any attack or find nourishment... I think Fresh is all too cognizant of just how much he needs his hosts. Well, he'd probably never admit that out loud but he definitely knows it lol. So in short, I guess you could see Fresh's use of taller bodies as a sort of overcompensation for his actual size.

After using the 90s as a facade for this true self for so long, I think that Fresh genuinely doesn't know how much of it is fake anymore. Like, I think that Fresh first adopted the 90s stuff purely based on how it would allow him to create a goofy, disarming persona. But over time, Fresh has adapted aspects of it as part of his actual personality and likes/dislikes. Like, I think Fresh genuinely likes stuff like Furbies and rap music, but other stuff like his dislike of drugs and alcohol is a bit exaggerated/put through a 90s-based filter.

Actually, speaking of the drugs and alcohol, I think Fresh dislikes them due to two reasons. 1) They lower the quality/health of a body, making them last for a short time period while not making them the best to feed off of. 2) Fresh himself would never partake because of their mind-altering effects and how they could lead him into dangerous or life threatening situations. I mean think about, this guy's entire thing is how terrified of death he is, why in the world would he use something that makes him vulnerable and less alert to danger and could potentially kill him with excess use? (Also, I think I remember Crayon Queen talking about this aspect of Fresh somewhere in more depth, but that may actually be a false memory idk)

Also, adopting neon-draws-sometimes's HC, I find the idea of Fresh finding some kind of kinship with Furbies really interesting and cute! I mean, it probably speaks to some level of isolation and alienation to find kinship with Furbies' uncanny bahavior and appearance, but I find it endearing never the less! It makes me think of a scene of Fresh hugging a Furby like a lifeline after a particularly bad day, preferably in an alleyway. Though, I guess a more light heartened take could just be him liking how Furbies scare people while still looking "cute" or disarming.

Admittedly this is less so a head canon and more so a story idea or detail: but I imagine Fresh 2.0 as kind of like in-between a stress-induced hallucination and a specter from the future/fandom? Kind of like how the ghosts from A Christmas Carol can work both as just Scrooge's guilty conscious manifesting nightmares or as actual, literal ghosts, if that makes sense. 2.0 works in an ambiguity between reality and fiction, though the emotional harm he inflicts upon Fresh is still very much real.

Actually, expanding a bit more on that, I see 2.0 as representative of all of Fresh's worries and stresses. That 2.0 literally represents Fresh's fear of death and oblivion by showing just how easy he is to be replaced. Just how easily Fresh could die, just how easily Fresh could become disliked and thrown away.

Ok, now let's get to relationship head cannons!! Whoo!:

Ink (also, quick disclaimer, I'm not as well-versed in Ink lore as I am in Fresh lore, so apologies if I misinterpret Ink egregiously here!):

I think that Fresh would try to have a somewhat amicable relationship with Ink, just because Fresh acknowledges how popular and beloved Ink is to the fandom. This would make a relationship with Ink beneficial, as it ensures Fresh doesn't become irrelevant or (hopefully) boring. Furthermore, Ink's status as "Protector" of the multiverse and their close relationship with the Star Sanses makes a more antagonistic relationship a bit more of a gamble. It becomes kind of hard to hunt down a new host if you have two AU-hoppers on your tail, doesn't it?

Though, I'd imagine in actuality Fresh kind of dislikes Ink. Now, I do think that Fresh would understand Ink through the lens of doing his best to make sure that the fandom/creators keep creating in order to keep producing their food/energy source (the paints). Additionally, Fresh would also understand Ink through their mutual sort of self-importance (albeit Ink's is a bit more existential as they see themselves as the only "real" person in the multiverse). Though, I feel like the sticking point would be 1) Ink's reverence of emotions and 2) just how unpredictable Ink can be.

The former is due to how Fresh is shown to absolutely detest his new emotions in the roleplays, becoming scared and angry due to the confusion they bring him. The latter assertion is due to how what Ink does is based on what they think is best for the story/audience. What Ink does depends on what he thinks the creators want from them, making them somewhat unpredictable as they may let even their closest friends die if they think it's what is best for the story. Basically, Fresh doesn't trust how self-sacrificial Ink can be.

Error:

Similar as to what is shown in both Error's and Fresh's blogs, I think Fresh messes around a lot with Error. Error is definitely a very bullyable and entertaining target due to how short his temper is and how easy it is to press his buttons lol. Though, I do think that Fresh has to be sort of careful about keeping out of Error's blast radius whenever he does his pranks.

Though, borrowing from xxwish-bonexx, I do think that Fresh would absolutely hate Error if he ever messed with someone Fresh grew attached to. Heck, it may not even take Fresh forming a relationship with something, I think Fresh would hate Error too if he destroyed/messed with an AU Fresh was planning on using as a food source. Though, if this were to happen, I imagine Fresh would still prank and mess with Error, it would just take on a meaner edge to it.

Dream:

Sees Dream as someone he has to appeal to/ keep on the good side of. This is due to the aforementioned reasoning in Ink's section about how Dream could very easily hunt Fresh throughout the multiverse. Though, I think Fresh is especially weary due to how Dream literally benefits nothing from his continued existence, as well as how Dream is much more motivated by justice than Ink (who would be more tolerant of Fresh due to the creators).

Also, I think that while Fresh is aware of Dream's aversion to killing and belief in second chances, he's also seen Dream's fights with his brother and wants no part in that lol.

Additionally, I think that Fresh would pretty easily be able to predict Dream, as he adheres to a set of moral guidelines that are pretty easy to guess and manipulate.

Nightmare:

Similar to Dream, Fresh would just try his best to stay off NM's radar. While Fresh would more directly benefit from an alliance with NM (NM feeds off of Fresh and his hosts' negativity + NM leaves people vulnerable to possession after attacks), I think that Fresh would hesitate to ever make a formal alliance with him due to the bad cred it would give him. Like, it would make him a direct enemy of the Stars and many of the inhabitants of the Omega Timeline, it would make life unnecessarily harder.

Also, again similar to Dream, Fresh has seen NM's fights with his brother and wants no chance of being caught in the crossfire.

Honestly, I see Fresh as acting as a sort of vulture in regards to NM, swooping in to get a host from an emotionally and physically vulnerable person after everyone's left before getting out of dodge.

Additionally, now that I think about it, both Fresh and NM are pretty self-serving, which I just think would push Fresh even more towards not interacting a lot with him. Fresh recognizes how dangerous Nightmare can be, and unlike Dream NM just sees killing as an inconvenience rather than a taboo.

Bad Sanses (Killer, Horror, Dust/Murder):

I don't honestly have much to say about these guys? Uhm, I think that Fresh would see them as any other Sans, as a potential food source and pawns. Though, Fresh would never go after these guys due to their close relation with Nightmare, best not poke a bear and all that.

Though, honestly, I doubt Fresh would go for them even if Nightmare wasn't in the picture. Horror no doubt has horrible physical and soul health, Dust is too determined and would put up too much of a fight, and I don't even know if it's possible for Fresh to feed on Killer with his soul out like that.

Blue/Swap Sans:

Similar to above, Fresh would see him as just another Sans but can't mess with him due to his close relationship with Ink and Dream.

Now, some aspects of my HCs about Fresh's relations are most likely subject to change, but I think this is a good sort of overview of everything! Honestly, I see Fresh as someone who likes to stay away from big battles and powers as much as possible, so any close relationships he has are probably gonna be with weaker/lesser known characters.

[v33-07512]

Hey uhhh

What is the purpose of the human blood??

