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andmaybegayer · 13 days ago

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youtube

Rambling: So much of this is just like. It's all the money, you can't get around the money. Engineering is primarily a cost optimisation problem, so is business, where do you buy your parts, how much do you pay your labour. The companies can make equal quality goods cheaper in China because of the industrial base. Western workers don't want to work in manufacturing because it doesn't pay as much or as reliably as other jobs.

I like reading articles and watching videos about factories and a thing you find with a lot of American factories is they're often highly specific niche industries where they don't have much competition or they're really low volume where less intensive manufacturing processes still work or they have big military contracts that give them their base income. Really it's wild how every little engineering shop in the US requires base level security clearance because they make the cable harness for the Hornet or whatever. And crucially, crucially: they employ 100 people. Planning to work for one of these companies is like planning to be a pro baseball player but you make $35/hr.

I studied in South Africa, and I studied electrical engineering, but like. That was my fifth or sixth choice from a personal interest perspective? As a teenager I was really into biochem. I really wanted to work on like. Bioreactor stuff. South Africa has okay industrial chemistry but not that much biochem. So why would I go spend five years getting a biochem Masters and hope I could find a job at one of like six companies. It's a bad move! Once again, baseball player odds! Mostly if you're lucky you'll get to fuck around in a half-related field for a few years and then you'll wind up with some office job that you found because it turns out running tests on paint shearing isn't personally fulfilling enough to make you stay in a lab job.

Hell, even taking the Good Hiring Engineering Job market, it's a goddamn pain in the ass to find any actual engineering work. I applied to dozens of internship positions every semester at engineering firms and workshops and never so much as heard back, whereas I could go to the software job fairs and get two offers and several interviews for a vacation job in a couple weeks. You can swim upstream to get in there but even if you're willing to take the pay cut, engineering jobs are slow moving and slow hiring, and in small departments your professional progression is often gated behind someone retiring or dying.

A while ago someone (was this Reggie? sounds like him EDIT: YEP) was talking about how part of the reason why no one in the US for the past 20 years can do like, epitaxial growth optimisation isn't because there's some philosophical or educational divison, but because anyone committed and driven enough to spend months optimizing that would just put that energy and commitment into going into software or becoming a quant or some other higher yield option. Meanwhile if you're a driven and focussed ladder climber in China there's dozens of factories looking for someone to do exactly this. The people in the West who are so into this that they still do it are often in academia, not industry, and that's an even more competitive and impenetrable sector to get into. Getting a PhD grad job in academic chip manufacturing is miserable, it's basically a six year long interview process that costs you hundreds of thousands of dollars that has a 0.1% chance of panning out.

Actually, I did once do a factory internship, it was my only nepotism internship, at a construction materials factory where my dad was a manager, and it was really interesting work! I had a lot of freedom in a small engineering team and I spent a while understanding a bag filling machine and reading manuals and tuning the control process and talking to floor workers and designing sheet metal parts to improve their jobs. And when I talked to the engineer supervising me I found out he was on a six month contract that wasn't getting renewed and he would be leaving the company basically the same time my internship ended. That company hadn't hired a full-time process engineer in ages, and probably never would if they could avoid it. Not encouraging!

People often say you should get into the trades because they pay well and are material fulfilling work. This is like. It's an elision. Successful tradespeople are in very high demand, but becoming a successful tradesperson is very, very finicky. I worked with a lot of electricians and millwrights and technicians, and for every tech who was successful and running a roaring business there were five guys stuck in eternal apprenticeships or struggling to make a name for themselves in the industry on their own. Some trades are great for this, other trades are 90% training scams where you spend nine months and five thousand dollars on a course that gives you a certificate almost no one cares about.

Every now and then I talk to an installation tech I used to work with who has a bunch of CCTV and security certs he got in the DRC, and he is just absolutely struggling to get by. There's already enough successful companies to serve the demand, why would you take a risk on this fly-by-night? He could find a technical job, and he does, but it's a dead end, everyone wants a base technician forever, they don't want you to upskill and move on. They hire in an external electrician to come in for an hour sign off on your work, and that's all you need.

You can't develop an industrial base unless it's appealing to work in the industrial base. If you're an industrialising nation, the appeal is "It's not farm work and you might get some real money instead of a sack of barley" but in a modern society you need to pay at least as well as the office jobs. If your industrial sector is small it can afford to only hire the most qualified people because it's a labour buyer's market, and that's how you produce a massive knowledge gap.

#Youtube #industrial capacity #engineering #smartereveryday is an interesting example he is a weapons engineer and a weird military guy #which like yeah that's how you do manufacturing in the US. Every little engineering shop needs military clearance #having a weird week re: industry i guess

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manupropriaindigo · 2 months ago

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Vitae

You're stuck in a room full of gears and pulleys and winding contraptions. Mazelike complexity fills your brain and shoves everything else away.

Your job is to operate and maintain the device. Pay attention and do not let a single element fail. It's incredibly important you do not make a mistake.

You know how most elements operate. With effort and diligence and rapidly stacking bottles of cola you're able to just about keep up with the machine room

Occasionally, you're forced to consult a manual or ask the foreman a question. Nights, do you hate asking the foreman anything.

His responses are always curt, usually snide, and occasionally outwardly cruel. You can see his disgust for you in his eyes. He knows what you are, even if everyone pretends otherwise. Especially you. Once he called you an idiot within earshot of the burgher who owned the plant.

You smile anyway.

The day ends when your body is about to collapse. The machine room is built specifically to siphon the vitae from you. Your kind. Funded by barons and designed by those venal enough to turncoat to transfer your divinity into a measurable, transferable essence, poured into further machines...

You carry your exhausted body to your tenement and collapse at your workbench. Sitting on a shelf is a poppet. Your poppet.

It sits incomplete. It's still eyes stare past a missing face into yours. The faint vapor of vitae within you condenses into pareidolia.

"Please?", the poppet whispers.

You haven't been able to gather the vitae to finish it in... months? Years? You slump in your chair.

You feel nothing, save a blank void inside and a single tear down your cheek.

#empty spaces #microfiction #dollposting #the makers #not a person

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malfunctioncrash · 3 months ago

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(NC, pain play)

I buy my sexbot second hand. It's an older model, less streamlined than the new droids they're coming out with- Clunky, dusty, but it still serves it's purpose extremely well. It comes with a charging cord and a case of different cocks I can manually change out.

It doesn't have the robust AI newer models are required to run with. Safety concerns make such basic, barebones programming illegal to manufacture now a days. But it's cheap, and I don't care about anything fancy. I just want to get fucked. I use it without issue a handful of times. Sometimes if I push a session too long the thrusting mechanism gets a little rough, jerky instead of smooth. The room fills with heat, and there's a smell other than sex, sweat, and lube- something thick and hot and industrial.

It doesn't respond to my body or the way I moan. It doesn't touch me gently or prep my hole before it slides it's cock inside. It doesn't love me. It's a machine, built to fuck and nothing more. It listens and processes basic verbal input, but there's no complex machine thinking past that. That's part of the draw to me.

One day I'm on my hands and knees with it mounting me from behind. It's segmented fingers are wrapped so tight around my hips I'll be covered in bruises once our session is over. I've spoken a long string of commands to it today. Faster, harder, deeper, harder, harder, fuck me harder- until it's pounding me with the custom made thick, fat cock I've got it equipped with so rough I know It'll be hard to sit the next day.

There's a fizzle and a pop somewhere behind me, but I don't notice over the sound of metal slamming against my ass. Modern sexbots have dozens of failsafes to stop a session at anytime. Older models like mine have only one point of failure- verbal commands are the only way to control it. And that pop was the sound of its microphone reciever going out.

I don't notice until the second time I cum, riding out the thrusts as I come down and finally decide I'm done. Slow down I command, content to lazily fuck the last bit of pleasure out of my overworked body. But it doesn't slow down.

I repeat myself once, twice, three times. Stop! I order but my sexbot just keep reaming me with the brutal, steady pace I'd demanded. It hurts now, pleasure bleeding into pain. I struggle and thrash and writhe but it's grip on my hips keeps me in place as it continues to fuck me. It never once stutters its pace or it's depth, shoving itself into me to the root of its cock every single time. Please I beg but it's rudimentary AI wouldn't know how to respond to that even if it's audio receptors were in perfect working order.

Hours pass. My hole is raw and chafed. My arms and legs have given out so I'm collapsed on the floor in a heap. My sexbot is still railing me, holding me up by my hips as it mercilessly ruins me. The custom cock is so fucking big. Why did I make it so thick? So long? The room stinks of overworked machinery. Everytime I start to grow numb the the consistent strokes the bots hips skip and stutter and I'm forced to stay present. My phone is ringing but I can't reach it. Everything hurts.

Finally, it runs out of battery. It returns to its neutral position as the power flickers out, releasing my hips and unceremoniously popping its cock out of my ruined hole as it heads to the other room to await charging, just like it was hard programmed to do.

My hole gapes open even as swollen as it is. I've already cried out all my tears but one more rolls down my cheek in relief. It's over. I pass out on the floor.

A month later, I'm back on my hands and knees with my bot mounting me from behind. This time, I've rigged it's microphone to turn off on purpose.

#pmv2🤖communicates #robophilia #robot fucker #cnc k!nk #nc⚙️#pain play

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unholyhelbig · 1 year ago

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Would love some Kate Bishop angst

Title: Past Tense

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4027

Summary: Kate Bishop returns to her hometown unexpectedly following some bad news. She's shocked when she runs into you and struggles to grapple with her past choices.

