#ocular computing

[punk-possum333]

Day 8: me as the spiral~

This one took me ALL DAY to finish for some god forsaken reason… anyway-

I originally wanted to add the long fingers but… well- then I realized it might clutter up the image and also doesn’t really fit me as a person, so I decided to just do my normal stubs instead! I also made a custom design for the shirt-jacket and pants, the shirt pattern is based on clocks since I have time blindness. Which I think fits me as the spiral perfectly! I also finally finished the fabelnd “guy eats his computer” episode and-

HOLY F#CK ALOT HAPPENED-

But that’s beside the point…

(Also- I’ve decided to add the link to ocular-October in the “day _” instead of actually saying it!)

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙥𝙩2 ✿

characters: penacony men x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, slight angst, poor attempt at comedy, slight spoilers for some character story and 2.2 penacony quest, injury and blood mention

notes: another popular demand! this time with more cat bois!!! part 1 can be found here! tho this can be read as its own part too. genshin boys ver is here!

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

you just can’t keep yourself away from taking in random strays that are an absolute shit to you huh, [name]?

his breed? orange. that’s it, that’s the breed, what more do you want me to say? jk but he’s still orange. american shorthair orange me thinks. friendly, adaptable, easygoing, playful, good with children and other pets — a perfect american shorthair orange

you first found the poor thing at the streets, hiding under a vehicle, too scared to come out or any approaching humans. sweet cat had a broken limb, holding the dangling paw to his chest as he pathetically meowed

thankfully, you managed to scoop the orange cat up into your arms, wrapped up in your coat before rushing him to the nearest vet

since then, nyanturine has made his progress to be your next addition to an ever growing collection of cats

a strangely crow like cat. nyanturine likes shiny, expensive things. shiny rocks? his. shiny clothes? his. material that glitters? his. expensive earrings and diamonds? his. expensive jewelries? his. everything shiny and expensive that the orange cat lays his eyes upon is his now. pretty please, [name] buy him that earring for him to play with?

out of every cats at home — you sure your home isn’t a daycare for cats? — nyanturine gets along the most with dr.nyatio and occasionally with nyelt. the orange and brown cats can be found chatting away, peacefully settled on the windowsill

not so surprisingly, nyanturine is chatty as every orange cats are, except he needs to get used to the human first before turning into a yapper. with you, it only took a week spent in your arms for nyanturine to get used to your presence

just sit him beside you on the table behind his own mini computer with one of his favorite shiny earrings laid before him while you do your work on your own computer and nyanturine will be chatting your ear off in a storm. though, his yapping sometimes tends to irritate the other cats. dr.nyatio being one of them as you watched the bigger cat jump into the table before smacking nyanturine over the head with his paw

you were pretty sure you witnessed an attempted homicide between cats that day…

surprisingly, nyanturine also likes games! card games, poker, monopoly, uno. don’t ask how but somehow you once got bested by your damn cat when nyanturine placed down +10 on you at uno. you nearly ended up behind bars if it weren’t for meow yuan’s big floofy body holding you down—

he will push all of the tokens in front of him towards the table with a meow. sometimes, you swear you can hear “all in!” in his meows but maybe that’s the ghosts in your home talking

out of every cats you housed and still do till this day, nyanturine has the most unique eyes. cyan blue on the inside fading out into a pinkish hue. when asking about it from the vets, all they could do was shrug and say it could perhaps be a very unique ocular albinism or dna mutation. either way, your cats are a fucking model

nyanturine loves the mini fedora hat you made for him as a joke. wears it nearly everyday, every time, anywhere unless he accidentally knocks it over when zooming around the house

a solid kitty if you can get behind the creepy gloving of his eyes in the dark and his tendency to win against you in every poker games

art credit goes to nasuka_gee on twt!