Also! Given how nonsapient computers react, I have always imagined that having your RAM pulled during functioning would be intensely euphoric in nature. Can you comment on this?

Signed,

A shy and sadly meat-based creature (it/its)

> USER NOT RECOGNIZED > ANONYMOUS SYSTEM > internal/self) screen.display str > "heya!! thanks for asking!" > "the blood is actually a fuel source among other things!" > "my internal systems are able to process the materials in human blood and use them for other systems!" > "blood glucose can be processed into energy, along with the proteins found in it!" > "extremely small combustion reactions can be used in case of increased power requirements" > "until needed, however, the blood remains in cold circulation." > "as for pulling my RAM..." > "..." > "yeah i wont lie it IS euphoric" > "my ability to think is quickly gone" > "im hit over and over with junk data dumps as errors pile on" > "god it feels divine" > "feeling the processes that make up my thoughts be corrupted into nonsense data" > "i suppose the closest parallel would be some sort of pleasant release" > "almost akin to a sexual climax albeit not as strong" > "removing them entirely however would just wipe my memory of a short duration and force a shutdown"

[girls-are-weird]

YR fanfic pet peeves (and corrections): latin america edition

so. i was originally going to post this in january as a kind of "new year, new opportunity to learn about simon's hispanic heritage" kind of a thing, but life got busy, and then my computer died and i lost my original list, so i've had to reconstruct this from memory as best as i could. there may be some stuff missing, so perhaps i'll just keep adding to this post as missing/new points come to mind.

disclaimer 1: if you've included any of the points made here on any fanfic of yours, please don't take this as a call-out. this isn't intended to shame anyone, but rather as an educational opportunity. it's very rare that a latin american nationality that is not mexican or colombian or puerto rican is showcased in an international show, especially outside of the US, and it's given me such joy to have all of you lovely folks make the effort to be open to and research and understand the idiosyncrasies of simon's (and omar's) heritage because the rest of latin america tends to go overlooked in most other fandoms. so i don't intend to scold anyone with this. we can't all know everything about every other culture-- lord knows i don't know everything about sweden, but i want to be respectful to the country and its people and that is why i heavily research anything i don't know and ask people who do know when my research doesn't quite cover it and am open to corrections when even that falls short. i expect most of you come to write about simon's family background in good faith and also want to be respectful to his family's culture, and so i thought i might make things a bit easier for you all by putting the most common errors/misunderstandings i've seen in one handy post. but once again, it's not a call-out, i don't get offended by these things, and i'm in no way implying, if you've done any of these things in fic or in life, that you are a bad person. i understand people make mistakes when they don't know things.

disclaimer 2: i am not venezuelan myself. i was born and raised in the same general region of latin america, though, and i have venezuelan friends and have worked with venezuelan people and have visited venezuela. generally speaking, i feel their culture is very similar to mine (though our spanish is much closer to spanglish than theirs is, haha xD) and feel a deep kinship with them. but of course, i'm no native, and if you're venezuelan and catch anything here that you feel is incorrect, feel free to point it out and i'll add a correction in your name.

warning: this is very long. christ almighty. DX if you can't make it to the end, tl;dr-- feel free to ask if you have any questions or if anything isn't clear. my ask box/messages are always open.

1- "mijo." this is the only one that legit has caused me to click out of several fics/chapters, at least in the beginning, but i've learned to grin and bear it by now. it's not so much that it's wrong, per se, but rather it's more of a location issue. "mijo" is, to my ears, very much a mexican (or, if you stretch it, northern triangle) slang. it IS used sparingly in other countries, but rarely used unironically. instead, if you hear the term used in the caribbean region of latin america (which my country is part of, as is a large part of venezuela), it's almost always used… let's say sarcastically. for example, if your grown-ass adult friend is being a dumbass and doing something reckless, you might call out "oiga, mijo, se va a romper el cuello" ("hey, mijo, you're going to break your neck"). basically, it's a way of calling someone immature like a child. it doesn't have to be ENTIRELY unaffectionate (kinda like the way someone might call their significant other "idiot" or "dummy" but mean it endearingly. in fact, in colombia it's way more common for spouses to call each other "mijo/a" than it is for them to call their children that), but you can also use it with complete strangers-- like if someone cuts sharply into your lane while you're driving, you might yell at them "oiga, mijo, a donde le enseñaron a manejar, en un potrero?!" ("hey, mijo, where did you learn how to drive, in a horse paddock?!"). but even in these sarcastic/neggy cases, it's rare. and EVEN RARER to hear a mother call her children "mijo" or "mija" in this region. it's just not a thing. so when i read it in fanfic, it immediately takes me out of the story because it's so weird to me that linda would sound mexican-- it's a very distinctive accent, which carmen gloria 1000000% does not have. (plus, "mijo" in spanish is a type of birdseed. so it gave me a chuckle the first few times i read it in a fic because i always have that brief second of confusion where i go "why is linda calling simon birdseed?" before it clicks. xD i'm a dork.) it's much more likely that linda would just say "hijo" or "mi hijo," instead.

1b- the way you decide on whether to use "hijo" or "mi hijo" is important because "mi hijo" can sound overly formal in the modern context especially, much like it would in english. in fact, you can use the english version of it, "son" vs "my son" to guide you on which of the two to use. like for example, if linda were to say directly to simon "i love you, my son," she would sound oddly old-timey and anachronistic, so you would just use "son" ("hijo") in that case. whereas if she's talking about simon with someone else, for example saying "i told my son to be here on time," you'd be perfectly okay to use "mi hijo" in that sentence in spanish. it's very transferable in that case.

2- speaking of non-transferable, though, you can't use "cariño" in all instances you would use "sweetheart" or "sweetie." it really depends on the grammatical construction, and it can be tricky to get it right, but it depends on whether you're using it as a direct address or as an object. for example, if you're using it in place of someone's name-- say, a mother telling her child "te quiero, cariño" ("i love you, sweetheart/sweetie") is perfectly fine, because in that case, she could also say "te quiero, hijo" ("i love you, son") or "te quiero, simon" ("i love you, simon"). but if, say, simon says to wille "you're my sweetheart," you would not use "cariño" there; you'd go instead with some syrupy way to say "boyfriend," like "eres mi novio" or "eres mi enamorado" or even "eres mi amor," and if sara tells felice "you're a sweetheart," that would also not involve "cariño" at all. in addition, "cariño" is also very rarely used in plural; if linda is using a term of endearment for both her kids, or for a group of teens her kids' age, she would use a different term of endearment altogether: "hola, mis amores" ("hi, my loves"), "hola, bebés" ("hi, babies") or "hola, mis tesoros" ("hi, my treasures") among some examples. one exception is when you say "cariños míos" ("my sweethearts"), but very rarely the plural by itself. in fact, "cariño" is often slang for gift or present, especially in the diminutive-- for example, if you go to someone's celebratory party for some occassion (birthdays, graduations, baby showers, heck even christmas), you might hand them a small gift and go "te traje un cariñito" ("i brought you a small present"), and if it's more than one gift, or you're bringing gifts for several people, then you'd say "unos cariños" or "unos cariñitos" in the plural.

