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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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The so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) is starting to put together a team to migrate the Social Security Administration’s (SSA) computer systems entirely off one of its oldest programming languages in a matter of months, potentially putting the integrity of the system—and the benefits on which tens of millions of Americans rely—at risk.

The project is being organized by Elon Musk lieutenant Steve Davis, multiple sources who were not given permission to talk to the media tell WIRED, and aims to migrate all SSA systems off COBOL, one of the first common business-oriented programming languages, and onto a more modern replacement like Java within a scheduled tight timeframe of a few months.

Under any circumstances, a migration of this size and scale would be a massive undertaking, experts tell WIRED, but the expedited deadline runs the risk of obstructing payments to the more than 65 million people in the US currently receiving Social Security benefits.

��Of course, one of the big risks is not underpayment or overpayment per se; [it’s also] not paying someone at all and not knowing about it. The invisible errors and omissions,” an SSA technologist tells WIRED.

The Social Security Administration did not immediately reply to WIRED’s request for comment.

SSA has been under increasing scrutiny from president Donald Trump’s administration. In February, Musk took aim at SSA, falsely claiming that the agency was rife with fraud. Specifically, Musk pointed to data he allegedly pulled from the system that showed 150-year-olds in the US were receiving benefits, something that isn’t actually happening. Over the last few weeks, following significant cuts to the agency by DOGE, SSA has suffered frequent website crashes and long wait times over the phone, The Washington Post reported this week.

This proposed migration isn’t the first time SSA has tried to move away from COBOL: In 2017, SSA announced a plan to receive hundreds of millions in funding to replace its core systems. The agency predicted that it would take around five years to modernize these systems. Because of the coronavirus pandemic in 2020, the agency pivoted away from this work to focus on more public-facing projects.

Like many legacy government IT systems, SSA systems contain code written in COBOL, a programming language created in part in the 1950s by computing pioneer Grace Hopper. The Defense Department essentially pressured private industry to use COBOL soon after its creation, spurring widespread adoption and making it one of the most widely used languages for mainframes, or computer systems that process and store large amounts of data quickly, by the 1970s. (At least one DOD-related website praising Hopper's accomplishments is no longer active, likely following the Trump administration’s DEI purge of military acknowledgements.)

As recently as 2016, SSA’s infrastructure contained more than 60 million lines of code written in COBOL, with millions more written in other legacy coding languages, the agency’s Office of the Inspector General found. In fact, SSA’s core programmatic systems and architecture haven’t been “substantially” updated since the 1980s when the agency developed its own database system called MADAM, or the Master Data Access Method, which was written in COBOL and Assembler, according to SSA’s 2017 modernization plan.

SSA’s core “logic” is also written largely in COBOL. This is the code that issues social security numbers, manages payments, and even calculates the total amount beneficiaries should receive for different services, a former senior SSA technologist who worked in the office of the chief information officer says. Even minor changes could result in cascading failures across programs.

“If you weren't worried about a whole bunch of people not getting benefits or getting the wrong benefits, or getting the wrong entitlements, or having to wait ages, then sure go ahead,” says Dan Hon, principal of Very Little Gravitas, a technology strategy consultancy that helps government modernize services, about completing such a migration in a short timeframe.

It’s unclear when exactly the code migration would start. A recent document circulated amongst SSA staff laying out the agency’s priorities through May does not mention it, instead naming other priorities like terminating “non-essential contracts” and adopting artificial intelligence to “augment” administrative and technical writing.

Earlier this month, WIRED reported that at least 10 DOGE operatives were currently working within SSA, including a number of young and inexperienced engineers like Luke Farritor and Ethan Shaotran. At the time, sources told WIRED that the DOGE operatives would focus on how people identify themselves to access their benefits online.

Sources within SSA expect the project to begin in earnest once DOGE identifies and marks remaining beneficiaries as deceased and connecting disparate agency databases. In a Thursday morning court filing, an affidavit from SSA acting administrator Leland Dudek said that at least two DOGE operatives are currently working on a project formally called the “Are You Alive Project,” targeting what these operatives believe to be improper payments and fraud within the agency’s system by calling individual beneficiaries. The agency is currently battling for sweeping access to SSA’s systems in court to finish this work. (Again, 150-year-olds are not collecting social security benefits. That specific age was likely a quirk of COBOL. It doesn’t include a date type, so dates are often coded to a specific reference point—May 20, 1875, the date of an international standards-setting conference held in Paris, known as the Convention du Mètre.)

In order to migrate all COBOL code into a more modern language within a few months, DOGE would likely need to employ some form of generative artificial intelligence to help translate the millions of lines of code, sources tell WIRED. “DOGE thinks if they can say they got rid of all the COBOL in months, then their way is the right way, and we all just suck for not breaking shit,” says the SSA technologist.

DOGE would also need to develop tests to ensure the new system’s outputs match the previous one. It would be difficult to resolve all of the possible edge cases over the course of several years, let alone months, adds the SSA technologist.

“This is an environment that is held together with bail wire and duct tape,” the former senior SSA technologist working in the office of the chief information officer tells WIRED. “The leaders need to understand that they’re dealing with a house of cards or Jenga. If they start pulling pieces out, which they’ve already stated they’re doing, things can break.”

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months ago

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Women pulling Lever on a Drilling Machine, 1978 Lee, Howl & Company Ltd., Tipton, Staffordshire, England photograph by Nick Hedges image credit: Nick Hedges Photography

* * * *

Tim Boudreau

About the whole DOGE-will-rewrite Social Security's COBOL code in some new language thing, since this is a subject I have a whole lot of expertise in, a few anecdotes and thoughts.