Warnings: Funerals, hurt/comfort, drinking, work injury/ burns, spelling mistakes and grammar issues (I'm sure)

[A/n: Hello! Just a little disclaimer, this is probably going to be the last thing I can publish for the rest of the month. I've got a massive work project, I move this coming weekend, and it's my birthday at the end of the month so my time is quite limited. But things will pick up again next month]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Day had barely broken over the horizon, but the world around you was impossible to ignore. There had been snow the night before, something that everyone believed was too cold to be possible. A thin layer of ice had encrusted each car before the soft, powdery type had built up on windshields and culminated under tires.

Large, wet flakes swirled around you and despite the gloves that clung to your skin, they didn’t do much for the numbness in your fingers as you fumbled with the keys to the coffee shop. Moisture had wicked through the fabric, and you hastily took them off before flicking on the house lights.

It was just past 5am and the usual crowd of early risers were soon to arrive. You made quick work of starting all the machines, the cooling cases and the manual grinder. Your baker had been in earlier, filling the displays with various muffins, baked goods, and sweets. A smooth cinnamon scent filled the air and warmed you all over.

“Son of a bitch!” the muffled exclamation formed a smile against your lips.

MJ was bundled up in a sweatshirt, a flannel, and a heavy winter coat over that. Her boots were caked in dry snow. There was a deep red blush against her nose and her cheeks that accompanied her scowl.

“Language, there are children present.”

“We’re the same age!” Peter protested as he pulled himself through the back door. He was dressed in less layers but sported the same winter complexion. He shook the large flakes of snow from his sweater, mumbling “Son of a bitch.”

It was cold enough to warrant you closing the shop. Most of the schools and the businesses in town had called for a snow day, something that didn’t happen often in Connecticut. Frigid temperatures were expected. Below freezing was a way of life and the world didn’t stop craving warm coffee to thaw them out.

This fact was proven when you flipped the open sign and the typical crowd of tired eyes started to line up at the counter. Peter typically had too much energy, so MJ took up the register while her counterpart flitted around and filled the orders. Most were to-go.

You’d known these people for years. They’d come in with a habit that was unmatched by the weather and the any other obstacles thrown at them. Before you opened up ‘The Grindhouse’ you’d gone to high school with them.

Through all the proms, and the homecomings, and the house parties that left you vomiting in the yard amongst their parents’ flowerbeds. Since then, you’d grown up and couldn’t stomach more than a few shots or two glasses of wine, tops.

They’d grown up too, those who had stuck around town. They had families and businesses much like yours. You had homeroom with the accountant that had helped you hedge your money in the correct places, and you made the same bacon, egg, and cheese English muffin for the star football player that blew out his knee senior year.

“Welcome to Grindhouse,” you said distractedly at the sound of the bell above the door, working on clearing the fallen grounds from under the espresso machine. The rag was damp and the floor was already coated in little brown specs that needed to be swept up during a lull.

“What can I get started for you?” MJ asked in her usual cadence.

“Just a plain black coffee, please.”

Your body froze at the sound of the voice, hair falling into the gaze that you refused to lift. There was a strange mix of emotions in the pit of your stomach. That voice, with it’s familiar rasp was one you hadn’t heard for years. Nearly a decade. But it couldn’t be her, could it?

She’d left for New York right after high school. The last you heard, she’d become a doctor. An unrivaled cardiothoracic surgeon that flitted around the world wherever she was needed. There was no reason for her to be back in this small, freezing, end-of-the-earth town.

“That’ll be 2.25, we have cream and sugar on the far wall, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.”

It was her. It was most definitely her. There was a crispness to her voice that you’d recognize anywhere. The last you remembered; it was whispered with a quickness that rivaled her hands. Her hands were everywhere. They were warm and calloused and gentle.

There was a sudden bubbling heat against the side of your hand. You hissed through your teeth and pulled back from the espresso machine. There was a large bubbling welt on your skin and a string of curses ready at your lips.

“Jesus, y/n are you alright?” Peter was at your side in a moment with a wet, clean cloth that he had run under cold water. “Do you need the burn kit?”

“No, no. I’ll be alright. Thanks Pete”

He was so attentive and clocked you with a worried stare but you reassured him with the squeeze of his shoulder with your good hand. If you were going to fly under the radar before, it would be impossible now.

You glanced over the counter, pressing the cloth even closer. Your suspicions had been confirmed by the tepid gray stare that met yours. Shock simmered behind Kate Bishops gaze, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

Suddenly, you felt dizzy. She looked a bit older in the face, more experienced. There was life there, a form of living that had lowered her shoulders and sealed her lips. The Kate you knew was a bumbling mess- but med school had effectively changed that.

“y/n,” She regarded you.

“Hi, Katie.”

That lopsided, sloppy grin was still the same. It reached her eyes and brightened them. You cradled your hand and reveled in the silence. Peter and MJ had frozen in place, flicking their eyes from you and then back to her.

“Want me to take a look at that hand?”

“What are you doing back in town?”

The two of you spoke at the same time and dissolved into nervous laughter. You shook your head. “I thought you were a surgeon?”

“I know how to treat a burn, y/n, don’t insult me.”

You often prided yourself on your strong will. If you had a weak one, it would have been impossible to build this coffee shop up from the rubble that it once was. Kate Bishop, Doctor Kate Bishop, had a way of melting your resolve.

Peter shoved the small plastic first aide kit into your hands and shoved you forward. There was no choice to hide your stumble other than a confident stride towards her. She led you to one of the tables that spanned the windows at the storefront. They were lined with frost, a biting cold fighting to get its way in.

Kate had about a half-inch on you and radiated a type of warmth that was unmatched. When she grabbed your sleeve and dragged you to a sitting position right across from her, you were practically putty in her hands.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you.” She spoke without looking at you, unlatching the kit and pulling on the blue latex gloves with practiced ease. She couldn’t see the look of shock on your face. “This place is beautiful. I remember when it was that pizza place.”

“Ah, pizzapocalypse. Who would have thought that a combination shooting range and Italian restaurant would fail?”

Kate chuckled and tenderly pulled your hand closer. Her touch was barely a whisper against your skin, strands of black hair falling into her eyes. She examined the angry red mark. It had already started to blister. The espresso machine was kept at unbelievable levels of heat.

She grabbed one of the wrapped applicators, using her teeth to tear away at the wax paper. Kate squeezed a small dollop of burn cream onto the end. You hated the cloudy clearness of the substance.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you too, you know?”

“Have you? This might sting a little bit. Do you want a countdown?”

“No, just do it I’m a brave- Fuck!” She’d already started, and you gave her a vicious glare. She shrugged with that infuriatingly perfect grin of hers. “I thought you were in New Zealand for some medical internship.”

“New Hampshire, actually. Not as exciting, I know. It was going well, but Eleanor died.”

There was a tightness to her voice. Typically, you looked away from anything involving wound care. If you were to get a shot, you’d stare at a small spot on the wall that interested you. Drawing blood was more of the same, it was just harder to ignore the needle in your arm.

Kate was working hard at the bandage in her hand and finally pulled it apart. Despite the frustration etched into her features, she applied it with a certain level of care. You didn’t’ say anything. Your hand was throbbing uncomfortably.

“She was old, we knew it was coming and pancreatic cancer, well, it’s a bitch by the end and Susan asked me to fly in for the funeral. How could I say no to that? Flying in for my mothers funeral when I was too busy working to witness her descent?”

“Katie,” You breathed out.

“That should be healed up in a few days. Make sure you change out the bandage.”

You couldn’t’ get a word in edgewise before she started to shove the contents of the case back into their proper places. The chair made a horrible scraping sound that you felt in your teeth. Kate grasped her coffee, colder than it was a few moments ago.

“Thank you for… this. I’m sure it’s delicious.” She had her hand on the door. Her quickness was unmatched. Both in and out of the OR, from what you had read. But she paused, looking at you for a moment. “I’m proud of you, y/n. This place is great. Really.”

Kate had vanished into the whiteness of the blistering day. You watched her navigate the snow with ease. Eleanor had died. How could you live in such a small town and not have heard about the woman’s passing?

The Bishop family was always a private bunch, and with Kate moving right after high school graduation, you hadn’t any reason to go past those wrought iron gates. Kate’s older sister would stop by for a hot drink once every other month or so, but you saw her coming from a mile away and selfishly hid in the back.

Eleanor had died.

There was a softness to her that you remembered fondly, a memory of Kate and you as children in the heat of summer. You’d been stung by a wasp and cried and cried until Eleanor rushed into the yard and scooped you into her arms.

Much like Kate had just done with her soft ministrations, she fixed you right up by applying a mix of warm water and baking soda. An old family remedy, she said. The venom had stopped screaming and the tears eventually stopped for both you and Kate.

Eleanor was a kind, if not private, woman. One that you thought of daily when you clocked the photo of High School Graduation on the dusty bookshelves in your living room. Your own mother hadn’t attended, but Eleanor was right there. She was right there.

“Who’s the girl?” MJ drawled out, leaning heavily on her hands, a goofy look on her face. Peter was next to her, doing the same, both eyebrows raised.

“Kate… She” You picked up the plastic first aide kit. The two of you had a habit of not sitting still and it was better to move to replace the supplies then let them sit out here. Besides, a customer could walk in at any moment. “We were engaged.”