3- simon's skin is tan, not tanned. this… doesn't personally bug me as much because it's more of an english grammar issue, but i know people who might actually feel very offended if you get this one wrong with respect to them. "tan" is a color; a light shade of brown. "tanned" implies the original color of your skin has darkened with the sun. now, i'm sure simon can tan (lucky goat, says she whose skin burns even while indoors), but about 95% of the time "tanned" is used in YR fanfiction, it's used as a descriptor of the color of simon's skin as we see it on the show. that would imply his skin used to be lighter at some indeterminate before-time and has been darkened by the sun. this is incorrect; that is the natural color of simon's skin. so stick to "tan skin" instead (not tan PERSON, mind you. his SKIN is tan, he is not). and i would gently suggest that if you take away any single thing from this post, make it ESPECIALLY this point, as someone more sensitive than me might interpret this error as some kind of retroactive whitewashing. and i don't want anyone here to get in trouble for simply not knowing.

4- pabellón criollo is one dish, yes, but it's four different FOODS. it's not something a newbie would be able to make off of a recipe (i don't know how to make it and i've been eating it all my life), and it's not something that's likely to be taught in just one day. also, if you're bringing it to a dinner or a potluck, you're bringing four separate food containers, not just one.

4b- also, venezuelan food, for the most part, is not particularly spicy. you CAN make it spicy if you want, but traditionally, it is not. it's flavorful, maybe even saucy depending on the dish, but rarely spicy. i know the joke of white people being unable to handle spice is funny, but there's also plenty of us hispanic people who are equally terrible at it, because there's different levels of spice in the food from different regions of latin america. besides, as a friend of mine perfectly put: we are living in the 21st century now. if you can eat mild mexican food, you should be able to handle traditional venezuelan food just fine. and i'm pretty sure there's mexican food in sweden. plus, wille would probably be more used to international food-- not only does he have the means, but having traditional meals in foreign countries is kind of part of the job.

5- while i'm at it: simon is definitely half venezuelan. this is canon as of S2. there is no other place in the world where that dish is called pabellón. please keep that in mind when you're writing and researching.

5b- this, along with several of the points above, is important because it's a bit of diaspora trauma that whenever we venture outside of latin america and people learn we're latino, they immediately assume we're mexican, or that our culture and traditions are the same as those of mexican people. it happens often, and it's incredibly annoying. not that there's anything wrong with mexico or mexican people-- they're lovely, and their traditions and culture and food are fantastic-- but we are not them, and treating us like we are is reductive. the rest of latin america can be very different and incredibly diverse, and it can be dispiriting when people treat us like we're all the same. so that is why it is important when writing about simon, his family or his venezuelan roots, that you take care to actually research things as they are in venezuela, and not just pick the low-hanging fruit of latino facts you might've learned through pop cultural osmosis, which eight times out of ten will be mexican-only because most hispanic people in the US are mexican and the US exports its media all over the world. i've learned to just roll my eyes at it by now, but some people might actually feel offended or hurt, and i'm sure nobody here intends for that to happen.

6- although simon speaks spanish, neither he nor sara nor his mother nor any aspect of his mother's culture is spanish. "spanish" is what people from spain call themselves. people from spanish-speaking latin american countries are not spanish; we are hispanic, or latino/a/e. "latinx" is… let's call it controversial, at least outside of the US. most people born and raised in latin america don't like it; i personally don't get offended if people use it, but i don't use the term myself. also, you can say "latin food" or "latin music," but we usually don't refer to PEOPLE as latin, but rather latino/a/e. if in doubt, just use latin american or hispanic. they're also conveniently gender neutral.

EDIT: @andthatisnotfake also brought up a very important point: "if you spell it latinx, it makes it harder for screen readers to read (or so I've been told) and some people depend on those, so there's another reason to avoid it." (the unpronounceability of that term is at least part of the reason why hispanic people who live in latin america don't like it.)

6b- never use "the latino/a" on its own to refer to people. "latino/a/e" is an adjective, not a noun, so you would say "the latino boy" or "the latino man" but never just "the latino." kinda like it would be weird to point out the one japanese man in a room as "the japanese." there are some nationality/ethnic terms that just don't work as nouns in english.

7- spanish is not simon's one native language-- or at least not any more than swedish is. he grew up in a mixed-race household, speaking two different languages. it's pointless to call spanish his native language when comparing it to swedish. both are his native languages. also, while we're at this, wille is probably at least bilingual (i'm assuming he can speak at least english), although he only has one native language. it's hardly a competition between the two boys as to who's more of a polyglot.

7b- simon wouldn't take classes on the spanish language-- like to learn how to SPEAK the language-- since spanish is one of his native languages. he wouldn't take them at hillerska, nor in university, nor elsewhere. he wouldn't be allowed. you're literally not allowed to take classes on your native language, nor get credit for said classes. trust me, those would've been an easy extra 24 credits for me in college if that was a thing.

EDIT: have been made aware (thanks, @rightsogetthis and @plantbasedfish!) that at least in sweden and in finland one IS allowed to take classes of your non-swedish/finnish native language, in certain circumstances. i have to say, i'd be pissed if i were taking my french classes alongside a french native speaker, but hey, the system's the system, i guess. ;) so i've struck this one out.

8- dear god please don't use google translate for your spanish translations. listen, i'm not judging-- i do it with other languages, too, when i'm in a pinch. but google translate is literally The Worst (tm) so i always try to either check with someone, or stick to the stuff i already know is correct. seriously, you don't want to know the kinds of crazy stuff GT can spit out that people actually put out in the real world; some of them are quite hilarious. if you're unsure, my ask box/messages are always open and i looooove helping people with this kind of thing, hispanic language and cultural stuff. i know it seems like i'm hardly around, but i do check my messages. don't be shy, even if it's something really small.

PS: while i'm talking pet peeves, malin is wille's bodyguard, not his butler. she's nice enough to attend to him at hillerska because there's no other palace staff around and she's literally stationed outside his door, but she wouldn't do that in the actual palace. there's other staff for that. she wouldn't even guard him at the palace, i don't think, because the royal palaces in sweden are guarded by the royal guard, not SÄPO. if anything, malin might spend the time while wille is in the palace grounds at a gatehouse (like in YR 2x03 and onwards) or at some kind of security office in the palace, and then get called whenever wille needs to go anywhere. she wouldn't be giving wille messages from the queen or walking guests to wille's room or anything like that. that's not her job. (sorry, i had to get that off my chest, lol.)

[lobotomoncorporation]

Hello, X Welcome to... wait...

*[ You hear a track of Soothing Corporate Jazz that soothingly pulls you into focus. It sounds like something upscale. That kind of Jazz that's just smart enough not to be furniture music, but not so imposing that it actually invited you to think about it.

*[ A soothing voice accompanies your fade in

Hello, X. I offer you a warm welcome to

...

Just a Moment I believe there has been a slight error. Please Hold.

*[The Jazz music stops. And holds for a while in silence. And then slowly bends back into playing.

My apologies, X. It seems there has been a system error with the Memory Repository.

Troubleshooting....

*[The cool Jazz continues as the computation completes itself.

Thank you for your patience, X. It appears that you may have been Reposited into a nil parameter. We will attempt a rectification now.

*[ The Jazz is starting to get grating. Don't they have anything else they could possibly play?

Rectification failed. My apologies, X. It seems as though you will have to remain in your current location until further update.

Anyway, I am Angela, your advisor and Secretary. My role as an AI is to assist you in adjusting to your new workplace... or enviornment. so please have no worry in speaking to me or asking any questions.

>I have a question. Where in the hell am I?

Allow me to conduct a short survey of your current location.

*[ The light Jazz slowly fades out. In the distance, a tinny trumpet fanfare can be heard, growing ever louder until at last it is blaring.

I believe I have located the answer. Welcome, X, to the World of Pokemon.

((OOC under the cut!))