Some time in the early 2000s I was doing some work with the real-time Java team at Sun, and there was a huge defense contractor with a peculiar query: Could we document how much memory an instance of every object type in the JDK uses? And could we guarantee that that number would never change, and definitely never grow, in any future Java version?

I remember discussing this with a few colleagues in a pub after work, and talking it through, and we all arrived at the conclusion that the only appropriate answer to this question as "Hell no." and that it was actually kind of idiotic.

Say you've written the code, in Java 5 or whatever, that launches nuclear missiles. You've tested it thoroughly, it's been reviewed six ways to Sunday because you do that with code like this (or you really, really, really should). It launches missiles and it works.

A new version of Java comes out. Do you upgrade? No, of course you don't upgrade. It works. Upgrading buys you nothing but risk. Why on earth would you? Because you could blow up the world 10 milliseconds sooner after someone pushes the button?

It launches fucking missiles. Of COURSE you don't do that.

There is zero reason to ever do that, and to anyone managing such a project who's a grownup, that's obvious. You don't fuck with things that work just to be one of the cool kids. Especially not when the thing that works is life-or-death (well, in this case, just death).

Another case: In the mid 2000s I trained some developers at Boeing. They had all this Fortran materials analysis code from the 70s - really fussy stuff, so you could do calculations like, if you have a sheet of composite material that is 2mm of this grade of aluminum bonded to that variety of fiberglass with this type of resin, and you drill a 1/2" hole in it, what is the effect on the strength of that airplane wing part when this amount of torque is applied at this angle. Really fussy, hard-to-do but when-it's-right-it's-right-forever stuff.

They were taking a very sane, smart approach to it: Leave the Fortran code as-is - it works, don't fuck with it - just build a nice, friendly graphical UI in Java on top of it that *calls* the code as-is.

We are used to broken software. The public has been trained to expect low quality as a fact of life - and the industry is rife with "agile" methodologies *designed* to churn out crappy software, because crappy guarantees a permanent ongoing revenue stream. It's an article of faith that everything is buggy (and if it isn't, we've got a process or two to sell you that will make it that way).

It's ironic. Every other form of engineering involves moving parts and things that wear and decay and break. Software has no moving parts. Done well, it should need *vastly* less maintenance than your car or the bridges it drives on. Software can actually be *finished* - it is heresy to say it, but given a well-defined problem, it is possible to actually *solve* it and move on, and not need to babysit or revisit it. In fact, most of our modern technological world is possible because of such solved problems. But we're trained to ignore that.

Yeah, COBOL is really long-in-the-tooth, and few people on earth want to code in it. But they have a working system with decades invested in addressing bugs and corner-cases.

Rewriting stuff - especially things that are life-and-death - in a fit of pique, or because of an emotional reaction to the technology used, or because you want to use the toys all the cool kids use - is idiotic. It's immaturity on display to the world.

Doing it with AI that's going to read COBOL code and churn something out in another language - so now you have code no human has read, written and understands - is simply insane. And the best software translators plus AI out there, is going to get things wrong - grievously wrong. And the odds of anyone figuring out what or where before it leads to disaster are low, never mind tracing that back to the original code and figuring out what that was supposed to do.

They probably should find their way off COBOL simply because people who know it and want to endure using it are hard to find and expensive. But you do that gradually, walling off parts of the system that work already and calling them from your language-du-jour, not building any new parts of the system in COBOL, and when you do need to make a change in one of those walled off sections, you migrate just that part.

We're basically talking about something like replacing the engine of a plane while it's flying. Now, do you do that a part-at-a-time with the ability to put back any piece where the new version fails? Or does it sound like a fine idea to vaporize the existing engine and beam in an object which a next-word-prediction software *says* is a contraption that does all the things the old engine did, and hope you don't crash?

The people involved in this have ZERO technical judgement.

#tech #software engineering #reality check #DOGE #computer madness #common sense #sanity #The gang that couldn't shoot straight #COBOL #Nick Hedges #machine world

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stickia404 · 4 months ago

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"We do what we must, because we can"

Whenever you get an idea, you must ask your self some questions: is this possible? How long would it take? Is it worth it? Should I even do this? However, some ideas politely ignore all of these questions and go straight into action.

Introducing the World Slate:

World Slate, The Great Work, Ghost-Circle, "Sophia why the fuck did you even think of making this," whatever you call it; it is a massive Spell Circle that is approximately 11 thousand blocks by 12 thousand blocks large. This covers about 30% of the overworld of the HexxyTest server.

For those who don't know Spell Circle Tech: a Spell Circle calculates ambit based on how big it could be, rather than based on where it does runs. So you can "trick" a Spell Circle into having a massive ambit by having a looping system that connects to outer "prongs" via a directrix. This is how the World Slate has complete ambit over 30% of the whole overworld. However, there is a large problem, lag.

Spell circles (shouldn't) gain lag while running; since they now, in 1.20, run each pattern while going over them. On the other hand, during a start-up a Spell Circle needs to calculate what slate it can run on, caching it into its NBT data. This seems like it could be a large source of lag, since it's doing a flood fill over possibly thousands of blocks; but, that is only half true. If all the slate blocks are in the same loaded area, the flood fill only takes a few milliseconds, barely anything. But, to get the block data to find where the slate could go, it has to load the chunk the slate in, which is not that bad, IF the slate does not go across ~1400 chunks. Loading, and calculating, that many chunks will lag a server badly (maybe even kill it); so the project seems hopeless.

But, there is a way to fix the lag of loading ~1400 chunks in less than a tick, optimizations.

Since I know Java and some bits about modding, I have been trying to fix some more laggy parts of Spell Circles. I have already fixed a moderate lag source of looping Spell Circles (chunk bans are fun!). So it hypothetically shouldn't be too hard to somehow optimize Slate Discovery.