Peter shot up “What?”

“It was a long time ago, it’s not important.”

“You were engaged, I think that’s important. How old are you?”

“First, rude, second; old enough. And really, guys it’s not a big deal. Both of us moved on. Life happened.”

They exchanged a look that, in the past, had never meant anything good. MJ had her arms crossed over her chest and Peter leaned heavily on a broom he had grabbed, hugging it lose to his chest. You rolled your eyes, attempting to ignore them both was impossible in a place this retrospectively small.

“I don’t know, boss. The way she was looking at you… maybe neither of you really moved on.”

“I write your paychecks; you understand that right?” You turned to face them. “Kate and I are done. We have been for a long time. She made that very clear when she gave the ring back and I refuse to push the matter.”

It was collecting dust on your bookshelf next to the photo of your graduation. It was a small emerald, green box that you hadn’t opened since you resituated the diamond ring. It had been stupid to propose, a last-ditch effort to get Kate to stay. She’d said yes. And then she said no.

The baker’s old Subaru wouldn’t start because of the bitter cold. It sounded like an old wife’s tale that made you chuckle to yourself while reading the text that popped across your screen.

Before you had hired him for the long nights, you’d done the baking yourself and it wasn’t a horrible chore. You’d just have to down some caffeine and slam it out; trays filled with mini cakes, with quiches, donuts and cheese tarts. It was like a methodical science project with the bonus of eating the food that didn’t look edible.

It was midnight by the time you’d pulled the first couple trays from the large industrial oven and exhaustion was starting to bay its head. You weighed the option of going home and just spreading out the pastries in the case.

All thoughts of sleep left your mind when a rapid banging filled the store. The front glass doors were being tugged upon. And while you were more than willing to die in this coffee shop, being robbed was not the way you wanted to go. There was less than three hundred dollars in the register.

You grasped at the broom, your hands covered in flower and caked on the bandage that was applied earlier. Another round of bangs as you tried to stay low and reach for the cordless phone. There was a silhouette outlined by the gray white of the snow.

Doctor Kate Bishop.

She’d given up on her breaking and entering and pressed her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging it up. It was hard to tell, but you were sure her eyes were clenched shut. There was a brown paper bag in one hand that looked suspiciously like a large bottle of alcohol.

Your grip was tight on the broom, even as you felt confident, and a little sad, about opening the door. Kate fell forward and a blast of cold enveloped you. She made a small noise at the back of her throat, regaining her posture.

“Were you going to sweep me to death?” Kate asked, “I brought whiskey.”

“Here I thought you weren’t going to come back here with the way you ran out earlier, and now you arrive with gifts?”

It was a low blow, but she had shrugged her shoulders with her goofy grin and snow in her messy hair. “Come drink with me, just for a little bit in our old spot. Don’t make me play the dead mom card.”

Saying no to Kate had always been hard for you. It had been hard when you were children and she dared you to jump from high places, always stopping you by the collar of your shirt before either of you got hurt. And it was especially hard to say no to Kate in your teens when she would kiss hot trails against your throat, marking them with bruises. Not that you were rushing to deny her.

“Really?” You asked, “Aren’t we a little old to be caught sneaking booze in the gym?”

Both of you knew for a fact that the side doors leading into the school would always be open. There were no alarms, or flood lights, because it was a small town and nothing bad ever happens in a small town.

She jutted out her bottom lip into a pout “Y/n, my mom died.”

“Okay, alright. Let me lock up.”

Kate stayed quiet on the three-block walk to the school. It was shrouded in darkness, an inky black despite the swirling gray of the night sky. Your high school had been the largest in the county; two floors filled with classrooms. You’d stuck to the same ones and Kate was the life of the party wherever she went, the bright spot in an otherwise dingy room.

The bottle of alcohol dangled by her side as your footfalls crunched over ice and an ugly brown slush of snow. It felt normal, almost, walking with her. Being with her. Staying in town was a brave choice after being dumped and equivocally left at the alter. You had powered through the looks and the whispered accusations. But some part of you was relieved she’d chosen this interaction to take place in the middle of the night.

When you’d gotten to the double doors of the large gymnasium, Kate’s boot slipped on a particularly nasty spot of ice. Instinctively you grasped her arm and righted her. She thanked you silently before pushing into the warmth of the space. The motion censor lights flicked on and you squinted against them.

“They built a new one, you know? A gym. I think they still use this for craft fairs. Fundraisers. But all the big stuff is off site in this state-of-the-art center.”

Kate blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Remember when Tommy Shepard broke your nose with a basketball?”

“Yeah, I do. I also remember sneezing right after and spraying him in blood. Everyone else was grossed out except for you.”

Kate dropped onto the large eagle in the center of the floor. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, and the bottle was idling between them. You let out a small groan as you joined her. Neither of you had ever been bold enough to inebriate yourselves in the crest. Instead, you’d hide behind the fold-out bleachers that were pushed against the walls, but this would do.

“That stupid EMT wouldn’t let me get on the ambulance with you.” The seal on the bottle cracked viciously, much like your nose, as she unscrewed the cap.

“And I told you I didn’t need to go the hospital. I think I was a liability, though.”

Kate laughed, taking a deep gulp from the bottle. It hit the back of her throat and she hissed in response before thrusting the whiskey your way. You took a smaller sip, let it coat your tongue and burn your stomach.

The mood had stilled, and she took another swallow before setting the bottle between the both of you like a vice or a buffer. You couldn’t decide what.

“Eleanor had very specific instructions in her will. She… shit, she planned her whole funeral out before she died in her morbid meticulousness. She picked white lilies, and a beautiful black casket. She already had a plot of land picked out in her family plot. Music picked out. A fucking guest list.”

You fought the urge to reach out and comfort her. So, you grabbed the bottle instead and gulped down a bigger heaping than before. The amber liquid was dipping down behind the black wrapper.

“The only thing she didn’t do was write her eulogy. No, she left that up to me as one last fuck you because that’s how she operates. She didn’t’ ask Susan to write it, or my dad. She asked me because I’m the one that left home. I’m the one that left her.”

The worst thing you could do was agree with Kate Bishops dead mother. And you didn’t, really. You’d always been happy for Kate. This town was too small for her and the lives that she saved were plentiful. But some selfish part of you understood where Eleanor was coming from.

You were possibly the worst person she could go to with this issue and by the frown on her face, she knew it too. For the longest time, you were there for each other. And if Kate had called out of the blue and asked you to go to New Zealand or New Hampshire, or whatever; you would go.

She’d do the same, you were sure. One call, one letter and she’d be here. But neither of you were brave enough to reach out and heal the wound that festered between you. You pulled your knees up to your chest, rested your chin against them with a quiet breath.

“Maybe you don’t need to write anything. Maybe you can just… say how you feel.”

“Yes, because that has worked out so well for me in the past.”

“Fair point, but she was your mother, not a fling. Even if you don’t have a script planned out, it’s worth just feeling the moment. No matter how shitty that moment is.”

Kate inhaled and held that breath in her chest for a few seconds before pushing it out. Her eyes searched you in a probing way that made your skin prickle. Blush started to claw its way up your throat. You’d blame that on the alcohol, you always were a light weight and it showed in your complexion.

“Is that what you think you were?” her voice was a low and raspy whisper “a fling?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You never say anything you don’t mean. All you’ve ever done is calculated and well thought out. You’ve always had a plan.” She looked down at the frayed edges of her jeans, playing with the strings to avoid looking at you. “You were my everything.”

Your voice was a quiet murmur. “Katie,”

She reached out, her warm hand wrapped around your wrist in a tender display of affection. Her eyes met yours and it was the longest the two of you had stared at one another without breaking eye contact. Your stomach was a pit of nerves and heat.

“That scared me when we were young. It fucking scared me out of my mind how content I was with you. I was ready to risk everything, to settle down in a small house and wake up every single morning next to you.” She drew in a sharp and shuddering breath “But we were young, and I hadn’t lived life and that scared me even more.”

“I know, Kate, I know. I shouldn’t have proposed, and I certainly shouldn’t have put either of us in that position. You were right to turn me down. You were right to move on and fight for the future that you deserve.”

Kate sniffed, using her free hand to wipe away the few crystalline tears that dripped across her cheeks. You found yourself pulling her close, letting her sob into the crook of your neck as you held her, your arm wrapped around her center to stabilize her.

Things were boiling over and the tension that had been weighing on her shoulders since she’d first shown up in town started to slowly drain. She missed her mother, she missed you, and that wasn’t something you were willing to process on the crest of the school’s gymnasium.

Kate’s fingers were curled into the fabric of your shirt, and eventually, she settled. Her nose was cold against your pulse point and the bottle of whiskey had been long forgotten. As self-centered as it was, you wished you could hold her forever. Feel her touch on yours for something other than a reminisced sadness.

“If you asked again,” Kate mumbled into the collar of your shirt “If you asked me again, I would say yes.”

“I know, Katie. I know.”