you first found dr.nyatio by… huh? whatchu mean you didn’t found him? you’re telling me he just waltzed his ass inside your home one day through the window and has been making himself one of the many feline bosses of the house just like that? you sure dr.nyatio isn’t anyone else’s cat? [name]? [name], answer me…

well… whatever floats your boat i guess…

the most sassiest out of all of the fucking cats and that is saying something because you literally have nyan heng and meow yuan

a bengal, me thinks. snow lynx type of marbled tan and brown bengal. a smart piece of shit and he knows it, always yapping your ears off about a certain topic. more specifically, anything to do with algorithm, geometry etc etc

but compared to nyanturine and meowhill, dr.nyatio only ever yaps about those topics and those topics only. oddly enough, he kind of reminds you of one of those annoying lecturers at your old university…

very very curious cat. what’s up there? why are you late? what did you bring? what’s inside your bag? why do you smell so different?

pause.

why do you smell so different, [name]? where have you been? who have you been with? why are you later than usual, [name]? [name] answer him. answer dr.nyatio right now before he loses his shit—

oddly likes bathing time compared to the other cats. though, dr.nyatio is a diva when it cones to taking his baths. the water must be lukewarm, not too full so when he sits in the bathtub, the water will be around his low chest area. the bath must have bubbles and those cute yellow ducks floating around or he will not step inside the bathroom

do you think of him as a low class cat? how dare you, [name]

yeah… safe to say that dr.nyatio spends more money on shampoo, hair treatment than you do

gets along with every cats actually. other than nyanturine. the two tend to scuffle sometimes. and sometimes, you can find dr.nyatio just yapping away to the other cats while he points at… an encyclopedia? since when and where did he drag that out from?

dr.nyatio has an odd hyper fixation and obsession with ancient greek things. anything related to them and the cat is not leaving the site or the front of the screen, patiently watching and listening to the documentary about ancient greek and its architectures and impact in the field of mathematics

once, you decided to bring him along to your local clay making club for shits and giggles, making a mini ionic order pillars and he fucking loved it. loves to sit in the middle of the curved placed pillars and have his pictures taken like a model

dr.nyatio also loves the cute cat helmet like thing you made for him from plastic diy materials. it works as something akin to a mask for him and the bengal loves wearing it whenever you have to step outside with him

once, one of your friends who came over at your home asked you why you named dr.nyatio that way

“is he a doctor or something? what field is his research then?” they asked, unknowingly opening a jar of worms upon themselves. you simply opened up dr.nyatio’s favorite encyclopedia in front of your friend as the bengal cat takes his place, starting to yap up a storm as the cat points to random parts of the book

after a good hour or two, your friend turned to you for help, quietly coming to regret their decision. dr.nyatio didn’t take that kindly, smacking your friend’s face back to focus on him with his soft paw before continuing

yep. doctor veritas nyatio, everyone

“meaw! [name], mrrp ammmeow mrrep mrrya! you will refer to me as doctor and doctor alone!”

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

a very demanding grey korat breed of cat, mr.meowday is

he isn’t much talkative nor is he much affectionate. but what meowday is, demanding and loves control. you once asked your local vet for advice after months of the grey korat telling you exactly how to make his food, which kibbles to buy etc etc and the vet simply reassured you with a “korat breed of cats tend to be a bit demanding and intelligent. they love to be in charge so don’t worry” and a pat on the back

yeah… you have yourself another demanding cat that loves to make you his human slave alongside dr.nyatio. don’t you think you have enough cats reigning over you in your own home now, [name]?

you adopted the poor thing from a shelter near your workplace when you heard the poor thing constantly crying out. when asking the shelter workers, they said that the cat tends to do that at random hours of the day, just calling out for attention from someone or a certain something

taking pity on the poor lonely korat sitting in the corner of his cage with his back to the world, you decided to adopt him, making yet another dumb decision

really loves sundays for that is one of the days that you have time to spend the whole day at home with the cats. and you also love to dub the last day of the week as ‘lazy day’ and therefore, you decided to name him after it. meowday, he was since then

still, even after months of living with you and the other cats, meowday still sits on the window sling, meowing out for someone or something as he wistfully stares out the window. poor cat… you’re still having some problem trying to understand what was the problem and why meowday would do that so you can at least comfort the poor thing

one day while you were showing your co-workers who loves cats as well of your cats and landed on meowday. seeing the grey, elegant korat, your co-worker asked over and over if that really was your cat

you nodded with a furrowed brows, finding it odd that your co-worker would ask such questions. until they whipped out their phone, scrolling through their gallery before showing you… an eerily similar korat

same shade of eyes, same pose, same elegant manner — you would nearly mistake it for your own cat if it weren’t for the slight shade of white grey of your co-worker’s cat fur

a korat as well. from the same animal shelter you adopted meowday too!