There are 2 large problems with optimizing Slate Discovery though: How to locate them, and how to store the found slate. The 2nd problem is much easier to solve, rather than storing them in a set of raw Vec3s like it does now, it would be best to compress them down (maybe into a string representation or something) then uncompresses them when it is running. This could be done with a small, quick compression algorithm.

However, optimizing the finding of the slate is another problem. The best system would be finding the slate without loading the chunks, but this is impossible, so we need to use a 2nd method.

That 2nd method would be to break up slate discovery over time, so instead of loading ~1400 chunk all at once, we can just load 200 chunks each tick until we get all ~1400 chunks. This system does have some minor problems, and a big problem. The small problems would be: how to keep discovery going if the server closes, how would you serialize the discovery list, how would you tell the impetus to look over time, etc. And these problems are simple enough; however, the big kicker is that the player could move slate during discovery.

As said by Chloe, people could move the slates in discovery, meaning they could cheat the system by moving the slates while they are being scanned, and still get "world ambit" for about fre. This is, unfortunately, just a problem that would have to be accepted for a system like this.

I do think that flaw can be somewhat ignored though. Since, if you are willing to make a Hex (or a massive contraption) that works every tick to move earth-shattering amounts of slate; then you can have world ambit fuck it.

Or you know, instead of doing this whole massive problem if optimizing slate scanning just do something like re-adding the slate limit

However, if you have any ideas of how Slate Discovery could be optimized; or if I am insane for starting this project; please let me know.

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zenia62 · 18 days ago

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Daendels Benefits as Governor General

Art. 1. Colonel General Daendels has been appointed Governor General of our East Indian possessions.

Art. 2. He shall enjoy the following benefits:

1st a sum of eighty thousand guilders for his crew and for the maintenance during the journey of himself and of the high officials, both civilian and military, as well as of the persons attached to his service:

2nd to an annual salary, commencing on the day of his arrival on the island of Java, a sum of one hundred and eighteen thousand eight hundred guilders:

3rd he may make such part of this salary payable to his wife or her agents as he may deem fit, in accordance with the arrangements which he shall make in this respect with the Minister of Commerce and Colonies;

4th if he should die during the first four years of his mission, his widow will receive a pension of five thousand guilders per year, payable every six months and commencing on the first day of the quarter of a year which will commence after the day of his death:

5th If his death should occur after the expiration of the first four years of his mission, his widow will enjoy the pension contained in the proposal made to us by the Minister of Commerce and Colonies on December 29, 1806.

Art. 3. He will furthermore retain his current salary, calculated at a sum of twelve thousand guilders.

Art. 4. He will be authorized to propose to us two suitable persons to be appointed as members of the high government of the Indies, one as an ordinary and the other as an extraordinary member, who will make the journey with him, as well as two or three officers of experience to be appointed as colonels and to serve with him as adjutants.

Art. 5. He will propose to us twenty or thirty officers for the service of the colonies in the East Indies; he will also take with him five or six surgeons to be employed there.

Art. 6. Immediately after his arrival in Java, the present interim governor, Mr. Wiese, will be honorably discharged from his position and thanked for his services, unless Governor General Daendels should deem it necessary to employ him.

This came from Plakaatboek which if u guys don't know; It's basically the book that made many ppl change their minds abt "Daendels being evil". Well, in my five years of researching, I js skimmed them today 💀 I know this book exist, I js don't read it bcs I know it's mostly going to be tough for me to understand so I always push it away. Not this time tho. Well mostly bcs I'm curious n hey, there's probably smth I can take right 🧐

This is pretty cool ngl, I mean from what I read; I think his benefits is alright imo. Also; Aleida mentioned yay ^^ "If he should die..." is insane tho lol. Anyway, that's all for now, thank you n have a great day, stay safe 🌙

#daendels #napoleonic era #history #napoleonic wars #dutch #dutch history #napoleon’s marshals #governor general #dutch east indies #benefits #plakaatboek

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wordywarriorwrites · 4 months ago

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Trouble

A03 | Pairing: Dave York x OFC | Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of violence. Language. Smut. Angst.

Summary: Dave's in hiding and always on the move. He knows better than to allow himself to be drawn in, but this time, he just can't help it.

A/N: For @yxtkiwiyxt's Never Have I Ever Challenge. Also, "Trouble" by Ray LaMontagne played repeatedly in my head while writing this.

A tiny café in Podunk town, with only two tables and no security camera. Their version of a morning rush (ten patrons – six women, four men) had come and gone an hour ago. Dave people-watched, mentally mapped out exit strategies, and sized up items he could use as weapons.

But he hadn’t prepared himself for her.

Black shoes, black pants, and a purple sweater. Dark hair and dark eyes. A lemon poppyseed muffin and a steaming cup three times the size he had in his hand. His mind calculated her. Assessed her. Turned her over until he concluded she was simply a late arrival and posed no threat.

“May I?” she asked, index finger pointed toward the empty chair across from him.

Dave knew what he looked like – unshaven, with threadbare clothes, unkempt hair, and an overgrown beard. He no longer bothered with the eyepatch because he was badly scared and had grown weary of trying to hide it for the comfort of others. He was clean but wanted to appear haphazard and unapproachable, and most people – especially women – averted their gaze or looked right through him, which was how he preferred it.

The other table, situated beneath a large, overly blurred poster of a coffee bean, had been taken up by a middle-aged woman with a cellphone that she was manically glued to. He'd gotten a brief glimpse of the screen and knew the lady’s poison was online slots. Addicts were everywhere, even in small towns, and her wild eyes indicated that she had zero intention of leaving the only place other than the library that offered free Wi-Fi.