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #Kate bishop x reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction #hurt/comfort #Ask #I promise Kate Bishop actually has a sister #Susan Bishop

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 2 years ago

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the abandonment issues au,,

where Sun and Moon gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss their way into ur heart

and then turn into sad wet baby kittens when u find out and call them out on it <3

(copy and pasted from the space aces discord, sorry fellas lmao)

abandonment issues au:

ok what if. fucked up au time

where. reader is the new daycare assistant or a mechanic or smthn idk theyre working withh Sun and Moon thats the important part

i think it works better if theyre like, Sun n Moon's handler? Bc they r closer that way and it makes it more fucked up lmaooooo

so basically. this takes place right after Sun n Moon had their best friend-handler person leave bc Sun n Moon had been acting increasingly volatile n buggy n rlly just having issues but the more the previous handler tried to talk to them abt it and fix it the more they got anxious abt getting decommissioned and would cover up the problems n act like nothing was wrong

and eventually one day the previous handler nearly got rlly hurt and knew they had to leave bc it wasn't safe for them and they left a detailed warning/report for the mechanics

(and they didnt say goodbye, not out of malice or anything just bc they didnt want even more reasons for Sun n Moon to act up/potentially hurt them or themselves)

so. the mechanics did a total clean up of Sun n Moon's system, basically left their memories but scrubbed their data of a lot of the 'feelings' they'd had- mostly wiping away the feelings tied to 'good' memories, and the only thing Sun n Moon could do to fill in the void of 'feelings' was assign different feelings in their place, so when they once looked back and felt happy or nostalgic, now they feel confused and angry and sad and betrayed bc why was all of that happiness taken from them?? why did their handler hurt them like this??

so the scrubbing of their systems, which was one thing they really really didn't want to have done for fear of losing their memories entirely, DID work in putting their issues on a much lower level,, but it didn't get rid of the issues entirely. Now they're just,, easier to hide or play off or ignore. They're careful around the kids, of course, but they do at times have trouble with their motor controls or their speech will glitch slightly, etc

a few handlers come and go, never staying for more than a week or so- none of them really care about the job, don't see Sun n Moon as coworkers but more like fancy 'machines' with no real thoughts or emotions, they normally leave after Sun or Moon has a glitchy moment and nearly hurts them or, in at least one case, does hurt them by squeezing their wrist too hard. more often than not, the ppl applying for the position read the list of warnings n cautions and are like 'hell nahh' and bail immediately

then. in comes,, reader. local dumbass. most endearing of idiots. a bit dense. very much clueless. dearly beloved

you're the first one to really treat them like your coworkers, making small talk and being friendly and kind and patient and laughing at their jokes. you smile when you introduce yourself, offering your hand for them to shake- not afraid of them or their little twitches at all. god, how they missed that. you remind them of their previous handler, if only in how you see them like theyre people and not machines.

and they make a mutual agreement to do whatever they can to keep you as their handler. even if it means dodging around company rules and policies by doing something like crumpling up the confidential 'warning' forms, ortelling the occasional white lie, like forging your signature onto the papers when your back is turned and making sure it makes it to your manager without either of you noticing who exactly was putting it on their desk.

you've already started calling them your friends the first time they have a glitchy moment. you're doing detailing work on their endoskeleton, really just cleaning dust away and making sure everything looks the way it does in the manual, when they break something- a tablet, a pen, your phone, whatever it is, it happens in an instant and startles you.

when Sun n Moon come to and realize whats happened theyre terrified. what if you use this as some kind of excuse to leave? What if you abandon them, just like their previous handler did? What if you start treating them differently, or you tell the staff that they need to be scrapped

so when you ask what that was about, they're frantic, quick to come up with something, anything that might make you shrug and forget all about it,

"Well, you WERE just working on their insides, right? That must have been something YOU did to suddenly make us do something like THAT! There's no way else it could have happened. Right?"

You take the lie hook, line, and sinker, apologizing profusely, promising to try harder to make sure nothing like that happens again. The relief they feel is almost euphoric. They pat you on the head kindly, reassuring you that they know you didn't do it on purpose, it was just a little mess up! You're fine, friend, we forgive you.

From then on, they dodge blame and truth alike, most often redirecting your attention to something you must have said or done to make something so strange and out of character for them happen so suddenly, and you believe them, full of apologies and careful words and actions and nervous worrying about doing things wrong and hurting them somehow. It's cute, how anxious you can get. It's cuter, how you melt for their comfort and reassurance.

They play the song and dance with you again and again, weaving doubt and guilt into you more and more frequently. Until one day, you mumble something about how 'maybe i'm not cut out for this, maybe i should switch to be on the janitorial team instead, or some other department, i don't want to hurt you guys, or-or be the reason someone else gets hurt, i clearly dont know what im doing, and it's only gotten worse, maybe i should talk to my manager,,' and they panic

don't be silly, friend!!!! you can't just leave like that, what about the kids, what about that puppet show you had helped them plan, did you really want to just abandon all that?? so what if maybe they had the occasional hiccup, you were always there to smooth it over, who cared whether they dropped things from time to time, or- or broke a toy or two, that didn't matter, did it??? You were getting so good at being their handler, your little mistakes were normal, come on, you don't want to leave your very best friends. Do you?

and you cave, agreeing to stay, and they are so, so extremely careful to hide their little moments from you for several weeks, making sure you don't notice their tiny twitches or split seconds of glitchy voices, maybe keeping a closer eye on you than would be comfortable, watching over your shoulder each time you type up a report about the day, giving the manager a loathsome glower behind your back whenever they happen by,, and every time you leave you say 'i'll see you guys tomorrow!,' they grab onto your sleeve and respond with 'promise?' so you always know that they really, really do want you to come back

and then. one day,, you decide to go looking in their files for something small and silly, like what kinds of updates had been added to their pick-up protocols, and you find the warnings and cautions forms

and you see your signature on them, but you would definitely remember this and you are absolutely certain you have never seen these papers in your life. and you take the papers and you go to ask them about it.

"i thought you said you never had any problems before? you told me you never had any issues before but this- this is full of things that you- and you, you've been having these problems for that long??"

they stumble over their words, frantic, panicked, backpedaling on everything theyve ever said, trying meekly to grab the papers from your hands, piling excuses on excuses

"you knew? you knew you were having these problems, and you didn't tell me? and you- you told me it was my fault!"

you're close to tears, hurt that they lied more than anything. you keep backing away from them, dodging their attempts to get the forms. they don't know which is worse- seeing that look on your face, or when they were left without so much as a goodbye.

"you could have told me. i thought i was the reason for everything, i thought i was hurting you, and you just... you lied right to my face and let me think that."

theyre putting on their best soothing voice, movements slow and gentle, wanting to comfort you and wipe those tears away and reassure you somehow that this- this isn't their fault, none of it is, it never was, they're fine and you're fine and nothing was ever wrong, and everything will be fine if only you calm down and stay

you can tell they arent really listening. you take a deep breath and turn away from them, scraping the tears from your face. you tell them you're going to go home and write up a report about all of this and when you come back you can go over it together before you send it to management, but right now you're leaving because you need space to breathe and time to think

but all they hear is that you're leaving, and they panic.

they don't hurt you, of course! but right now you're not allowed to leave.

you try to shut out the sound of them crying and apologizing and begging, even if it breaks your heart, because right now all you want to do is go home and lie in your stupid bed and have a stupid cry in your favorite pajamas. but you try every door you can think of- none of them open. you've sstayed past closing more than once, but the doors aren't normally shuttered for another two hours,, and you're pretty sure the night guard isn't even here yet

the entire time you're walking around the 'plex, Moon is trailing sadly behind you, waiting with the saddest, most pathetic wet cat look an animatronic can achieve, for you to turn and face them again

and thus begins what is probably the longest night of your life, spent trying to avoid your animatronic friends/coworkers who are acting like the worlds clingiest ex who just got broken up with and who can't stop dropping sad love songs in ur dms

by the time morning rolls around, they agree to actually go to parts n services and cooperate and try their best to get whatever is wrong with them repaired, even if it means they might get decomissioned. in the mean time, you promise to come back once they're fixed and work with them to help them get back to their old selves- or at least, back to how they were before any potentially dangerous bugs

basically this is the 'sun and moon have abandonment issues and gaslight you abt it' au

idk what else would happen tbh idk why i thought this au needed to exist either but here we are *lays facedown in a puddle*

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staleclown · 2 months ago

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Cobalt

A/N: This is what freedom from academic burden does to a hoe. Very sorry (no I’m not) that I keep torturing our favorite blorbos. Enjoy yet another Connor whump fic :)

TW: Mild gore/blood, mild language

Connor’s sensors felt like they were all being set off at once, triggering a searing sensation he could only describe as pain. He was distantly aware of the rough, hot asphalt his artificial spine was pressed against, but the acute feeling of his blood leaving his body and soaking into the porous surface took precedence in his mind. He tried in vain to blink away the flurry of code and cautions clouding his sight, but before he could grasp any more of his bearings, something jostled his already smarting body, and he let his CPU pull him into a blissful stasis.

…

When he opened his eyes again, a shrill siren was cutting through the warm evening air, disrupting any processing he might have attempted, and deepening the splitting agony at the base of his skull. He screwed his eyes shut again, and as much as he longed for the numb darkness of stasis once more, he was reluctant to manually initiate it. The noise and the rushed chaos he dimly realized was taking place in his vicinity forced his damaged processors to become more lucid. Now that he felt like he was back in his body, a survival instinct he couldn’t remember having as a machine made him wary of losing consciousness when he wasn’t sure where exactly he was.

Despite the alarm clawing up his throat, Connor didn’t let his eyes open again. His sensors were still going haywire and the blinding heat of his injuries seemed more manageable without having to see them…or anything, for that matter.