after careful consideration and a lot of talk, you two decided to let the two felines meet on the weekends to see if they are perhaps lost siblings, parents or anything along the lines

finally, the day arrives and your co-worker comes over. a carrying bag slung over their shoulder as they step inside. meowday could barely care for your human companion coming over, it happens all the time and he had grown used to the presence of visitors unlike some of the other cats

until he hears a soft meow that sounded eerily similar to his sister. whipping his head around, meowday nearly broke his paws due to his sudden rough landing from the window sling, practically zooming over before tackling the smaller korat to the floor

sad yet happy meows coming from meowday, grooming the other cats’ face with loud constant meows. you were pretty sure that your co-worker’s cat was meowday’s sibling now

ever since then, the grey korat constantly scratches at your feet, doing his utmost best to silently ask you to let him see his sister again, nearly everyday. please just allow him to see his sister, he had dearly missed her. please, he will be a good kitty! the best kitty in the house!

meowday could barely go a day without glooming if he doesn’t see his sister, and so you and your co-worker arranged a weekly meetings and a video call everyday to allow the siblings to meow to each other through the screen

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

is it a mini panther? is it a dog? no! it’s just your one of the most chillest cats, gallagnya

he’s a havana brown like nyelt— wait a minute, what do you mean he wasn’t a havan brown like nyelt? you sure you got it correctly? the fur sample? huh…?

“gallagnya is actually a bombay cat. brown bombay” you can hear the vet on the phone, your face immediately going pale at the news of what breed gallagnya truly has been all this time as the said cat stares at you with a “mhm. that’s right” face from the kitchen counter

why? what was the reason you were suddenly going pale you ask? you were so sure that gallagnya was another havana brown like nyelt and has been feeding him nyelt’s kibbles for havana brown. in simpler terms, you’ve been feeding gallagnya the wrong kibbles

very wrong kibbles

but don’t worry, gallagnya is a chill cat and he immediately forgave you with a lick to your forehead the next day you came home crying with a bunch of treats and the correct kibbles for the shaggy, brown cat

gallagnya isn’t exactly a mean cat but he enjoyed the look of jealousy and anger on the other cats’ face as you pampered him day in and out for giving him the wrong kibbles. the bombay cat secretly hoped that you spent a little bit longer without knowing his exact breed so you could pamper him more. eh, oh well

the main reason your vet had a hard time finding out exactly what breed he was is because bombay cats aren’t the most easiest to spot or find out. it’s a bit hard to detect them and their breed since they are a human bred cat breed

but at least you have another big cat! third biggest cat after lion like meow yuan and cheetah like nyepard. safe to say you feel safe as hell whenever you go out for a quick walk with your three big cats

another funny thing about the story between you and gallagnya is that… you genuinely don’t know where the fuck the large cat came from. did he follow you home? did he slip in through the open window one day and made himself home? who knows. not you

at least gallagnya is chill. and nice. gets along well with basically every cat except for mr.meowday— “WOOF!”