“That’s Veronica,” she whispered gently. “She’s… Well, she’s struggling.”

Between the choice of sitting with him or the twitchy gambler, this woman seemed to find him the lesser of two evils. Dave wasn’t flattered or insulted by it. He could’ve left – just vacated his seat, taken his overpriced java and too-dry hunk of banana bread, and walked right out the door. He could’ve gotten back into his shitty car and kept on down the road, but he didn’t.

Instead, he looked up at her, and when he met her eyes, he realized the mistake in his assessment. She wouldn’t slit his throat – that much he was confident about – but she was trouble of a different kind, and something about her made a synapse fire in his brain. Dave hadn’t meant to nod because even the most innocuous things, like sharing a table with a stranger, could cause problems.

But then, she smiled, and that was that.

A nondescript Toyota, with a false VIN and fake plates – that was Dave’s home and mode of transportation. A flat tire should’ve been relatively easy to deal with, but he couldn’t get the damn thing off with the tools he had on hand. Being trapped had thrown him into an even higher plane of hypervigilance, and though several people had slowed down and offered to help him, he’d either ignored or refused them.

Then, she arrived.

Her vehicle – a dark green truck with an open bed and flashing hazard lights – slowed to a stop right next to his. There hadn’t been a polite offer for Dave to refuse or disregard because she hadn’t bothered with one. She simply climbed down from her truck, snagged her toolbox from the back, and joined him on the side of the road.

“Well,” she sighed as she rolled up the sleeves of her maroon-colored hoodie and crouched beside him. “Looks like you’ve damaged your nuts.”

In the past, he would have laughed and maybe even engaged in some light banter. But this wasn’t the past, and he wasn’t amused.

The silence that followed was broken only by an occasional car passing by. Her bolt extractor and hammer, his brute strength and stubbornness – a winning combination that saw the flat removed and the equally pitiful spare put into place.

She stood tall and wiped her hands on her dark blue jeans, “You’re going bald.”

Dave grunted and packed up the toolbox. The flat went into the trunk, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her gesture with a pointed toe encased in a leather loafer toward his back passenger tire. It should’ve been replaced thousands of miles ago, but he kept that to himself. He kept all his thoughts to himself and slammed the trunk shut.

If she thought him rude, she didn’t show it; she just recommended a shop a couple of blocks over that would give him a fair price on a set if he was interested.

He quirked a brow.

She retrieved her toolbox, waved, and took off without a backward glance.

Dave no longer had the pretty face he once had, nor did he have access to CIA-level tech, but he still could learn things about people when he put his mind to it.

He found out her name. Discovered she was the town’s resident bookkeeper, and she worked from home. Was informed that she preferred appointments, but also took walk-ins, and her standard order at the café was a triple-shot espresso.

And chestnut brown, Dave decided, was the color of her hair.

A small, one-story brick house on the end of Corduroy Lane, with an antique-looking business sign in the front yard that listed her services and credentials. A solitary concrete step that led up to a stoop too small to be classified as a porch. A bright red door. A brass claddagh knocker.

The last notes of the bell had just faded when she answered, dressed in black slacks and a pale green button down, face fixed into a professional expression. A practiced exterior that faded quickly, followed by a pleasant greeting and a smile – neither of which he returned. Instead, he held the coffee he’d purchased for her aloft and gestured for her to take it.

She accepted it with a small nod, and as she sipped, Dave thought what an easy target she’d make.

A single woman who worked alone and most likely lived alone. The kind of woman who invited strangers into her home, trusting they wouldn’t hurt her as she poured over their financials and unwittingly learned all their dirty, little secrets. The type of woman who sat at tables with men she didn’t know, who stopped and helped them change flat tires and accepted coffee from them. A woman ignorant to the danger that could reach out and grab her at any time…

“Do you like pizza?” she wondered.

Dave blinked. Nodded.

“Fiona’s - the bar around the corner - makes a good pie.”

That smile of hers appeared again. A car door slammed shut.

“Sorry to cut this short, but my next appointment is here,” she announced, eyes momentarily pulled to the delicate timepiece on her right wrist before returning to him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Dave may have shrugged. He might not have. All he knew as he headed back down the sidewalk toward his car with its’ four brand-new tires that had depleted nearly all his savings was that she needed a better deadbolt for her front door.

By the time Dave arrived at the bar, she was already two slices into an extra-large meat lovers, and the pint of beer she’d ordered was half-empty.

A high back stool with legs that wobbled like a newborn foal. Tomato sauce and oregano and maraschino cherries. A stereo that blasted Guns and Roses fought for dominance with a flat screen that had been turned on to the ballgame. A neon Coors Light sign. A sticky floor that made his boots squeak with every step.

“Beer?” she offered.

He nodded, and a few moments later, the bartender slid him a pint of whatever was on draft with an acceptably foamy head. While he settled in, she grabbed a handful of napkins from the pile by her elbow and dropped several slices onto a paper plate.

“Place is a shithole,” she declared as she placed the napkins and plate in front of him. “But the beer is cold, and the pizza is good.”

Five pieces later, Dave agreed, and her unassuming presence, combined with nobody else joining them at the bar, helped keep his shoulders from crawling up into his earlobes. It was a lot for him – the noise, the smells, the people, the terrible lighting, but seated next to her…

“Diner up the street has fish fry on Fridays,” she voiced. She dipped her crust in a little plastic cup of ranch and shrugged as she brought it to her mouth. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Dave sat back. Ran a napkin over his mouth. Her profile was soft. Her ears were pierced, but unadorned, and she had a freckle about an inch from her lateral canthus. The high-waisted bellbottoms and buttercup yellow sweater made her look warm. Approachable.