A warm, broad hand landing on his shoulder startled him out of his half-conscious revelry, the resulting twitch sending more sparks dancing across his vision. He couldn’t help the cry that only managed to manifest as a short, high-pitched whine before dying in the back of his throat. In the sudden quieting of the siren, he felt pathetic, hoping that whoever was hovering above him—he still stubbornly refused to open his eyes—hadn’t heard the noise reminiscent of a kicked stray puppy he had just made.

A familiar gruff voice cut through the faint scuffling on the pavement a few yards away. “Connor? Kid?”

More sets of hands deftly settled themselves under his shoulders and knees, causing him to flinch so hard that he finally understood the human expression of “seeing stars.”

…

He was moving, Connor was sure of that much. Bright, sterile fluorescent lighting danced through his eyelids, and the surface below him felt a great deal softer than the cement he remembered from his earlier moment of lucidity. His mind felt foggy, and the overlapping voices, some commanding and others filled with concern, weren’t helping.

The hand returned to his shoulder and gave a squeeze meant to be gentle, but it still sent a fresh wave of pain over his body. He tilted his head away, only a few degrees, but it was all the effort he could muster, and allowed himself a mostly-quiet groan.

“Hold on just a little longer, Con, they’re gonna take care of you.” The gruff voice—Hank’s, his mind supplied belatedly—returned, and that was all the reassurance he needed to ignore his pesky instincts and allow himself to become encompassed in stasis once more.

…

“Keep him still, we can’t get a good angle if he keeps flinching like that.”

”Well, what the hell do you want me to do? The kid’s in pain.”

The argument only worsened the migraine slowly establishing its domain around the circumference of his skull. He wanted the voices to be quiet and whoever was digging around in the gash in his chest to stop. As more pain burned through his sensors, he thought bitterly about how his past self had been so adamant that androids didn’t feel pain. Well, he had known that was bullshit when he said it then, too, but the sizzling pain radiating throughout his body made him intensely aware of just how much he was eating his words at the moment. The prodding at his wound suddenly increased in pressure, and static wove through his sight, despite his continued refusal to open his eyes. It was illogical that he thought seeing the injury would make it more painful, he knew, but he hadn’t been functioning logically since he had been attacked. He startled again as the pressure over his chest only increased, and as his stress levels rose, Connor began to struggle against the hands exacerbating his discomfort.

At first, all he got for his troubles was a mumbled curse and a voice pragmatically saying, “He’s conscious.” As he struggled more, the curses were no longer mumbled as the hands he was fighting against only tightened, and more voices overlapped.

”Grab his wrists, Lieutenant.”

”And stress him out?” Hank replied, but his calloused hands locked over Connor’s wrists anyway, and though not very firmly, Connor only felt his stress levels tick upwards as he continued to thrash on the cool metal slab below him.

The hands on his wrists tightened, pinning him effectively to the table, his strength diminished by the damage he was suffering. Connor cried out for real this time, unable to keep his panic at bay.

“Connor, relax, kid. They’re helping,” Hank’s voice supplied, but it fell upon deaf ears as Connor’s sluggish processors slapped together several nonsensical constructions of escape routes at once.

“I’m gonna have to force him into stasis—,” a voice warned, and Connor didn’t even have time for his panic to increase over the statement before he was shoved back into unconsciousness.

…

The poor kid looked, in a word, awful. Limp and pale on the thin mattress of the bed in the android hospital—definitely not the correct term, but that’s what Hank called it—Connor was so devoid of his usual liveliness that it sent a painful pang through Hank’s heart. Still unconscious, the only indicators Connor had survived the whole ordeal being the soft whir of his ventilation system and the constant cycle of yellow at his temple. Finding him in that alleyway, unmoving and covered in his own blue blood, had been nothing less than gut-wrenching, and even the memory of it fresh in Hank’s mind brought him damn near to tears. Whether they were tears of relief or anger or distress, he wasn’t sure. While he had been assured that Connor’s self-healing program would resolve any issues the technician couldn’t fix in the moment, Hank wouldn’t stop beating himself up until the kid was healed, and even then he’d probably carry the guilt somewhere in the back of his mind. He should have been there. And he hadn’t been. And now Connor was in pain, or had been anyway, and that was bad enough, but—

Hank’s spiral of self-blame was disrupted by movement in his peripheral vision. He shifted to the edge of his seat, a hand landing on Connor’s forearm, though he was mindful of the thin tube of thirium hooked into a port in his arm on one end and into the bag of blue blood hanging next to the bed on the other. If Hank weren’t so damn terrified, he might have stopped to marvel at how similar it all seemed to the human procedure…or he might have stopped to be reminded of another time he had sat by his son’s hospital bed and waited on baited breath.

Connor’s fingers twitched, and his brow furrowed, the same pinched expression on his face as there had been as they were rushing him into the building. Hank had wondered if Connor had perhaps had some level of awareness then, or if he was just experiencing a spike of pain while still unconscious, and Hank had honestly hoped for the latter. Connor stirred a little more: there was a flicker of movement beneath his eyelids—like people do deep in REM sleep—and he shifted under the thin, scratchy blanket laid over him.

Hank lay his hand over Connor’s forehead. “Connor? You awake?”

He shifted again, lifting a weak hand up off the mattress, which Hank caught with his own. “C’mon kid, you gotta give me a little more than that. Open your eyes, son, it’s okay.”

…

Connor, albeit somewhat reluctantly, obliged. He cracked his eyes open, afraid to find pain on the other side. He was sore, but the pain was not nearly as agonizing as before. His chest was no longer throbbing from where he had caught a knife with it, though there was a lingering dull pain at the back of his head where some sort of solid object—very solid if the immediate disorientation and reverberating shock to his skull were anything to go by—had come in contact with it. But, the residual pain was much easier to manage, and he was no longer receiving warning after warning about his thirium levels and potential shutdown.

He was greeted by a small, lopsided grin from Hank. “Kid, you’re gonna put me in an early grave if you keep these near-death experiences up.”

Connor shrank further into the mattress, looking for all the world like one of those trembling dogs in the ASPCA commercials Hank distantly remembered from his teenage years.

”I’m sorry,” Connor mumbled, and Hank realized with a start that the kid’s eyes were welling up with damn tears. The whole ordeal, including Hank’s attempt at lighthearted humor, was pitiful in every sense of the word.

Hank moved his hand from where it still rested at Connor’s hairline, opting instead to squeeze his shoulder, much more firmly than he had before but still mindful of his injuries, as if he could wring out the emotional and physical pain he knew Connor had to be experiencing. Connor didn’t so much as wince this time, which Hank took as a positive sign.

“Aw, hell, Con, please don’t go cryin’ on me now. I was just teasin’ you, I promise. You just scared me, kid, that’s all. I’m just glad you’re doin’ okay,” Hank rushed to assure the android whose crying mechanisms looked so acutely human, even down to the way the muscles in his chin twitched as he clearly struggled to dispel the tears. “You are…doin’ okay, right? Or as okay as you can right now, I guess.”

Connor only bobbed his head, not trusting himself to speak and still be able to acquiesce to Hank’s request that he not cry.

“Alright,” Hank answered, though by his tone of voice, it was clear that he found Connor’s assent somewhat dubious. “Well, you tell me the second that changes, okay? I don’t want you collapsing on me.”

Another nod. Hank sighed as he reached out to ruffle Connor’s hair. “Good.”

#dbh #dbh connor #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #dbh fic #dbh hank #whump #found family #hurt/comfort

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archergrid · 1 year ago

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“I had a dream. I was in a strange land. A vast wilderness. I went on and on, but met no one. I called, I shouted... but no one answered. I was alone.”

-Akira Kurosawa, Ran

<< Ch1-5 Ch 6-10>>

Chapter 1

Look, I get this question a lot for obvious reasons, so I know you won’t like the answer. It’s dissatisfying. But, because you asked, the best cybersecurity commercially available is something called an air-gapped computer.

An air-gapped computer has no network card. You won’t see a cerulean ethernet cord spouting from the stern of the case. There’s no hard, hollow plastic antenna to receive a wifi signal. It doesn’t have Bluetooth. My compsci professor at Tech explained it like this: there’s a literal wall of air—a gap—between the computer and anything that could inject it with compromising code. This abstinence-only approach makes air-gapped computers cheap, simple, and impenetrably secure.

But much like celibacy, not a lot of people opt for the air-gapped method. What’s the point of a computer, they ask, without e-mail and Twitter and porn? And I understand that. There were days I got so dog-tired of the manual data dumps, of examining each file down to the binary before connecting the USB, of hand-transcribing scraps of code onto sheets of paper, of the day-to-day ennui of existence inside those invisible walls. But when I broke into a system, all I saw back then was each and every way very, very bad things could get in.

The air wall was better. It let me breathe.

My laptop had to be online so I could access those vulnerable systems, but my desktop was air-gapped—a little black lockbox of my pdfs, jpgs, pngs, mp3s, mp4s, xls, txts, zips, bins, bats, dats, all my associate backgrounds and every line of my code. Knowing how safe they were in there calmed me at times like this, when I felt Julian Ek’s omniscient data network watching me like an enormous, electronic eye.