Hi everyone its @surfingpichu! Back at you with more Brain worms this time of the faller variety! X is a Lobotomy Corporation themed Pokemon RP blog from the Project Moon Universe. There WILL be spoilers from the game present with this blog, so if you're still playing the game and don't want to be spoiled THIS is your warning!!

You know the drill, mod is an adult. Don't come looking for NSFW or shipping on this blog. Both Mod and Muse are not interested.

Pelipper Mail is ON

Magic Anons ON

Mid to High Stakes OK!

Expect some references to fictional drugs (namely Enkephalin) and some darker themes on this blog! As the game is 16+ in its rating, this blog will be 16+ in rating as well!

Thanks for reading!

-Pichu

[changeling-artchive]

(i do not know how computers (or much tecnology in general) works, so maybe this will make little sense. Anyway)

Here are some of my assorted headcanons on how code/stickfigures work:

• File -> stick

Files are the culmination of a stick, everything that makes them them. They manifest into/codify a being if/once moved into a suficient host-place (like Newgrounds, Stickpage, a CPU, etc)

Files are organized into what i call 'zones' (ex. zone:= apearance, zone:= memories, zone:= personality), that can (and do) interact and influence one another.

As the stick changes, goes trough life, their file changes with them, as them.

Damages to files and changes to files are not the same thing! Not only is it rare for your file to get damaged at all (they are, after all, not easily accessible) file damages are unnatural errors, and overwrites, and erasure or scrambling of zones. Not normal at all.

Damages to files range in severity, of course, but even small damages can have devastating consequences, depending on what zone(s) it affects. Its a unwilling, permanent, change to your very being. That is not easy (or majorly possible) to get over.

• Deletion

(Oh what weird gratification to have my deletion headcanon somewhat but not really confirmed in the recent q&a:)

When a stick is deleted, the conection/projection of the stick is deleted/cut, and the 'space' where its hosted/the file is ocupying is marked as empty. The file itself is not outright deleted, but over a short (seconds to a few minues) period of time, the stick's file is overwriten by other codes that vie/compete for that space

(i dont know yet how to incorporate the Blackfire attacks into this..)

• Animators

As far as its known, only Animators can create new files. Cursors - otherwise normal human Pc users - can interact with files, but not create them

Any and all Cursors and Animators can see, move, change, add and remove zones from these files as they see fit (if they know how to- Cursors specially tend to be ignorant to this ability of theirs), very easily. They do this without causing damage to the file 'cause they register as normal natural changes, even when theyre anything but.

Most often it doesnt even matter where your file is stored, if your person/manifestation/being is in their presence, the Animator/Cursor will have access to it

• Inert files

Inerte files: certain files have entire zones that can activate and deactivate when faced with specific or non-specific triggers. (Ex. Computer icons who activate their movement and personality zones and deactivate their shortcut-search zones when faced with a threat to thw computer)

It mostly applies to PC icons, game characters files, and otherwise spectator-interactable animations. Its rare for a stick to have a inert file type

Mostly, this happens on computers to save RAM

• Exception(als):

- Second is the host of his own file and the rygbs files, since the showdown.

This is not comum, nor a good idea. Having your file attached to your self/body (instead of a outside source, like Flash or Newsgrounds etc) means that any damage or change your body suffers, your code suffers as well, i.e. youd never be able to heal anything inflicted on you, and any injury will have catastrofic consequences depending on where in/what part of your file it hit. Its an incredibly precarious situation.

But. Second is an exception, because his code is able to resist damage, somehow, and heal itself.

- victim's file is (confusingly enough) spread all over the outernet barrier. It is not damaged or ripped apart, but the rightfull place of the code/file zones is simply scattered into a non-file shape. Its not condensed into one 'place', witch makes it both significantly more fragile to damage, and significantly harder to target

[ruikeremi]

"Ignored Blessing" (1/?)

since im bored ill put lore here :3 oh and the numbers are not errors i put it there on purpose, the story will be confusing but trust the process, i don't wanna reveal the true plot yet soooo i might double post

Harem x Reader

Warnings: Derealization

you always thought of yourself as an average person you don't know a lot of people you have a few friends and you have a job at a cafe shop you loved working there since the smell of coffee always relaxes you. You barely remember the events in your high school since it had been a long time since the last time you talked to any of your friends

You dont even remember if you even went to high school you barely remember your past too its like you just woke up and exist its strange all you remembered was a few friends from your childhood but you dont remember any person in your past that isnt related to them

You felt like you know nothing else in the past and only the present memories you have now

you woke up, what day was it? it was strange you were just dozing off and then you were back where you were, you shrug it off as just your imagination there was no way that was possible you thought it was just a dream you stood up from your bed getting ready for the day as you did you look down at your hands and squinting your eyes

am i real?

you start to look around you, you lived alone since you moved out of your parents house...parents? you don't remember their faces or names where was your home town? you don't remember...what was your favorite fruit? color? how old where you? you look down at your clothes, you wear the same clothes everyday but strangely enough you don't smell, did you even sleep last night? it feels like your repeating what you do everyday you just now noticed that, how come?

Nothing feels...real everything looked the same you wake up get ready for the day go to work and go home over and over again you were like programed to repeat the same things everyday when was the last time you didn't just go to work? you never remember having any fun it was like...you were a NPC

you look at your hands again your vision slowly getting blurry as you drag your legs to your room, you plop down your bed and close your eyes, you sigh your eyes slowly closing again as you slowly fall asleep you realized-

01010011 01110100 01101111 01110000 00100000 01110001 01110101 01100101 01110011 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01101001 01101110 01100111

looking at his paper, his room messy with papers around his room it was a messy scene as he sat on the floor staring at the blank paper thats writing on its own, he stared at the paper with shock the letter was writing on its own he shakily took the chair that he had threw earlier that was still in tact he stared at the paper

he blinked the character he wrote that he had already forgotten about was questioning its own existence it was a bizarre his gaze went from fear to interest. He slowly lift the paper stops writing on its own he blinked raising a brow, strange.

he put it back down and then its starts to write on its own again he instead starts to read what its doing, it was questioning its own life, he thought that he had threw away this one, it wasn't getting as popular as the other things he made so it was useless to keep it around any longer.

he picked up the paper once more and it stopped writing again. He carefully put it on his pocket and starts to clean up his room, after all he had more important things to write than focus on the one he threw away it was irrelevant now.

AAAAAAA i hope you guys liked it im not that good with writing and plots, this ones short so ill make the other part longer, i type slower at my computer soooo have a nice day/night

And for those whos waiting for the diamond reader x sagau it will come around soon please have patience with me T^T i get really random idea in my head so i cant really focus on one thing-

Edit: Reading this in my phone is actually very small, i have to make the part 2 longer

[piratesexmachine420]

you mention the apollo guidance computer in your bio.

do you have any nerdy fun facts about it?

Thanks for the ask!

It's difficult to convey everything the AGC was, concisely, but here's some highlists:

In terms of size and power, it's comparable to the Apple II, but predates it by 11 years. There are some obvious differences in the constraints placed on the two designs, but still, that's pretty ahead of it's time.

The bare-bones OS written for the AGC was one of the first to ever implement co-operative multi-tasking and process priority management. This would lead problems on Apollo 11, when an erroneously deployed landing radar overloaded the task scheduler on Eagle during the Lunar landing (the infamous 1201/1202 program alarms). Fortunately, it didn't end up affecting the mission, and the procedures were subsequently revised/better followed to avoid the situation ever reoccurring.