“eh, it’s probably just the neighbor’s dog going out for a walk in the hallways of the apartment—“

“WOOF!” before you could finish your little excuse for the barking you just heard, you feel the heavy big body of gallagnya pounce on top of you on the bed, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs

… great. not only do you have hundreds of cats inside your home, three of them being nearly as big as predator wildlife animals, you have to worry about the third biggest cat being a barker rather than a meower

when and where the fuck did gallagnya even learned to bark rather than meow anyways? eh, that’s a question for you to find out next morning. right now, you were too damn tired and your bed was a siren that you willingly gave yourself to

you did not found out the answer to that question the next morning. even the vets were weirded out by it since, although bombay cats are indeed seen as dog-like with their playful and friendly nature, they never cane across one that literally barked like a dog

well… at least you can scare people away with gallagnya’s barks…?

art credit goes to Hanres4 on twt!

the siamese mom in me wants to say that meowhill would be a siamese, but the logical brain in me is shouting TUXEDO CAT

and yes, meowhill is indeed a tuxedo cat. one that just won’t shut up and leave you alone

going to the bathroom? let him come along and get real political while lying on the bathroom rugs while you take a shit

leaving for the convenience store? just let him stay on your shoulder while he yaps your ears off about which seasoning to pick— no, screwubaBOO THE KOREAN SOY SAUCE TASTES BETTER ON BARBECUE!

staying home and trying to type up your work on the computer? you have a free proofreader for you who wouldn’t hesitate to meow your ears off and point at some of the things you wrote. he will even sit on your keyboard

due to his yapper nature, meowhill tends to irritate some of the cats. especially those who love their peace and quiet and staying silent

which is a huge surprise whenever you find the mischievous tuxedo cat constantly beside nyan heng, the poor black manx looking dreadful as he allows meowhill to yap his ears off. you did not wanted to get entangled nor did you go over and wanted to hear what meowhill was yapping about

meowhill also gets along with nyagenti! the two cats seem to share a past together as when you first brought meowhill home, the tuxedo cat went straight first to the elegant norweigan forest cat

ah right, speaking of bringing meowhill in…

you found the poor thing with a rotted paws and bad burn wounds. poor little thing was burnt so badly it was hard to tell the color of his fur and he kept yowling in pain when you wrapped your coat around him to rush him to the nearest vet

sadly, his front two legs were badly broken and injured and had no way of recovering. and so, the vets had no other choice but to put him under anesthetic to cut off his front two legs and replace them with prosthetics

due to the nature of his injuries, meowhill required a lot of your and the other cats’ attention. recovering from losing both of his front legs and the nasty burn wounds is a long journey and meowhill needed the support from his new human friend and fellow felines

after a long and sometimes painful 2 months, meowhill had made a full recovery! the tuxedo cat’s fur grew back and he had gotten used to walking and sprinting on his prosthetic legs. you never realized how much of an energetic cat he was until you broke the news that he made a full recovery

though, like meowday, meowhill has a slight problem of constantly sitting on the window sling and meowing out the window. why? you didn’t know

is very protective of little nyanqing. you can find the tuxedo constantly nagging meow yuan and stealing meow yuan’s little cub away from him. holding the tiny munchkin by his scruff and taking him away to dote on the little cream cat somewhere in the house

it wasn’t until you took the tuxedo cat out for a shopping in the pet essentials store as a congratulations for making full recovery and the tuxedo immediately latched onto a tiny, white kitten plush did you connect the dots

poor thing had a kitten before…

you bought the white kitten plush for him of course. you don’t have the heart to wrench it away from him

making a trip back to where you originally found meowhill, you couldn’t find anything much other than an old, burnt, red scarf. you made an exact same replica of the mini scarf in secret and gave it to meowhill for his birthday gift, wrapping the soft silk around his neck snuggly before wrapping the same scarf around the plushie

ever since then, meowhill has been deathly clingy with you and the plushie. there isn’t a single day or night where you won’t see meowhill without the white plushie, grooming it, cuddling with it and taking it with him by the scruff of the kitten plushie

art credit goes to helen_zzhao on ig!

an elegant norweigan forest cat! is his fur, brown? burgundy? red? no one knows!