Notifications came like machine-gun fire into my phone. My apartment was dark, black under blackout curtains. I saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing but automated search alert after automated search alert filling my notifications: ek trial, julian ek trial, ek trial update, ek trial verdict, ek inc, joseph chambers, joseph chambers shooting, joseph chambers deepfaEk, deepfaEk, deepfaEk scandal, deepfaEk shooting edit, deepfaEk trial. More and more, on and on. I With dread, I went to Twitter, and there it was in blue and white. #EkAcquitted. It was the #2 trending topic, below #NationalVideoGamesDay. My hands began to shake. It had to be misreported—a mistake. I searched “Ek trial” and clicked the first link, scrolling past Ashlan’s disbarment and the Marshals’ conspiracy convictions to read the 6 words I’d dreaded for 4 years.

Julian Ek acquitted on all charges.

Ek walked. I went to the Herald for nothing; became a fugitive for nothing. I gave up my parents, my friends, my condo—my dream job obviously. I blew my whole life up, and now I’m stuck here, all alone on the other side of the world. Jeopardy attached, meaning I was officially of no use to anyone; meaning I could never, ever go back home. This dusty, pitch-black 300-square foot apartment really was my life.

I was hyperventilating. Breath after keening breath, air refused to reach my lungs, only rattle in the back of my throat. My head and stomach and knees went fuzzy. My phone screen smeared as it slipped from my hands. I reached for it and missed. The clatter of it hitting the floor—the dull pain of my thigh hitting the floor too—degraded into garbling static as I sank into gasping, grasping unconsciousness.

#wlw #sapphic #lesbian #lesfic #lesbian fiction #sapphic romance #wlw romance #ff romance #lgbt romance #lgbt reads

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theoverstimulated · 3 months ago

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Went to the dentist this morning for my first appointment since my favorite dentist & favorite hygienist both left the clinic. Brianna (who told me she's currently not yet licensed so can only do certain tasks) scanned my mouth for a new night guard. She was slamming the machine against my teeth and couldn't get it to work in one spot so had to ask another person for help. Just started filling in at my clinic. Then, Stephanie was my hygienist. She sings along to the music while she manually cleaned my teeth with the metal scraper (instead of the gentle water scaler Jean used to use). Said she preferred to "feel it" as she cleans. Stephanie is currently pregnant. Due in October. She has a bunch of the same health issues as me (fibro, ovarian cysts, kidney stones) and would be using Lyrica & cannabis for her fibro but had to ween off cuz of the baby. She talked nonstop. The new dentist, Dr Regenold came in unmasked. Stephanie gave her one to put on as like a hint, and she just held it for awhile before then putting it on. Asked me if she should be masked for me, and I said something like, "my precautions have kept me safe so far, so I'm trying to maintain them." I thanked Stephanie for handing the dentist the mask & she said she respected me for my precautions "especially because of your fibro." Stephanie had covid 3 or 4 times. The dentist said my teeth look good, but there's a "bubble" in the gums above the bridge in the front of my mouth, so I have a referral to see an endodontist as that might be a sign of reinfection. I'm very scared about it and can't look up what that means if it is. Dentist said something about going into my gums to scrape it out. I had an xray there today, and it didn't show infection, but she wants me to have my follow-up just to be safe. They also talked me into a $68 fluoride treatment that's "like rainx for your teeth" and will keep them extra protected for 6 months. I have to go back in 2 weeks to pick up my night guard which will be a hard kind (not soft like I have now) cuz that's what this dentist prefers. I'm just happy it's a bottom one, and they didn't force me to get a top one (like another dentist in the past). I've been crying since I left. I'm very emotionally dysregulated at the idea my bridge might need more work or have to be redone, so I'm gonna be feeling unstable for awhile.

#personal update #dentist #emotional dysregulation #teeth trauma #the overstimulated

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sweethoneyrose83 · 9 months ago

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Steampunk Ask Game

Character and Persona

What is your character’s role in society—an inventor, airship captain, or perhaps a clockwork engineer?

Does your character trust machines or fear them taking over humanity?

What kind of goggles or monocle does your character wear, and what special function do they serve?

Has your character ever built a steam-powered invention that went terribly wrong?

What kind of Victorian fashion does your character prefer—tailored suits, corsets, or military uniforms?

Does your character believe in alchemy or just trust in science and steam technology?

World and Setting

What is the most impressive airship in the sky, and have you ever flown on it?

Is there a secret steam-powered underground city that few know about?

What major event led to the industrialization of your world—was it a discovery, war, or accident?

How do people in your world generate steam energy—coal, magical crystals, or mechanical beasts?

What role does the government or a ruling class play in the development of steam technology?

Are there factions or groups who are against the spread of steam technology?

Conflict and Adventure

What is the greatest invention your rival has ever made, and how does it outshine yours?

Have you ever had to defend your airship from sky pirates or rival inventors?

What forbidden invention have you been warned never to build?

Is there a legendary artifact from the past that could change the course of your world’s future?

What mystery from the industrial revolution haunts the city streets?

Who is the shadowy figure that keeps sabotaging steam machines all over the city?

Technology and Innovation

What is the most ingenious gadget or tool your character carries at all times?

How does steam technology affect the environment—do cities have to deal with smoke-filled skies?

Have clockwork automata taken over manual labor, and how do the common folk feel about it?

How do steam-powered weapons compare to traditional ones, and is there a new arms race brewing?

Has anyone ever managed to combine magic with steam technology, or is it strictly forbidden?

What is the most unusual source of power used to create steam in your world?

Culture and Society

What new social class has emerged thanks to steam technology?

How does the upper class view those who work directly with steam engines and machines?

Is there a growing movement of people rejecting industrialization and returning to nature?

Are there steam-powered vehicles other than airships that are commonly used by society?

What role does art or literature play in the steam age, and are there famous authors or inventors?

How does fashion incorporate steam-powered accessories or clockwork adornments?

#steampunk #ask game #victorian #creative writing #creative wrting #reblog game #tag game #games

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darlenefblog · 3 months ago

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Southern Living

Published on March 9, 2025

8 Things You Won't Regret Throwing Away

By Sarah Lyon

I agree with some and disagree with others. This is just my take on the professional organizers list. I'm cautious where she is not. Spring cleaning for me has started early. Being disabled means tackling a few things at a time; doing all the closets in the house in one weekend is impossible for me.

1) Unnecessary Cords And Chargers.

I don't have a drawer full but I have kept a few. I found the cord from my old phone fit my Fitbit watch. I have a few with standard size plugs, marked what they came from and have them in a container where I can easily find them. I tossed a lot when I straightened up the mess in my desk drawer.

2) Appliance Manuals. "Any guidance you may need can be found on YouTube or Google," she says.

Nope, I keep them, I have a couple of folders with the manuals and the purchase receipts. I have needed these on a few items through the years. It helps to know when you bought the refrigerator if you need to buy parts. Just filling out the warranty info may not be enough proof. Google & YouTube are fine but I'm not sold on throwing things out and trusting the internet. I love having YouTube for instruction videos when I want to fix something myself.

3) Food Storage Containers Without Lids.

YES. The lids never show up, they're in heaven with my missing socks.

4) Unused Kitchen Gadgets.

Yes to old unused things taking up space. No to seldom used but yes when it comes in handy. I have a rice cooker that I only use every couple of months but it cooks rice better than I do on the stove.

5) Old Medications.

How old and what is it. I've hurt my back doing yard work this past week & having the Lortabs left over from my oral surgery is a lifesaver. Other maintenance drugs I've stopped taking or switched for another one have to go. Dangerous to keep them around. Once a year the police have a drug drop off so they can be disposed of properly & not become fish food.

6) Expired Beauty Products.

Yes. Old mascara - yuck.

7) Old Paperwork And Bills.

Yes and no. I keep the bills in a folder for at least 6 months but a year is better for me. I compare year to year to see how much it's gone up & if I can save a dollar somehow. My gas bill was enormous last month, the utility company has to pay more & passes it on. I figured out the water tank was a problem & switched to quick wash in cold water on the washing machine. We'll see how it works out.

"If looking at a particular object in your home doesn't make you feel good, it may be time for you to finally part ways with it once and for all!"

Yes. I've kept things that belonged in the family that may not have good memories or much of a memory at all. I hung onto things just because it seemed disloyal to toss it. I posted a while back about Swedish Death Cleaning, the super clean out where you decide about these things & if another person might like them. The end goal is to get them out of the house: keep - toss- donate - give it now to the person you've been saving it for, why wait till you've passed on. That's what I've been up to for a while now & I don't regret it.

#stay organized #spring #spring cleaning #musings #housekeeping #cleaning tips #southern living #southern life

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breelandwalker · 1 year ago

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Hi Bree!! I've been following you for so long, your content is amazing and helped me a lot during the past years ♡

If you don't mind, I have a question about the thread spell! Does the caster have to manually fill the thread bobbins, or could it be done with a sewing machine?

Again, thank you for all the help, have an amazing day!

You could totally use a sewing machine or a bobbin winder to fill your bobbins, if that makes things easier. So long as you take time to give the bobbin a purpose with regard to the spell, the mechanical method of winding isn't really a factor.

Hope this helps!

#anachronismstellar #witchcraft #spells #money spells #wealth spells #magical mechanics #witch tips #Bree answers your inquiries

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scibot9000 · 6 months ago

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top albums of 2024 for me. i dont have spotify so i gotta do this manually.

rankings approximate. links and thoughts under the cut

Ship Sket - Pyretic Winter Ed1ts (2024)

kind of a late find and pretty short BUT wow this is some intense sound design that packs a punch and the bruises still live with me. i actually don't know what these are edits *of*, so I guess I have more to discover here!