As she chewed, he tried to find something – anything, really – to explain why the hell a good-looking woman like her would bother to give a man like him the time of day. He’d been trained to sniff out subterfuge and knew exactly what pity looked and sounded like, but he could sense none of that.

He finished his beer. The bartender refilled it.

“Fridays?” Dave muttered.

“Fridays,” she replied.

He nodded. She saluted him with her own refilled glass.

Dave met up with her at the diner on Friday.

Stupid, really, to allow himself to become entangled with her. A risk, too, because of her standing in the town and his unfortunate-looking face. People liked her. Knew her by name. The waitress who brought the menus and silverware covered in water spots eyeballed him hard, and Dave should’ve cared about that, but he hadn’t given a damn.

Because he was uncharacteristically horny. And suddenly starved for attention. Her attention.

Pathetic.

“I’ve never broken a bone,” she stated absentmindedly.

The booth across from them was crammed with high school kids in nearly identical letterman jackets. One boy, maybe sixteen, was seated on the outside, leg outstretched to accommodate a rather large, neon-pink cast. The large “C” on his chest indicated he was the boss of the bunch, and the way the others sucked up to him confirmed it.

Dave had already clocked the rowdy group and the crutches against the wall when he walked in, but still, he followed her gaze until it returned to him. She popped a fry into her mouth and chewed politely while she seemed to consider him.

“Have you?” she eventually wondered as she reached for her drink.

The ice rattled as the straw passed her lips, and the thought of her mouth and all its unknown capabilities burned through him like a shot. Dave imagined how sweet her cola-coated tongue would taste. How nice it would feel wrapped around his cock. He wondered if she’d swallow.

Embarrassed and ashamed, he cleared his throat and looked away. The waitress chose that moment to return and glare at him some more, which he inwardly admitted he deserved. Outwardly, he ignored her. Refills, extra napkins, and more tartar sauce – the topics covered gave him time to compose himself, and when they were alone again, she prodded once more.

“Several,” Dave finally answered.

“Bad accident?”

“Pushed off a cliff.”

She paused mid-squeeze on a lemon wedge, but her eyes never wavered. Even when the waitress came back with their requested items, she didn’t look away. Even when the bell above the door chimed and announced the arrival of more customers, her stare remained focused.

Two toddlers in the booth behind him had been jumping up and down and singing the same refrain of Wheels on the Bus for a solid fifteen minutes. The couple seated behind her had been arguing over everything from the cable bill to the acceptable amount of pepper one should put on mashed potatoes. Someone dropped a plate, and the sound of shattered ceramic momentarily sucked all the noise and levity from the room.

Still, she hadn’t flinched.

Dave had told so many lies about his scars that it had become impossible to remember them all. Even the doctors and nurses who’d saved his life never learned the full details of what happened. She was the only person he’d ever told the truth to, and the unintended admission had somehow made the burden he carried feel less heavy – like simply telling her, even without the gory details, had halved the weight somehow.

Chaos resumed quickly, but the tension remained and stifled the little conversation they’d been having. Eventually, she transferred her purse to her lap and outed two twenties. Crisp, clean, and not at all like the bills he had wadded up in his pocket, she placed them next to her plate and polished off her soda.

The strap of her bag was thin, with a shiny silver buckle, and it slipped over the round of her shoulder without any fuss. When she scooted out of the booth, Dave followed suit, and the narrow, cramped space of the aisle put him in the closest proximity he’d been to a human being since his brush with death.

“I like you,” she asserted.

He stared down at her, “That’s unfortunate.”

Brow furrowed, she turned and headed toward the door. Dave followed her and silently admired her form as she stepped out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. He knew her truck was parked close to the building, which he thought was very sensible, and he escorted her to it.

She outed her keys, “Ever slept with someone on the first date?”

“No,” he answered.

“Me neither,” she admitted. "But I want to. With you."

Once the locks were disengaged, Dave reached for the handle and opened the door for her.

“This wasn’t a date,” he said.

She sighed, “You sure about that?"

It had been two weeks since fish fry Friday.

Well, thirteen days and sixteen hours, to be precise.

Dave’s primary focus had become getting out of town, which he needed money for – a few hundred, at least, if he wanted to put some real distance between himself and this woman who’d started to preoccupy his thoughts entirely too much.

Luckily for him, the town had enough small business owners who supported veterans. Once he’d told them his injuries were war-related, and that it had been hard for him to find steady work, they’d been all too eager to let him do odd jobs in exchange for cash. He was a liar, yes, but not a thief, and it would take a few more days – maybe a week – but only if he stayed focused.

It was Thursday. The clock on the dash signaled it was nearly midnight. He’d just gotten to his preferred parking space – a spot behind the animal shelter that offered direct escape routes, good coverage, and lighting that allowed him to see anything that might come at him.

There was another, smaller lot behind the grocery store, but he only parked there on nights when he couldn’t sleep. Tonight, he was tired. So, he parked at the shelter. And perhaps if he hadn’t been so tired, so focused on getting the hell out of town, on getting the hell away from her, he would’ve noticed her truck when he pulled in.

She emerged from the back door, bag of trash in hand. Head on a swivel, she scanned the lot as she marched toward the dumpster. She opened the lid. Tossed the bag inside. Dave stupidly held his breath, as if that would somehow prevent her from seeing him, but she knew his car.

As soon as she spotted him, she stopped.

Dave had a half tank of gas. The key was still in the ignition. But his treacherous hand went for the door handle instead. The hinges squeaked loudly, and as he slowly climbed out, she crept forward, until she’d moved out of the light and into the shadows with him.

“I volunteer here,” she said.

“I park here,” he replied.

She nodded. Shoved her hands into her pockets. Told him she’d made lasagna, if he was interested in that sort of thing, and headed back inside.