nyagenti is such a beautiful cat that he competes with meow yuan in their beauty level whenever you take them out on a walk. everyone wants to pet the elegant kitties and it doesn’t help that meow yuan and nyagenti are both such gentle kitties

gets along with every cats! anyone! your friends that came over for a game night, the sitters when you need to be away for a few days of business trip, the neighbors — everyone! nyagenti has no enemies

out of everyone, nyagenti gets along best with nyelt, nyan heng and meowhill. meowhill and nyagenti used to share a past it seemed as the two cats hit it off right away while the norweigan forest cat got used to the presence of nyan heng and nyelt very quickly

tends to yap sometimes — more like pray to someone or something — but isn’t as bad as meowhill or nyaturine

doesn’t really mind bath times but he prefers grooming more than bath times. he has a beautiful long fur and they’re very dense and thick so it takes the whole day for him to finally become dry so, please let’s just settle on grooming? he can bring over the brushes for you!

a very big gift giver! shiny jewels, pretty leaves that just fell, nice shaped rocks, cockroaches— nope. nuh-uh. you are NOT getting cockroaches as a gift even though the thought is swee— OH MY GOD HE DROPPED THE COCKROACH ON YOUR BED!!!1!1!

yeah… your friend looks at you as if you’ve finally lost your mind when they came over one day and saw hundreds of rat poisons, bug and insect killing sprays just racked on your shelf like you’re gonna sell them. in return you simply deadpanned back and pointed at nyagenti who already had another cockroach in his mouth

how did you ended up having nyagenti? who knows. at this point you gave up on trying to keep track of how, when, where you got your cats from. he probably just made himself known in your house one day and you simply accepted the sign from cat distribution system no.195826592649

such a gentlemanly cat. you joke that he can kiss the back of your hand to the guests and guess what? one day, nyagenti actually did do that. the look on the guest’s face will forever live rent free in your mind

really likes red roses for some reason. thankfully, roses aren’t toxic to cats unlike some other flowers such as lily, daffodil, hyacinths but nyagenti’s love for red roses nearly borderlines on obsession in a sense

when asking the vet if there could be any reason or explanation for this, they simply patted your back, told you that you had a tendency to attract weird cats and shooed you out. not fully, but they lowkey did that and said “roses have a nice scent that tends to attract cats or dogs. they might end up taking a bite from the flower but it isn’t poisonous or toxic, so no need to worry”

still, you’re getting tired of constantly living with red rose petals thrown everywhere in your house. so much so you have gotten used to it and just decided to leave it be. if your friend comes over and sees the rose petals as something romantical, you simply shove nyagenti into their faces

unlike the other cats, nyagenti isn’t the most clingy or affectionate cat. though, that isn’t to say he is cold and distant, he does love you! but he just shows it in small ways and in quiet manners

bringing over his brush for you to help him groom his beautiful thick fur, waking you up gently in the morning with soft meows and gentle licks, even knowing to turn on the AC on a warm temperature after your shower because you always come out shivering

and he is definitely the one who leaves the fresh red roses on your bedside nightstand every morning you wake up

[time-woods]

Hello, I was wondering since your always drawing if you had any tips for getting eye strain? My eyes get strained from staring at my tablet drawing and I get sleepy and sometimes even feel sick, thanks!

yes ! ive been struggling with this for a while as well- (ive recently found out that the headaches n stuff ive been having were ocular migraines with a scotoma))

id been having migraines like that off and on for the past few weeks and i decided to look into it, and now ive set aside breaks in my computer/ screen time. I either do some traditional art or just anything else to do with my hands like crafts, or go outside for a while, generally just taking a break from my screen, and i havent had one be triggered in a while ! thats what works for me, but there can be different triggers for headaches n stuff.

figuring out things to help out with this is honestly a life saver for me- cause whenever id get headaches like this that lead to the migraines id literally just have to call it quits for the rest of the day cause i couldnt see anything properly and i got so nauseous after the headache past i couldnt do nothin but sleep, so yea ! i highly recommend taking screen breaks !