---

Patricia Taxxon - Bicycle (2024)

this was an early find! i immediately fell in love with the (mostly) laid back textures and vibes. i really like the FEEL within the sounds.

instant favs with "Frat Claws" and "I Do" specifically, but throughout this past year, I kept coming back to "Chipshop" and "Boys". really visceral.

---

Fiesta Soundsystem - Pits (2024)

THAT'S THE END OF THE WORLD. DON'T YOU KNOW THAT YET?

man. idk why this stuck with me. what a journey. massive. it feels like vsnares if you extracted all of his harder sounds i guess?

---

VA - HOUSE7 (2024)

yeah im on this. but god damn it's filled with good tunes.

just listing some HUGE highlights: TIME AGAIN, ATLANTIC 909, HEPTAGONAL, GONE (NOW THAT YOU’VE), ANEW

and that leaves out several really really good tunes!!! this might be the best, most cohesive 10/10 thing that maj7 has put out and im proud to be on it.

---

K2 - Unrealistic Project Roadmap (2024)

this is ball shatteringly good chiptunage from a variety of generators. very often it feels entirely without limits. "Battle Against Laughing Satellite" is insane. "Battle Against an Inscrutable Machine" is sega genesis i think? it could pass as full-DAW. "Fairies of Floating Forest" you can feel the chips but. what limits?

---

Ben Böhmer - Bloom (2024)

absolute sunsetter anthem. this is why i keep an eye on ninja tune. "Hiding" rearranged my dna a lil bit.

listen. i am VERY picky about vocals so when I'm fawning over that track or "Rust" or w/e, it means something went right. and the instrumentals are just as beautiful.

---

Machinedrum - 3FOR82_D3LUX3 (2024)

what's this? a million collabs with vocalists? :(

oh, wait. wait a second. this is good. like really good. :O

there is an instrumental version of several tracks too, which is DELIGHTFUL machinedrum goodness, but you KNOW something is up when I'm saying I prefer the vocal version of "ZOOM". impeccable.

the fact that machinedrum went for a theme of "optimistic retrospection" really adds to the vibes too.

---

Autechre - AE_2022－ (2024)

of course I am forced to become obsessed with this.

fans have a wiki page dedicated to organizing and IDing each set. I have manually chopped them up based on that table.

I'm DELIGHTED to have multiple slow intro versions of "drane3"!! I love "three tone"!! "vineseve"!!!

#spotify wrapped

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sunieepo · 1 year ago

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tbh i've purposefully avoided posting anything about AI art onto any of my public accounts because i just know my opinions on it wouldn't be popular. and i'm saying this as someone who is really, REALLY passionate about art - creating and critiquing art are literally my lifelong passions. but so much of this AI art debacle has become about people making bizarre declarations about what is or isn't "real art" - defining it using nebulous metrics like "the soul" and such.

the ethical issues with AI art as it currently exists are undeniable, and i wish people would focus on that instead of trying to define what "real art" is. because the thing is, gatekeeping the definition of "real art" has been going on for centuries! there are still people today who think video games aren't real art, even. a few decades ago, there were people who thought movies (cinema, film) couldn't be real art! the definition of art evolves and grows, and i resist and question any effort to suppress that.

some thought exercises for people who think they can define "real art" so simply:

is animal-created art real art? are pufferfish nests real art? are elephant paintings real art? does an animal have to reach a certain threshold of intelligence in order for its creations to be considered art?

is duchamp's fountain real art? for those unaware, this was a mass-manufactured urinal that the artist signed and submitted for an art exhibition as is, with no alterations aside from signing it with a marker.

is digital art real art? remember that digital art comes from machines translating human input into pixels on a screen. is this an acceptable use of machine intervention in art creation because the software performing these actions was not created using machine learning? is it because the human has more perceived control over the output?

is photography real art?

is music real art? is music composed using digital software real art? if a song utilizes a heavy amount of sampling, is it still real art?

many digital artists use software that allows them to create layers with filter options that adjust the colors of the layers beneath them using an algorithm (overlays like multiply, screen, etc). in this case, the colors of their images have been digitally altered by a piece of software in ways that most artists don't fully understand. is the image created as a result of this process still real art? can the artist claim full human ownership of the colors, which were digitally altered using a machine algorithm? would your opinion on this change if the machine algorithms behind overlay layers were created using machine learning?

some digital artists make use of "pen stabilization", a type of software algorithm that manipulates tablet pet inputs into a steadier curve to remove jitter. are lines drawn using heavy amounts of stabilization still the artist's? can the artist claim human ownership of lines drawn using near 100% stabilization?

many digital artists will use stamp brushes to get past having to repeatedly draw a static pattern, such as to fill the leaves in a tree. this is essentially a glorified version of copy and pasting repeatedly, except that a software algorithm introduces semi-random rotations and color jitter to give a more natural appearance. is a tree drawn using this process still real art? does your opinion on this change if the artist created the stamp themself, vs downloading it from another artist? does it change depending on how granular the artist was with making manual adjustments to the stamp outputs?

what proportion of an image is allowed to come from stamps, filters, and software tool usage before it stops being real art? is photobashing real art? what percent of an image has to come from freehand drawing for it be considered real art?

are edits of other people's art real art? does your opinion on this change if the editor had the original artist's consent? what percentage of the pixels has to have been changed by the editor before it is worthy of being considered real art?

one popular usage of "AI art" is to apply an "AI filter" over an existing image, which takes a drawing and then utilizes a machine learning based model to alter the image pixels. is an image created using this process real art?

if a person generates an image using a machine learning model, such as stable diffusion, and then draws over that image, is the resultant drawn-over image real art? what percentage of the pixels has to come from a human hand for it be considered real art? what if it was only 1 or 2 pixels that were manually manipulated? what if the only thing a human adds is an overlay filter?

if a person generates an image using a machine learning model, such as stable diffusion, and has very strong intent and emotion about how they want the resultant image to look, tweaking their prompts and specifically trying many different options before the output is in accordance with their vision, why is this not real art? is it because they did not specifically intend on every single pixel in this image? what percentage of pixels in an image has to have specific human intent for an image to be considered real art?

in 3d animation, physics simulations are used to calculate the positions of moving objects, and then artists manually adjust the outputs in accordance with their desired product. spider-verse, for example, was partially created using a combination of "traditional" software and some in-house created machine learning models. is the animation created using this software real art? does it only become real art once a human has gone in and reviewed it? is an individual frame of animation that hasn't been reviewed by a person and was generated via software and simulations not real art? would your opinion of this change if the machine learning models had not been created in-house? would it change if the training datasets had been acquired unethically?

if a traditional artist closes their eyes and splashes paint at a canvas, is the resultant splash of paint real art? if the artist had no emotion or specific intent when casting the paint across the canvas, is this still real art? are pollock paintings real art?

can a mistake be real art? if an artist tips over a can of paint and creates a beautiful spill, could they present the canvas as is with no further alteration, and that resultant image be considered real art?

can art styles be "stolen"? do artist own their art styles?

do you support copyright law? how much inspiration is allowed to be taken from something before it is considered plagiarism vs derivative, and should derivative works be punished?

what is the precise difference between the way ai art "steals" art styles, vs the way a human being takes inspiration from them? remember that many machine learning models take directions and instructions from humans, and often do not learn in a vacuum devoid of human intervention.

some very popular artists, who i will not name, have been accused of having "soulless" art. these artists "mass-manufacture" their images to look very similar and consistent and have seen a lot of financial success as a result of their repetitive works. is their "soulless" art still real art, even if it was made completely without the use of AI technology?

were you bothered by images generated by dall-e, back before stable diffusion became popular? did you consider images generated by dall-e to be art? did you consider dall-e to be unethical?

what is it about machine learning models that separate any software derived from it from software made without the use of machine learning? why is the usage of an art program that did not come from machine learning seen as ethically superior? what is ethically wrong with machine learning models? is it only if the training dataset was scraped without acquiring explicit consent? is it only if the learning was performed supervised vs unsupervised?

can software itself be art? can you find artistry in the way a program has been written - in the lines of code created by a human? in the intent and emotion of the programmer who crafted a piece of software?

please note i'm not trying to be condescending by asking these, and don't assume you know my answers to these questions, either. these are questions i asked myself when i was chewing through these debates and trying to quantify exactly what i found so objectionable about many of these "what constitutes 'real art'" takes.

reblogs off because i don't want to engage with strangers on this topic. i'm open to debate but only if you're going to be civil about it. please remember that i'm an artist too.

#and if i may personally as a neurodivergent person who has never really felt quite fully human #some of the arguments being made really alienate me im not gonna lie!#anyways i dont fully know yet what i truly define art to be #but perhaps i enjoy it being some undefinable thing!#i think to me art is a conversation between the viewer and the creator #and art can be found in so many places where people dont traditionally think to look #art can be anything to me. it becomes worthy of critique because it evokes thought #i can't guarantee that whoever made something had intent or a soul or whatever #but i can guarantee what i myself feel in reaction to the things i view as art.#that's real enough to me and much more quantifiable than things i can't prove or know for sure.#i might delete this later and if i lose any followers i'm sorry LMAO.#i really don't mean to come off as pretentious im just really passionate about art and also about logical consistency #sunie posts #long post

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pup-pee · 2 years ago

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HAIIII :3 SPINS U!!!! HOW DO U MAKE UR BUTTONSSS, THEYRE SO NEAT ^_^

HAWOO!!! SPINS BACK @ U TYSM AA （＾∀＾●）ﾉｼ

NGL MY PROCESS IS SO MESSY(as in IM MEsSY & CANT EXPLAIN COHERENTLY) BUT ILL TRY 2 EXPLAIN IT!