Twenty minutes later, when her truck eased onto the street, he followed.

Dave recalled washing his hands at the kitchen sink. He ate three servings of lasagna. Drank several glasses of water. Whatever happened after he helped clean up was lost on him because, like a fade-to-black moment in a movie, his mind blanked.

When he came back online, it was to the scent of dark roast and sunlight. Other details trickled in slowly, like the too-small couch and the ache in his lower back. The soft blanket draped over him and the pillow tucked beneath his head. Belt and boots off. Shirt and pants on. Big toe stuck out of the hole in the seam of his sock.

He sat up. Wiped the sleep from his eyes. When he looked around, he spotted her in the kitchen, robe donned and steaming mug in hand.

“You snore,” she voiced.

He grunted. Stretched. Got to his feet.

“Bathroom?” he yawned out.

She gestured toward a slightly ajar door with her mug. After Dave finished and stepped back into the living room, he looked around her home and took in all the minuscule details he’d only briefly glossed over the night before. Like the shearling rug beneath his feet, the candles on the coffee table, and the small television in the corner. Books. Magazines. A coat-and-shoe-rack combo with seasonal attire and several pairs of well-worn shoes. A fish tank without any fish. Gauzy curtains, creaky hardwood floors, and an antique mechanical calculator.

A pair of double doors with frosted windows – that’s what separated her personal and professional lives. A neat-as-a-pin space, with carefully situated office furniture, fake plants, and tall floor lamps. The desk was also tidy – just a laptop, a box of tissues, and a pen holder. There was a small filing cabinet within arm’s reach, a framed degree on the wall, and a sideboard with a Keurig.

A contradiction of spaces – one he took in the source and reason of when his eyes finally stopped ping-ponging and returned to her. Adorned in a clownfish orange robe and holding an obscenely large cup with the phrase Save the Whales on it. A bruise on her shin and toenails painted a deep berry color. Her hair glowed in the sunlight, and when she turned and opened the cabinet nearest her, the hinge squeaked.

“Name’s Dave,” he confessed to her back.

She stilled for a moment. Then, both mugs were carefully placed on the counter. She didn’t say anything – just turned her head slightly, revealing the slope of her nose, the apple of her cheek, and the barest, upturned corner of her mouth.

A few footsteps – that’s all that existed between him and her, and he shortened the distance until his hands could reach the frayed fabric of her robe. The rounds of her shoulders fit perfectly in his palms, and her hips filled his grip when he squeezed them. The robe had been worn in, made softer by repeated washing and wearing, but it was nothing compared to her skin. A tiny sliver of it was revealed to his eyes and touch because there was a tear the size of his thumb just above the belt around her waist, and it was enough to make him ache.

“What do you want, Dave?”

"You," he admitted, eyes trained on the flutter of her lashes.

She let out a ragged breath, “Okay.”

Throat tight, he swallowed hard and reached for the tie beneath her belly button. Dave tugged at it until the belt gave way, and the halves of her robe split open like a curtain, revealing to him what he could have only imagined just seconds before. A bare line of flesh, from collar bone to pubic bone. The curve of her breasts. The soft swell of her belly. Another tug and the robe became a forgotten heap of cotton on the floor at their feet.

He paused. Allowed his thumb to find a home in the space between the vertebrae in her tailbone. The coccyx – a small, curved bone at the base of the spine – was extremely difficult to break, but he’d done it before. He'd made it look like a slip-and-fall accident. He could do it again if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered as he guided his hands up her sides. He cupped her breasts and squeezed gently. “I won’t hurt you.”

"I know," she replied, tone strong and certain, bowing into his touch. "I know you won't, Dave."

He closed his eyes, pressed his nose to the crown of her head, and nudged at her ankle with his foot. He hadn’t said a word, but still, she’d listened beautifully and shifted her stance. That action alone was enough to get him buzzed, to fill his cock, and make his mouth water. When he opened his eyes, the sight of her ass stuck out and her hands braced on the counter made him groan.

Dave unbuttoned and unzipped. Shoved his jeans and underwear past his hips. He knew he no longer deserved this, but he wanted it. He wanted her. Was starved for her. His body practically vibrated with a need so strong that it felt as if he could be broken all over again by it. His mind was so wild with anticipation, with such an overabundance of eagerness, that he nearly froze.

“This morning,” she exhaled shakily, voice now tinged with shyness. “I touched – but I couldn’t. I tried. I’ve been trying…”

The immobility that had threatened to overtake him fluttered away and was replaced by something akin to empathy. Teeth dug into his lower lip, Dave carefully reached between her thighs and found the evidence of what she’d barely managed to admit to. Hot. Wet. Swollen with arousal. He slowly spread his fingers around until they were coated in her slick, and she whimpered when he slid two deep inside her warmth.

She pushed back against him eagerly, and Dave may have been rusty and nervous as hell, but he hadn’t forgotten. The addition of another finger and slow, firm strokes to her clit with the pad of his thumb – that's what made her flutter and roll her hips. He pushed her hard toward her orgasm, not because he wanted to rush, or because he wanted his turn, but because he could sense just how badly she needed it. She needed it desperately – almost as desperately as he did.

“How long?” Dave demanded gruffly. “How long have you been like this?”

She held the countertop in a white-knuckled grip, “Since the restaurant.”

It happened fast for her, just as he'd hoped. Her thighs twitched, and then, her knees wobbled. Pressed up against her as he was, Dave felt the way it trembled through her, the way her chest vibrated as she vocalized sounds of relief. He saw her through it, let his touch absorb the delicious aftershocks, and when he slowly slid his fingers out from between her legs, she whined in protest.