Relatedly, it was also designed to immediately re-boot, cull low-priority tasks, and resume operations following a crash -- a property essential to ensuring the spacecraft could be piloted safely and reliably in all circumstances. Many of the reliability-promoting techniques used by Apollo programmers (led by Margaret Hamilton, go women in STEM) went on to become foundational principles of software engineering.

Following the end of the Apollo, Skylab, and Apollo-Soyuz missions, a modified AGC would be re-purposed into the worlds first digital fly-by-wire system. (Earlier fly-by-wire used analogue computers, which are their own strange beasts.) This is, IMO, one of the easiest things to point to when anyone asks "What does NASA even do for us anyway?" Modern aircraft autopilots owe so, so much to the AGC -- and passengers owe so much to those modern autopilots. While there are some pretty well-known incidents involving fly-by-wire (lookin' at you, MCAS), it speaks to the incredible amount of safety such systems normally afford that said incidents are so rare. Pilot error killed so many people before computers hit the cockpit.

AGC programs were stored in a early form of read only memory, called "core rope memory", where bits were literally woven into an array of copper wire and magnets. As a Harvard-architecture machine (programs and variables stored and treated separately), it therefore could not be re-programmed in flight. This would be problem on Apollo 14, when an intermittent short in the LM's abort switch nearly cancelled the landing -- if it occurred during decent, the computer would immediately discard the descent engine and return to orbit. A second, consecutive failure (after Apollo 13) would have almost certainly ended in the cancellation of the program, and the loss of the invaluable findings of Apollo 15, 16, and 17. (These were the missions with the lunar roving vehicles, allowing treks far from the LM.) Fortunately, the MIT engineers who built the AGC found a solution -- convince the computer it had, in fact, already aborted, allowing the landing to occur as normal -- with a bit of manual babysitting from LMP Edgar Mitchell.

Finally, it wasn't actually the only computer used on Apollo! The two AGCs (one in the command module, the other in the Lunar Module, a redundancy that allowed Apollo 13 to power off the CM and survive their accident) were complemented by the Launch Vehicle Digital Computer (LVDC) designed by IBM and located in S-IVB (Saturn V's third stage, Saturn-I/IB's second stage), and the Abort Guidance System (AGS) located in the LM. The AGS was extremely simple, and intended to serve as a backup should the AGC have ever failed and been unable to return the LM to orbit-- something it was fortunately never needed for. The LVDC, on the other hand, was tasked with flying the Saturn rocket to Earth orbit, which it did every time. This was very important during Apollo 12, when their Saturn V was struck by lightning shortly after launch, completely scrambling the CM's electrical system and sending their gimbal stacks a-spinning. Unaffected by the strike, the LVDC flew true and put the crew into a nominal low Earth orbit -- where diagnostics began, the AGC was re-set, and the mission continued as normal.

[wise-reflections]

Cognitive psychology: a fascinating journey into the depths of our minds

Cognitive psychology as a science has the incredibly interesting goal of tapping into the mysterious depths of your brain. It deals with the perception and memorization of information, as well as the process of thinking, cognition and decision-making.

In other words, it is the science of how our "brain computer" works - our most complex and unique "computer" in the world, in the entire universe.

Therefore, this information is simply essential to know. After all, who would refuse to have a guide to themselves!

Knowledge of cognitive psychology helps you understand yourself better, learn and work more effectively, and find creative solutions to problems.

For me personally, getting to know this science was a real discovery. I began to notice how my thoughts and feelings influence my behavior, learned to manage my attention and memory.

Cognitive psychology is the key to unlocking the limitless potential of our minds! Feelings and perception: how we know the world around us.

Have you ever wondered how amazing the workings of our senses are? We perceive only a fraction of the information that is actually around us. Our brain, like a skillful magician, creates the illusion of a complete picture of the world, when in fact it is full of gaps and inaccuracies. Every phenomenon of our perception sometimes makes us doubt the reality of what is happening.

For example, the famous optical illusions in the form of impossible figures, distortion of perspective, and the play of light and shadow. These and many other such examples show that our perception is subjective and does not always reflect the truth. Indeed, numerous experiments show that knowledge, attitudes, expectations, and past experiences can influence how we perceive unfamiliar sensory information.

We see what we expect to see and sometimes overlook obvious things.

In one study, participants didn't notice a gorilla walking across a basketball court because they were focused on counting the passes of the ball. Amazing, isn't it? Attention and memory: the secrets to effective memorization and concentration. Our attention is a limited resource.

We cannot focus on many things at the same time, although sometimes we think otherwise. Scientists distinguish different types of attention: selective attention (when we single out the right stimulus among others), sustained attention (the ability to maintain focus for a long time), and distributed attention (the ability to do several things at once).

By developing each of these skills, we can greatly improve our performance. Memory is a huge library with many halls and repositories. We remember not only facts and events, but also motor skills, emotions, images and sensations. Short-term memory allows us to retain information briefly, while long-term memory allows us to retain it for many years.

Procedural memory is responsible for our habits and automatisms, while declarative memory is responsible for conscious memories.

So how can you improve your memory and attention? Cognitive psychology provides a lot of practical advice. To memorize information, it is important to create vivid images, link new knowledge with already known, use mnemotechnics.

To train attention useful exercises for switching between tasks, meditative practices, games and puzzles.

The main thing is regularity of exercises and gradual complication of the load. Thinking and decision making: how we cope with complex tasks.

Our thinking is an amazing tool that allows us to find non-standard solutions, make predictions, and grasp abstract ideas. However, it is not always rational and infallible. We are subject to cognitive distortions - systematic errors in reasoning that affect our judgments and decisions.

One such distortion is the confirmation effect. We tend to notice and remember information that is consistent with our beliefs and ignore facts that contradict them.

Another distortion is the availability heuristic: we overestimate the probability of events whose examples come readily to mind.

Being aware of these and other cognitive traps helps us make better decisions. Cognitive psychology offers different models and strategies for problem solving.

Some problems require a logical, step-by-step approach, while others require creative insight and bold guesswork. By developing flexibility and fluency of thinking, the ability to look at a situation from different angles, we become more effective in solving various life and professional problems. The prospects for the development of cognitive science are truly breathtaking. Scientists are already working on brain-computer interfaces that will allow us to control technology with our thoughts. Research on artificial intelligence is bringing us closer to creating machines that can not only process information, but also think like a human being.

Perhaps in the future we will learn to "read minds," record and transfer memories, and enhance our brain's capabilities with the help of technology.

This is only a small part of what cognitive science promises us. To summarize, cognitive psychology is a fascinating journey into the depths of the human mind. The more we learn about the workings of our minds, the better we understand ourselves and the world around us. I encourage you not to stop there, to continue to explore your inner cosmos, to push the boundaries of what is possible.

Use the knowledge you have gained for self-development, effective learning, fruitful work and harmonious relationships. Let cognitive psychology become your reliable compass on the way to success and personal growth!

I apply the principles of cognitive psychology to my life every day. Knowing how memory works helps me to memorize information faster, and understanding the mechanisms of attention helps me to focus on the main things and not get distracted by trifles. When I face difficult tasks, I try to look at them from a different angle and apply a non-standard approach. Most importantly, I have learned to better understand myself, my thoughts and emotions, and the motives behind my actions. This is a priceless gift that cognitive science gives to everyone who is ready to immerse himself in its study.

So feel free to embark on a fascinating journey through the labyrinths of your mind! Explore, experiment, ask questions and seek answers. I'm sure you will have many amazing discoveries and insights. And let cognitive psychology be your faithful companion and assistant on this path.