((this got unnecessarily long bc i like 2 ramble so im doing this))

so-SO 1st is that all i was just handed a cookie hold on ok cookie ate i 4got what i was OH RIGHT OK SO ALL OF MY DRAWINGS R 1000 x 1000 pixals! or most @ least, so i have a consistent size 4 each of my buttons

HERES THE TIMBER BUTTON IM MAKING!! i dont use bigger canvus bc my phone will explode in not the silly way but i also like how it turns out!

i draw everything in ibis then like copy + paste it in2 google docs where i can size them! i usually make them a bit bigger than whats listed, 4 example 2.5 inch buttons r printed in 2.55/2.6 inches if that makes any sense (￣▽￣)"

i also select break text bc i tetris them around

then i print them out & use a cookie cutter thing 2 cut them out! i have a button pressing machine(all manual bc im not that rich) so its all about sandwiching from there

i could fill the whole page w/that pink background to give me a "cleaner" result but honestly i dont think it changes anything? as long as u dont see the white on the front. but it IS easier 2 cut it out if the border is thicker(which is y i add a border in the 1st place plus it looks neat!)

((this 1 got messed up in printing but since im not selling it i rly dont care LOOK @ THE CUTIES!)

sometimes the machine cramps up or i will 4get the film ontop so i have 2 redo the entire process again but i like repeated activities!

ISTG THEY LOOK SO MUHC BETTER IRL MY CAMERAS JUST SHIT & I HAVE NO LIGHT LSKAHFKD BUT YEAH!!!

did this make any goddamn sense? i hope so. btw my button machines name is huey :3

this coouldve been more of an ask on how i draw my buttons but ong thats even mroe boring so- dsakjdghj cause it literally jsut consists of me listening 2 wtnv dramatically & drawing @ like 1 am 4 4 hrs straight

KHFSKAG ANYWAYS I HOPE THIS ANSWERED SOMETHING!! SRRY 4 THE LONG(GER) POST TY 4 HTE ASK AGAIN! q(≧▽≦q)

#IM SURE THERES A LOT MORE COMPLICATED PROCESS BC THIS SEEMS RLLY SIMPLE KFLAHJDHF #but i feel like i wouldve cheated if i just said “i print them out & put them in machine brrr”#SO LONG #long post #or well #longer than i usually post bc i think ppl h8 long posts IDK #i try 2 keep my rambling in the tags :3 #BUT TIMBER TREAT 4 U!!!#im using this as a lil gift 4 preordering my keychains tehe #they wont b as big as this 1- bc haha capitalism BOOO BUT YK IDKD AKSJDG #puppee answers #jesus i keep adding 2 this thing whoopsies

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probablyanalienindisguise · 1 year ago

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I see you write things so have you written anything about robots not UK related?

Uhhh not UK related. I mean I've written a few that I never really got the chance to finish? Yeah they're my favorite concept but most of my robot writing has been reserved for homework assignments lmao

I have one here that's unfinished about a ship AI and it's captain's last words? ⬇️

All it took was a stray rock, along with a panic filled fumble to fall. Stupid really, yet he couldn't help the barest of human instinct to the result of an action.

The cord holding him tethered there had snapped.

Perhaps a miscalculation on his own part.

Maybe he should have picked a stronger one to support his weight?

He would be a liar to believe that though. Space had a certain weightlessness to it. You were left floating adrift with nothing to keep you in place.

The tension of him pulling back had broke the already weakened cord, and it was too late for him to realize before getting the chance to grab back onto something solid.

Maybe if he was quick enough he wouldn't have ended up in this situation; human error was hard to leave behind on Earth though.

The beeping on his wrist gave way to his next and most obvious problems with a blaring red sign, it counted down from its start.

- 4:00

- 3:59

4 hours meant nothing besides the delay of the inevitable.

He sighed before opening up another menu besides the horrid countdown.

- Transmission Delivered

- Transmission Accepted

He almost cried then at how the acceptance was almost inhumanely immediate.

"ASU?"

"Yes Captain?"

"I messed up.. and I don't think this one is fixable bud."

"I am aware Captain. Your cord came back half unattached. You are.. drifting."

He emptily laughed to himself, before falling silent. Noticing how his companion had drifted off itself with its sentence.

- 3:56

"Would you like me to make a transmission to base about your predicament?"

"No no. Not- not yet. Okay?"

"Understood, Captain."

"Can you stay on the line with me instead?"

"Of course."

He smiled, even if it was somewhat in vain, it helped some hearing his companion would stay with him.

"Can.. you just talk to me? Like if I was still at base with you?"

"If you wish me to, Captain."

"Call me Sam, ASU. You don't have to refer to me as Captain each time."

He wouldn't have believed it himself if he didn't hear it so clearly audible to his ears.

A laugh? Coming directly from the inner speakers to only slightly mimic the voice of his AI companion. It was merely a soft chuckle but it brought comfort to hear, especially from its unexpectedness.

For the first, and last time.

- 3:53

"Of course, Captain Sam."

"I feel like you did that on purpose."

"Perhaps."

He laughed himself at that input given.

- 3:50

"ASU?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Theres no bringing me back on board is there?"

"Unfortunately, no. Detaching parts of the ship, maybe. As they could be manually driven in theory, but I was designed to not detach any parts of the ship as protocol B. There was no way of calculating the risks as 100% failure that, they too, would not float adrift as well."

Sam hummed to himself at there even being an option such as that one.

- 3:40

"What will you do when I'm gone?"

"Sam?"

"You know it's the truth. Just tell me so I can imagine some kind of future. Even if it isn't my own."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. As if the machine was deciding on its next words carefully.

"I will request deactivation and replacement."

"What?"

"I will request dea-"

"-No!- No.. I- I get that. But.. why?"

"I am not sure how to explain it in simple terms."

"Then give it to me in non-simple terms. Please."

"I meant I was not sure of the origins of them myself. But, perhaps it is from you? The cause."

"What is from me?"

"It is you."

"Me?"

"Yes. In your entirety."

"What did I do?"

"You.. made me feel. The feeling of hopelessness specifically. The series of events that followed, from both our past together to the present now."

".. What about it?"

"Without you, I somehow find myself devoid of purpose and meaning. I have programs, yes. But it is more of a metaphorical purpose I find myself lacking without you in the picture."

"I am sorry.. for messing up. I thought you could maybe move on easier, than say another human would."

"Surely you cannot think yourself as that forgettable?"

- 3:30

He huffed out another breathy laugh as he looked down at the wrist device holding their call, with acute fondness.

"That's oddly touching and poetic coming from you."

"Saying that you are the purpose I have found besides my basic protocols?"

"All of it, really, buddy."

"I am incapable of lying for myself, Sam."

"I know, I know. But why deactivation?"

"I.. do not think I will be able to carry out a fake purpose when I am aware of a true one's existence. Deactivation is better than forgetting you to continue working correctly... I do not wish to forget you."

"I'm glad you think I'm worth invading your memory banks."

"It's not invasion if I enjoy the presence."

"Stay, please though."

"Why would I do that?"

"Keep my memory alive, you know? Who knows you might be the only one to really remember me as.. me. Not some name on a page."

"I never thought of it that way."

"I don't think most think of it that way."

"Yes.. I suppose I will keep your memories alive."

He smiled.

- 3:21

"It is saddening."

"What is?"

"How my calculations proved inaccurate."

"Which ones, ASU? You calculate things all the time."

"Well, I was under the assumption that, despite your horrible eating habits, we would have at least 45.4 years left together. Unless you chose to retire early. Thus leaving the ship completely. "

"I think that is just life ASU. Things.. happen. You can't predict everything exactly, even if you are a smart computer."

"I should have predicted the cords lifespan being numbered though."

"No. You know just as well as I do that you have no physical body to predict that sort of thing."

"I could have warned you."

"You couldn't have done that."

"It is apart of my system to warn the Captain of any risks."

"But.. you weren't aware of such a risk. Were you?"

"No.... I couldn't have tested the cords myself."

"Then it was out of your... metaphorical hands. It's okay."

The mechanical laugh that sounded from his companion sounded almost... saddened. As if an attempt to reassure itself. It caused him to frown.

- 3:00

"Would you have changed your choices in life?"

"What was that ASU?"

"Would you have done anything differently from the choices you chose?"

"Hm.. I suppose not. Well, besides the obvious."

"You're quite accepting of your current fate though."

"I have no choice, bud."

"I am aware of that. But would you not have changed a thing?"

"No. I'm glad I went to space, and im glad I got you as my partner to help. Even if it doomed me in the end.. the uh, space thing. I don't think you would've doomed me."

"I would try not to."

"Try?"

There was a slight tease in his tone that his companion picked up on almost immediately.

"I would not doom you."

"No no. I'm happy you'd try not dooming me."

"Perhaps I too am happy to not project you to purposeful torment."

"I knew you were alive somewhere in there."

"What, Sam?"

"You're feeling another emotion ASU. I just find that funny."

"I will try and feel more if it causes rises in your endorphin levels more often then."

"You have a little less than 3 hours to help my brain make more then."

He couldn't help letting out another small laugh at ASU's stuttered silence.

- 2:48

#asks #robots #writing #creative writing #ocs #ai oc

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