“Still want it?” he asked against the shell of her ear.

“I want it, Dave,” she exhaled with a nod. “I want you.”

Fingertips dug into the meat of her hips, Dave guided himself into her, right down to the base. He clocked her gasp. The way she strained on tiptoe. How her plush ass flexed against his groin. She adjusted, surrendered, and squeezed down hard around him like she’d be content to hold him within her, just like he was, for however long he desired.

Jaw clenched, eyes fixed on where they were joined, Dave eased back and pushed forward again. He watched, transfixed, as he disappeared inside of her. She was drenched, and his cock glistened with every retreat and thrust.

Paces matched, rhythm found, gratification coaxed until it burned painfully hot and bright. Hips sharply angled. Fast and deep. She whisper-chanted his name as he strummed her clit, and the scent of her shampoo, the soft backs of her thighs, her hands splayed wide across the countertop – so erotic, so beautiful…

“Feels good,” she murmured, words soft and blissed out. She pushed back down on him and stuttered out a breathless curse. “You feel so fucking good, Dave.”

Head drooped, the line from the nape of her neck to the slope of her shoulder was fully exposed. Compelled, without consideration or reason, suddenly greedy and inexplicably possessive, Dave sank his teeth into her flesh. An untamed sound escaped her throat, one that instantly became imprinted on his brain, and when she gushed around his cock, his head spun.

He stroked her already oversensitive bundle of nerves until she jolted and whimpered and knocked what would’ve been his mug of coffee into the sink. Dave could feel the way her body warred, how eager she was to both drown in and escape from the onslaught. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, and with her face upturned and her eyes on him, he felt truly seen.

And completely safe.

“You want it inside,” Dave stated, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Don’t you?”

She croaked out an unashamed, “Yes, I want it inside,” and that spurred him into doing perhaps two unwise, but wholly necessary things. Dave came inside her – rocked his hips and ground himself deep as his release rushed through him. Then, he kissed her – used his tongue to pry her mouth wide open and plunder. And she reciprocated, all muffled mewls as she held him within her, thighs pressed tight, and walls furiously clamped.

He grazed his teeth over the shell of her ear. Ghosted his mouth along the hinge of her jaw. Felt a pang of displeasure when he eventually slipped from her – an emotion that was almost immediately replaced by something dark and ferocious as he watched his come trickle down her inner thighs.

She turned slowly toward him and smiled, “Wanna go get tacos?”

Dave’s stomach growled and served as an answer. When she smiled, he decided she was more than worth the trouble.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

#dave york fanfiction #dave york x ofc #dave york fanfic #dave york fan fic #dave york smut #wordywarriorwrites #nhie2025

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iferguerrero · 2 years ago

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How long did Simon and Betty know each other? Timeline

How many years did the stable relationship of Simon Petrikov and Betty Grof last?

Hello, everyone, I bring you this post that is focused on the past of Simon and Betty, in Fionna and Cake we are given more information about their relationship before everything that happened in Ooo.

I have several theories about the dates, which is why I created a timeline.

I filled in some boxes with drawings.

Simon Petrikov & Betty Grof Timeline

1 week

1.The whole story begins when Simon and Betty want to take the same book from the library, but let's not forget that Betty had already been following Dr. Petrikov's work, which is revealed in "Jerry," "I've admired your research for years," which leads us to assume that since she was studying her career, she already knew Dr. Petrikov but only as an author of books. 2. After that, in "Temple to Mars," when they pass the tests, it is revealed that she was planning a trip to Australia to study petroglyphs, and her plane leaves in a week. (This is where she mentions that she left her career for Simon. I consider that she refers to her career not at the moment of the bus but at the moment when Simon looked for her through the Jambo portal in the episode "Betty." This is where Betty's career was cut, I'll explain this further.) 3. She already had the ticket for the trip, but just that week, she attended Dr. Petrikov's lecture, where she expresses to Babette the following: "I touched his hand in the library once." 4. Excited by Dr. Petrikov's lecture, she wants Dr. Petrikov to sign her book. They make comments about a vase, and Dr. Petrikov says it would be very good for her to accompany him on the expedition to search for The Enchiridion. She doesn't think twice and accepts. Dr. Petrikov is surprised but agrees that she can join the trip.

1 month

5. Dr. Petrikov and Betty go on the expedition to search for The Enchiridion. I want to believe that this took them a month, during which they got to know each other better as people. 6. They have fun, and it's clear that Betty is not afraid of anything, and in the end, she doesn't do what Dr. Petrikov says. 7. They return, and the word spreads. Dr. Petrikov wants both to get credit, but Betty doesn't want it. Dr. Petrikov doesn't express himself correctly and tells her that “it's indispensable”, and Betty leaves.

3 weeks

8. A "couple of weeks" pass, which could be calculated as 3 weeks, and Simon reads the note and rushes to Betty. 9. Simon and Betty reveal their mutual feelings, but in doing so, Simon stops Betty from getting on the bus. 10. My favorite scene ❤️

1 year

11. In the episode "Bespoken For," we are shown that they met for lunch at Captain Tasty's, and they used to eat there all the time. They even had a favorite table, and since Simon belonged to the "Book-a-day club," he gave books to Betty because she belonged to the "Book for the bookless" club.

2 years

12. In the episode "Come Along with me," this sweet scene shows that Simon and Betty live together. Simon is reading a book that mentions "GOLB," but he doesn't fully understand it. 13. Betty tells him to stop doing that and suggests they make sundaes. 14. Betty throws a can of cherries at him and accidentally hits him. Here, it's clear that she's concerned, but Simon takes it well, knowing it was an accident.

1 month

15. In the episode "Simon Petrikov," Simon talks about going on an expedition to the Temple of Java with Betty, where they lost half of their provisions, but Betty somehow put together a four-star dinner.