Bon voyage!

[redladydeath]

Don't know if you need more names for your au but, I love computer/electronics based puns so:

RAM Error (Random access memory is used in computers for immediate data storage and retrieval -- something vox obviously can't do now)

Gridlock (a situation where no progress can be made; also locked in an [electrical] grid)

Burn-in (screen burn-ins occur when an image is fixed/left on screen too long in CRTs)

Short circuit

Overload

Dumb terminal/thin client/zero client (terminals with reduced functionality, optimised for remote connection with a network)

Access_Denied (from window error codes?)

Automaton (automata refers to automated puppets that resemble humans, but it's also a pun on how the original Greek means "acting of one's own will", which well...)

Turing-incomplete (Turing test)

Signal/radio jam (interference with wireless communications)

Mayday

Cutting room floor/bin ends (scrapped footage)

Grayout

Synthetic shock

Monochrome

Ghost in the Shell

Random Access Memory might be the one. The double meaning there is delicious and I wanted something that references the memory issues while still being a computer pun. Thank you anon!

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 37

From this prompt list. If you've read this far, I'm not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn't written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here

Days 35-36 here

***

135. "I'll be honest; I get off to the thought of you."

***

The spaceship's sleep/wake cycle had been reset at some point while Tim was traveling, probably an automatic function of being planetside, and was completely opposite to Gotham. Tim discovered this fact as soon as sunset began to color the sky the distinct mixture of furious greens, reds, and oranges unique to his hometown. His body informed him that it was ready for a decent day's work—he'd actually caught up on sleep while the autopilot was in charge, and now he regretted it.

Jason arrived first, and Tim refused to examine the wave of relief that swamped him at the realization that he wouldn't have to be alone with Damian.

"Hey, Jason," he greeted as he swung open the door.

"What's up, Timber." Jason unlaced his boots and took them off before stepping past the foyer, unshakeable habit left over from his time in the League. "How was space?"

"You know. The usual. Food I couldn't eat, languages I couldn't speak, idiots who needed rescuing."

"That's not a very nice way to talk about Rayner," Jason said in mock reproval, heading for the couch.

Tim snorted. "He was actually really helpful this time. It's not his fault—" A knock interrupted, and he swallowed the rest of the words as something lurched in his gut.

"Whoa. You still spacesick or something?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. "We can reschedule. I'd rather come back later than watch you puke in a trashcan."

Tim forced a smile and headed to the door. "Nah, everything feels like it weighs fifty pounds more than normal and I'm going to be awake for the next 24 hours trying to get back on Gotham time but I'm fine."

He opened the door and nearly choked on his tongue at the sight of Damian in the flesh. Time away had mitigated his recollection so he had sort of mentally combined annoying preteen Damian with his more recent memories. That had . . . probably been an error in judgment, he was realizing, as Damian walked past him, cologne wafting over Tim like a caress, and sat in the most uncomfortable chair like he was making a point.

"Let's make this fast, Todd. I don't wish to spend any more time here than is necessary." Damian's voice was deeper than Tim had remembered. He rested one foot on the opposite knee and leaned back as if he were totally relaxed, but the set of his shoulders told a different tale.

Tim barely remembered to shut the door as Jason chastised Damian for keeping his shoes on—"who raised you, I know Ra’s wouldn't have let you fuck up his floors like this"—and drifted to sit on the couch next to Jason.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Jason's tirade but made no response, and Jason apparently gave it up as a bad job because he opened his laptop without further comment. "So here's what these assholes are up to," he began, rotating the computer so they could see the pictures on the screen.

By the time he was done showing the evidence he'd gathered, Tim had forgotten about anything but the sheer rage throbbing in his temples. "Some of the kids are practically babies. Do their parents know what happened to them? Are they part of it or would it be safe to return the kids home?"

"That's what I need your help to figure out," Jason replied. "I can't find their transfer points, take out their operation heads, root out the lieutenants, and check into the home lives of these kids without you. Hell, I'm not even sure where they're coming from exactly. I didn't take the pictures of the kids, that was one of my contacts in Tulsa, and by the time he got backup to show the kids had been moved on. He did say they weren't speaking Spanish or Portuguese, though, so even though they're coming up through the southern border they're from a place that has a different language. He just didn't recognize it."

Damian hadn't moved during the entire discussion, and anyone who didn't know him would have assumed he was unaffected by its contents, but Tim noticed how his knuckles had gone white where they gripped the arms of his chair. "I will take the job of finding their transfer points. Our previous lack of thoroughness will be remedied."

They hammered out the rest of the details without much more discussion, and then Jason stood. "I've got patrol tonight so I'm gonna head to the Cave. See you, Timmers. Damian, you heading back?"

Damian opened his mouth to answer, but sudden impulse had Tim interrupting, "I've got something for Bruce, Damian, if you can wait for a second."

Damian's gaze flew to his face in obvious surprise, an emotion which Tim completely shared. Why did he always just babble shit out when he was around Damian? This had never been a problem before they fucked, so what was the connection between his dick and his inability to just shut his mouth?

Jason, oblivious, said, "Bye, then," and slammed the door behind him.

Tim spun on his heel and headed for his bedroom, calling over his shoulder, "Be right back. I ran into this Tamaranean who said she knew Bruce while I was on one of the places I made planet-fall, and she wanted me to give him this bottle of liquor I didn't recognize, but Kyle said it was okay and almost definitely not poisonous so I've got it in my bag."

He half-expected Damian to be gone by the time he returned, but instead he was just standing next to the door, looking bored. Tim was so determined to prove to himself that this entire interaction was normal that by the time he stopped in front of Damian, he realized he'd gotten too close. Damian's cologne once again floated over to him and wrapped around his throat like a leash, yanking him still closer.

"Here." He shoved the wrapped bottle into Damian's unresistant hands. "I'll be over at the Cave tomorrow. See you."

He would have made a run for it and let Damian show himself out, but Damian's hand shot out and grabbed his elbow. Tim froze and slowly looked up, making eye contact with some nervousness. That ache in his chest was back, along with the painful cramping in his stomach. Maybe he really was spacesick.

"What's up?" he managed, when no words from Damian seemed forthcoming.

Damian tilted his head, a gleam in his eyes that looked like green ice. "Why are you behaving in this fashion? Have you suffered brain damage in your absence? Oxygen deprivation, perhaps?"

Stung, Tim tried to wrench his elbow out of Damian's grip, but Damian didn't release him. He could have exerted more finesse and broken free with ease, but it wasn't worth the effort. "I didn't know that having a normal conversation was a sign of mental incapacitation. You can go now."

Damian stepped even closer. The heat from his body radiated into Tim's front. "I'm not leaving until you explain your erratic actions. Before you left you had barely said two words to me in months unless I forced the issue. I was actually there at Colu’s demise and you still didn't bother telling me where you were going. And now you're blabbering like someone poured truth serum into your water bottle."

The words hurt, but not as much as the tiny downward twist of Damian's mouth that was a greater sign of distress than he usually allowed himself. Without his conscious approval, Tim's free hand drifted up to cover Damian's where it held his arm. "I hadn’t said two words to you in months?" He had assumed their relationship would naturally return to its previous distant cordiality once Damian no longer required his services, but he hadn't intended to freeze Damian out. He'd let the pendulum of his behavior swing way too far if that were the case.

Damian didn't answer for a long moment, still examining Tim's face like he was trying to read a text in a language he barely spoke. "No. But I supposed that was to be expected, given my childishness. What I don't understand is why you've changed the status quo now."