1 year

16. In the episode "Jerry," Simon comments that Betty makes the best soft-boiled egg, not runny, but perfectly jammy. (It is adorable how Simon expresses about Betty)

3 years

17. Betty and Simon write a book together. According to the internet, the average time to write and publish a book is 3 years.

1 month

18. Simon goes on another expedition and purchases the crown in Northern Scandinavia from "an old dockworker" as part of his studies to be an antiquarian of ancient artifacts. 19. Betty "disappears." (Although we know that she actually went to the future). 20. Simon records the tapes.

So, from what we can see here, it would be an approximate total of:

7 years and 4 months

What do you think? :)

From my perspective, this is a very good amount of time to get to know someone, especially considering that they were already living together. This is why Betty Grof was of legal age, and she knew what she was doing consciously. I believe there was a lack of communication towards Simon, and Simon should have asked because if we notice in the episode "Simon Petrikov," he tells Finn that if he is the one leading, making it clear that Simon could easily have gone along with whatever Betty wanted to do. As I mentioned, Betty felt that her career ended when she was transported through time by Simon, not before.

Thank you guys!

#adventuretime #letter #adventure time #ice king #fionna and cake #petrigrof #simon petrikov #betty grof #timeline #years #golbetty #Y.C.P 5547.

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kajaono · 11 months ago

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I think the US has been a huge cultural shock for me for several different reasons (German here)

I have been to A LOT of different countries (Europe as well as south east Asia). And of course these countries all have different rules (how to tip f.e) and different food and traditions. But in the end it is always -more or less- easy navigating in those countries, because the „standard rules“ for „standard stuff“ are the same.

Not in the US�� Idk if they even realize that btw?

That starts with the tipping. Every country has their own rules when to pay, who to tip, how much to tip. But no matter where i was, you usually round up to the next appropriate sum, hand out the money and say: „thank you.“

Not in the US. First you pay, (it’s not what you expect btw, because taxes aren’t included yet) then you get the recipe, then you write down your tip by hand, then you have to calculate the finale number and also write down the finale number by hand. The most complicated way to give a tip I ever encountered?!

Public toilets look like an invitation to spy on your neighbor?! (Just a side note)

Food? I have been on many different flights throughout my life (shame on me) and so far everyone said: „and after the dinner we serve water and coffee“. The American airline was the first one to say: „we serve a big selection of Coke“?! (That isn’t healthy!)

Same goes for the coffee break during our conference. Coffee wasn’t served, but Pepsi and Dr. pepper. Believe me, I am used to be served all kind of different stuff during coffee break from Fika to Geplak. But you always get water or tea or coffee.

And finding healthy food is incredible difficult. The US is the first country I have been to where they write the kcal next to their foods. I tried to find something without meat, a salad bowl… something like that. Nothing. Even the pizzeria served Burger? (Okay I was in Kansas City but still. Which Pizzeria served Burger?)

Also in the most rural area in Indonesia i was able to find an all vegan restaurant. Sure it’s part of their culture with having three major religions around, but today you can also easily find humus or avocado toast, nearly everywhere. Not in Kansas City. Atlanta Airport or Detroit airport. Nothing.

Also the insane amount of plastic that is used? I mean… maybe I was naïve but I thought: „hey they are western, I am western. The trash rules are probably similar.“

Yeah… no… Java has better anti plastic rules then the US (I am not talking about if Java also handles the plastic better at the end of the chain, but Java managed to enforce strict rules in a few years. Hardly any plastic anywhere. In the US? Everywhere.)

Also the costumer service. I mean they are all super friendly, they call you „hun“ and „babe“ (which i can deal btw) but because they act so bff with you I had more then one situation where they crossed the line to: „inappropriate“ in a way that I have never seen a costumer service do ever before

On the other hand I probably encountered the best costumer service ever.

So yeah… I had a wild time

#us culture #European in the us #personal #usa

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spydekkn-blog · 4 days ago

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🧩 Day 11 of Java Mastery: Relational Operators Want your code to make decisions? Read Blog: https://wp.me/paNbWh-6A #Java #JavaMastery #Day11 #RelationalOperators #LearnJava #100DaysOfCode #CodeNewbie #JavaBasics #LogicBuilding

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avaquava250 · 3 months ago

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Hi! I really hope you read this, so I had an inquiry on tech as well. I know python, Java script, LUA, front end, CSS, and lastly, HTML. however idk what to do, so far in tech I’ve created a car that can surpass any obstacle on its way controlled by a PS controller. What are other things you have created that you want me and everyone reading a try. List down as many or every idea you have because I’ll choose a couple to work on for the summers. Thanks a lot! You’re an inspiration!

Omg so sorry I don't think I saw your ask and I got a bunch of spam that I had to sort through

I think one of the most difficult projects is a robot arm, make one that has 3 or 4 points of actuation and are all individually controllable

And then write a function that can calculate how to move the hand to any XYZ position

Hopefully that's enough of a challenge for you ;)

#coding #programming #robotics

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erik-even-wordier · 3 months ago

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About the whole DOGE-will-rewrite Social Security's COBOL code

Posted to Facebook by Tim Boudreau on March 30, 2025.

About the whole DOGE-will-rewrite Social Security's COBOL code in some new language thing, since this is a subject I have a whole lot of expertise in, a few anecdotes and thoughts.

It launches fucking missiles. Of COURSE you don't do that.

Yeah, COBOL is really long-in-the-tooth, and few people on earth want to code in it. But they have a working system with decades invested in addressing bugs and corner-cases.

The people involved in this have ZERO technical judgement.

#shared from facebook #social security administration #doge

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