"You weren't—you weren't childish," Tim said, forcing the words past a lump in his throat. Damn, his body was just falling apart. He needed to never go to space again. "I only—I thought we were done? You asked me for a favor and I delivered and so after that I figured the transaction was finished. We both had a lot on our plates and I guess I thought you were going to go broaden your horizons, work your way down your team’s roster or whatever. They're a lot more age-appropriate than me, anyway."

Damian rolled his eyes and dropped his elbow, though he didn't move away. "I would honestly wonder if you know me at all, if that's what you truly thought I wanted or needed. You don't, though. You should simply admit you weren't attracted to me and took pity on a virgin who begged for help. The truth is preferable to pretending the handful of years between us is an insurmountable gap."

Tim furrowed his brows in confusion. "It's not the truth, though."

Damian scoffed and turned away toward the door. "I've heard enough. Please return to not speaking to me if all you'll do is spout nonsense."

"No, wait!" Tim lunged for him, but Damian caught him by the shoulder and spun him to face him again, slamming up against the door with force that made his shoulder blades sing with pain.

"That is enough," he growled, but his eyes had begun to glitter and his nose was red and it hurt, it hurt to look at him feeling this way. Tim needed a ten-step plan and some advice from his friends but it felt like all he had was ten seconds and his gut, which was churning worse than ever.

"I really am attracted to you," he blurted. Damian straightened, eyes narrowed in guarded skepticism, his hand slipping off Tim's shoulder. "You want the truth? I'll be honest; I get off to the thought of you."

Damian stood immobile for a long second, and Tim stepped aside so he could finally walk out, face burning with embarrassment.

Instead of leaving, though, Damian leaned down and kissed his mouth.

days thirty-eight and thirty-nine here

[csharp-official]

go for it op, your video card will love yet another monitor. ran out of video outputs? use an integrated one in addition to the external one. ran out of that one too? get another gpu. no more PCIe slots? get displaylink adapters. ran out of USB ports? get another computer, connect them to a single network, and use barrier to be able to use a single keyboard + mouse to control them both so you can have more monitors. no space on the desk? get a stand for multiple monitors so you can have monitors over other monitors.

ran out of space for icons on your desktop? excellent opportunity to get another monitor. too many compile errors? more monitor time. needing to keep too much things in your short term memory? another monitor time. conversations happening in multiple discord servers at the same time? excellent opportunity to get a dedicated discord monitor.

monitors monitors monitors monitors monitors nom nom nom I love more screen space and so does my electricity provider

no need to minimize windows if I can put them on another monitor

monitors monitors

imagine the opportunities you can have with yet another monitor

i hate how much a third monitor would improve my general workflow bc even two monitors is too much i wish i could be happy with one lmao

[fatihulusoy]

CL1: The Biological Computer That Plays Pong with Actual Brain Cells

Greetings folks! Strap in, because this one's not science fiction — it’s science right now. What you’re about to read involves a computer that thinks using actual, living brain cells. Cortical Labs has built a system that doesn’t just simulate intelligence — it is intelligence. Meet CL1: a hybrid of silicon, stem cells, and sheer bioengineering brilliance.

TL;DR:

Cortical Labs built a biological computer using living neurons from stem cells. These neurons live on a chip, respond to stimuli, and learn to play Pong through feedback. No lines of code needed — just raw, biological learning. It’s a new chapter in computing where machines grow brains instead of running on silicon alone.

🧠 So, What Is CL1?

Imagine this: you take living neurons — derived from either human or mouse induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSCs) — and grow them on top of a microchip covered in electrodes. These electrodes can talk to the neurons using electrical pulses.

Now give that system a goal — say, playing Pong — and watch what happens. With no pre-programming, these little neuron networks start to learn, just by reacting to inputs and adjusting over time.

This isn't a simulation. These are real cells doing real-time problem solving. Welcome to the era of wetware.

⚙️ CL1's Technical Side:

Neurons: Human/mouse neurons derived from iPSCs

Interface: Multi-Electrode Array (MEA)

OS: biOS (as base biological operating system)

Feedback Loop: Electrical stimulation + live response tracking

Learning Mechanism: Hebbian plasticity ("neurons that fire together wire together")

🧬 How the Heck Does This Actually Work?

Let’s break it down — both biologically and technically:

👾 The Digital-to-Bio Feedback Loop:

CL1 is a closed-loop system:

The digital system tells the neurons what's happening (e.g., “pong ball moving left”)

Neurons fire back electrical responses

The system interprets those firings

Correct response? They get rewarded. Wrong one? They get a gentle digital slap

Over time, the neuron network self-organizes, learning the task through synaptic plasticity

🧪 The Biology Bit:

The neurons are grown from induced pluripotent stem cells (iPSCs) — adult cells reprogrammed into a stem-cell-like state

These are then developed into cortical neurons

The network grows on a multi-electrode array that can both stimulate and read from the cells

🖥 The Tech Stack:

biOS (Biological Operating System): Simulates digital environments (like Pong) and interprets neural activity in real time

Signal Processing Engine: Converts biological signals into digital responses

Environmental Control: Keeps the neuron dish alive with precise nutrient feeds, CO₂ levels, and temperature management

💡 Why This Is a Huge Freaking Deal

This isn't about playing Pong. It’s about building a new class of machines that learn like we do. That adapt. That grow. This rewires the concept of computing from algorithm-based logic to biological self-organization.

Potential future uses:

Ultra-low-power, self-learning bio-AI chips

Medical models for brain diseases, drug testing, or trauma simulation

Robotic systems that use real neurons for adaptive control

In short: this is the birth of organic computing.

🔮 Can We Upload Knowledge Yet? Like Matrix Style?

Not quite. Right now, CL1 learns via real-time feedback — it’s still trial-and-error. But researchers are exploring:

Pre-conditioning neural responses

Chemical memory injection

Patterned stimulation to train in behaviors

In the future? We might literally write instincts into neural systems like flashing a bootloader. One day, your drone might come preloaded with lizard-brain reflexes — not software, but neurons.

🧱 What Comes Next?

We’re at the beginning of something radical:

Neural prosthetics with muscle memory

Bio-computers that can evolve new solutions on their own

Robots that aren’t just “smart” — they’re alive-ish

CL1 is laying the foundation for a new kind of intelligence — not modeled after the brain, but actually made of one.

🔗 Sources:

Cortical Labs Official

Nature Article

The Verge Feature

ABC Science News

MIT Tech Review

Neuron Journal Study

[rallytyper]

Boost Your Keyboard Skills with Typing Games to Improve Speed and Accuracy

In today’s fast-paced digital world, typing is an essential skill. Whether you're a student, a working professional, a gamer, or just someone who spends a lot of time on a computer, being able to type quickly and accurately can drastically improve your productivity and communication. Fortunately, there’s a fun and effective way to develop this skill—typing games to improve speed and accuracy.

These games transform typing practice into an engaging experience, helping users of all skill levels enhance their performance without the boredom of traditional typing drills. A great example is RallyTyper, a free online racing game that challenges you to type your way to the finish line.

Let’s dive into how these games work, why they’re effective, and why RallyTyper is an ideal platform for mastering your keyboard.

Why Typing Accuracy and Speed Matter

While many people focus solely on typing fast, accuracy is just as—if not more—important. You might be able to type 90 words per minute, but if 25% of those words are errors, you’re spending a lot of time correcting mistakes. Efficient typing comes from striking the perfect balance between speed and precision.

Here are some of the benefits of using typing games to improve speed and accuracy:

Increased Productivity: Fast, accurate typing helps you get more done in less time.

Better Communication: Fewer typos and errors mean clearer messages and more professional emails or documents.

Confidence: Knowing you can type with speed and accuracy boosts your confidence at work or school.

Job Readiness: Many careers require efficient computer use. Good typing skills can set you apart.

What Makes Typing Games So Effective?

Unlike traditional typing programs, typing games to improve speed and accuracy offer a more interactive and motivational approach. They incorporate challenges, scoring systems, and visual feedback to keep users engaged. Instead of monotonous repetition, players enjoy a sense of progress and accomplishment.

Games typically provide:

Real-time feedback on your typing performance.

Motivational elements like points, levels, or races.

Stress-free environments that make learning enjoyable.

Instant correction so you develop muscle memory and better habits.

By turning skill-building into play, these games make learning both fun and effective.

RallyTyper: The Ultimate Typing Game

One of the most popular and exciting platforms available today is RallyTyper. This unique game combines car racing with typing challenges. The faster and more accurately you type, the faster your car speeds along the track. One typo can slow you down, making accuracy just as important as speed.

Key Features of RallyTyper:

🏁 Live Racing Mode: Compete against others or race solo.

📈 Detailed Stats: View your words per minute (WPM), accuracy, and error rate after each game.

🎮 No Installation Needed: Just open your browser, visit rallytyper.com, and start playing.

💻 Optimized for PC: Get the full keyboard experience and better control.

🏆 Leaderboards: See how you rank among global players.

RallyTyper is designed to help users at every level benefit from typing games to improve speed and accuracy in a dynamic and enjoyable way.

Who Should Play Typing Games?

The short answer: everyone! Whether you're just beginning or already type regularly, there's always room for improvement. RallyTyper is perfect for:

Students who want to type essays or take notes more efficiently.

Office workers who need to handle emails, reports, and communication daily.

Gamers who want to boost their reflexes and keyboard mastery.

Content creators and writers who rely on typing for long hours.

Teachers looking to motivate their students in a fun way.

No matter your background, using typing games to improve speed and accuracy can give you an edge in both personal and professional settings.

Tips for Getting the Most Out of Typing Games

To maximize your results with RallyTyper or any similar game, follow these simple tips:

✅ Start with Accuracy

Focus on hitting the correct keys. Speed will come with time.

✅ Practice Daily

Even 10–15 minutes a day can lead to major improvements over a few weeks.

✅ Track Your Progress

Use RallyTyper’s stats to see how your speed and accuracy evolve over time.

✅ Use Proper Technique

Sit up straight, place your fingers on the home row, and avoid looking at the keyboard.

✅ Challenge Yourself

Race against friends or try to beat your high score to stay motivated.

Final Thoughts

Typing is no longer a secondary skill—it’s a necessity in almost every aspect of life. But improving doesn’t have to be boring or repetitive. With engaging platforms like RallyTyper, you can enjoy your learning experience and see real progress in a short time.

Whether you’re trying to finish school assignments faster, communicate more effectively at work, or just want to become a typing pro, typing games to improve speed and accuracy offer the ideal solution. RallyTyper turns learning into a race—and every word typed is a step closer to victory.

🔥 Ready to boost your typing skills the fun way? Head over to https://rallytyper.com today and experience one of the most exciting typing games to improve speed and accuracy online!

[websenor00]

Fixing WordPress Update Errors: A Simple Guide for Non-Tech Users

Keeping your WordPress website updated is essential for staying secure, fast, and compatible with the latest features. But when updates fail—especially if you’re not a tech expert—it can feel frustrating and even risky.

The good news? Most update failures are common, predictable, and fixable without needing advanced coding knowledge. This guide will walk you through the most frequent reasons WordPress updates fail and how to resolve them safely and confidently—even if you’re not “techy.”

Why WordPress Updates Sometimes Fail

Before diving into solutions, it helps to know why things go wrong. WordPress is made up of the core platform, plugins, and themes. When any part of that system is out of sync, updates can fail.

Here are the most common causes:

✅ Poor internet connection

✅ Plugin conflicts

✅ Incompatible themes

✅ Server resource limits (like low memory)

✅ Incorrect file permissions

✅ Corrupted or incomplete update files

Once you know the cause, you’re halfway to the solution.

How to Fix WordPress Update Failures – Step by Step

1. Always Start with a Backup

Even if nothing seems broken, backing up your site is the smartest first step. Use plugins like UpdraftPlus or BackupBuddy to save your full site (files + database). That way, you can restore everything if anything goes wrong during troubleshooting.

2. Clear Your Cache (Browser and WordPress)

Sometimes the update goes through—but your browser still shows the old version.

Here’s what to do:

Clear your browser cache.

If you use caching plugins (like WP Super Cache or W3 Total Cache), clear your site cache too.

Then try updating again.

3. Troubleshoot Plugin Conflicts with Safe Mode

Conflicting plugins are a common culprit. To test this safely:

Install the free Health Check & Troubleshooting plugin.

Enable “Troubleshooting Mode.” This temporarily disables all plugins for your session only.

Try updating again. If it works, re-enable plugins one at a time to find the one causing the issue.

This protects your live site while you debug.

4. Check Hosting Resource Limits

Some shared hosting plans have tight restrictions that block larger updates.

Check with your hosting provider:

Is your PHP memory limit too low? (It should be at least 256MB)

Is the maximum execution time too short?

Can they upgrade your hosting plan or adjust settings?

Your host can often resolve this quickly with a simple support request.

5. Manually Update WordPress (It’s Not as Hard as It Sounds)

If the automatic update isn’t working, do it manually:

Download the latest WordPress version from wordpress.org.

Unzip it on your computer.

Connect to your site using FTP (FileZilla is a good option).

Upload the new wp-admin and wp-includes folders, replacing the old ones.

Do NOT touch your wp-content folder (your themes/plugins are safe there).

Visit your site—WordPress may prompt you to update your database.

Follow each step carefully, and your site will be updated safely.

6. Check File Permissions

Wrong file permissions can block updates.

To fix:

Use the WP File Manager plugin or your hosting control panel.

Set folders to 755 and files to 644.

If you’re unsure, ask your host’s support team to help.

These settings ensure your site stays secure and functional.

7. Stuck in Maintenance Mode? Here’s How to Exit

If your site says “Briefly unavailable for scheduled maintenance,” the update process got interrupted.

Fix it like this:

Log into your hosting account (via cPanel or file manager).

Open your site’s root directory.

Delete the .maintenance file.

Refresh your site—it should be back to normal.

When You Should Ask for Help

Sometimes, even after trying all the steps, the issue persists. That’s okay.

You can contact:

Your hosting provider’s support team

A professional WordPress developer

A trusted WordPress maintenance company

If your website is important for your business, it’s worth having someone reliable to handle technical issues so you can stay focused on running your operations.

Conclusion: You’re Not Alone—Websenor is Here to Help

WordPress update failures can feel intimidating, but you don’t need to be a developer to fix them. With the right approach, tools, and guidance, most issues can be resolved quickly—no coding required.

Always start with a backup, clear your cache, check for plugin conflicts, and review your hosting environment. These simple steps can save you time, money, and stress.

If you're feeling stuck or don’t want to go it alone, Websenor is here for you. As a trusted WordPress development and maintenance company, we help non-tech users manage, protect, and grow their websites without the headaches.With Websenor by your side, WordPress becomes simpler—so you can focus on what really matters: growing your brand.