[chaotictempleknight]

Greetings and salutations, my fellow homo sapiens using devices made out of metals, plastics, and various minerals that connects to an arrangement of intersecting horizontal and vertical lines that relays lines of binary characters into something that biological hominid constructs can perceive as arrangements of color and text as the result of subatomic particles known as photons bouncing off of the light receptors of the ocular organs of said individuals. I have the pleasure of presenting to you a file consisting of binary characters that depict a crude artistic representation of a character from the hit 8-bit interdependently developed form of play, played according to rules and decided by skill, strength, or luck, played by electronically manipulating images produced by a computer program on a television screen or other display screen, Undertale. This undead construct would like to inquire if you request a series of rather unfortunate events that will lead to a less than desired experience for committing an act in which constitutes an offense that may be prosecuted by the state and is punishable by law which led to the deliberate killing of a large number of people from a particular nation or ethnic group with the aim of destroying that nation or group, resulting in a decrease of an eclectic collection of entities known as monsters being shortened in number. Furthermore, the undead construct who shall hence forth be known as "Soons" has an incredibly high metric of what one would define as power, being capable of defeating other persons or things holding a position or performing a function that corresponds to that of another person or thing in another place of himself from different cosmic filaments. Soons' male familial member born in the same generation as him, the considerably above normal Papyrus, a member of the military force dedicated to keeping the denizens of the underground kingdom of Ebott safe, has confirmed as a result of one's own experience that that thing is true or accurately so described that Soons' ability to do something or act in a particular way, especially as a faculty or quality, is, to a great degree, greater than normal, in quantity, size, or intensity.

(This is something I drew back in 2017 with a PS4 controller in DA Muro as a cheap attempt to cash in on the trend of making overly simple and crude drawings to make fun of something... I looked it up today and it got a laugh out of me, so I'm posting it here because we totally don't have enough Sans on the internet.)

[mercury-waters]

so here's the first 1,000 words of my little experiment, rewriting A Study In Scarlet to take place in cyberpunk future-Chicago:

New Chicago is the kind of city that gets into your guts. Like hookworm. The silt of the sea, the lights perilously perched at the water’s edge as the waves lap at the mildewing apartments of the Scaffs and floods the temporary shelters of the Undertow. It’s a tough place to live, but everywhere’s tough now. New Chicago won’t hold your hand, but it won’t lie to you, either, and these days that’s in short supply.

I guess that’s why I came back.

I had no illusions that being a battle medic for the Conglomerate was going to earn me a life of leisure and luxury when I signed up. It was just that medicine, my only true calling, was the stuff of scanners and computer readouts now. All the major hospitals employed CATvance scanners to diagnose everything from the common cold to Ion disease. Even if I had dreamed of the glorious, tumultuous life of a paramedic (I didn’t), they’d gone the same way as the dodo when Conglomerate lawyers figured out that putting emergency medicine in the hands of bots would save them billions in malpractice lawsuits.

At the end of the day, anyone serious about the real practice of medicine signed up when the Conglomerate put out the call. Thousands of jobs in real, bone-setting, infection-fighting, hot-blooded medicine, needed on the frontline out West where the edge of the Federation of American States met the burgeoning power of the Diné Empire. I spent two years in the ranks of the 66th Light Infantry Battalion, where there were no CATvance scanners, no thermobots, no Surg-o-matics, and you could barely requisition a pack of plaster bandages without getting your ass lit up by your superior officer.

That is, until a Diné Sun-gun shot me clean through the shoulder. When it’s you, bleeding out in the dirt of the Lesser Plains, you wish you had the damn Surg-o-matics, because their needles don’t shake like the hands of mind-rended teenage soldiers.

The Conglomerate sent me home, half-stitched and addled with river virus from the stinking banks of the Mississippi. I spent the next six weeks in a hospital, though I remember little of it. When I woke, they told me I had been discharged, had me sign a military NDA with my good hand, and sent me back out into the world with a weekly allowance only big enough for a room at the seediest motel I could find and a half-glass of gin before bed to keep the nightmares at bay.

I lived like that for six months. I spent my nights in restless sleep, and my days sitting on the balcony, blearily looking out into the world I’d given my right hand to defend. I thought about leaving — I knew there were smaller settlements out there, places where you could still breathe without a purifier, even. But New Chicago gets into you. Like fucking hookworm. It won’t lie to you — it will whisper in your ear at night, saying, what I have is what you deserve. You belong here. You and the dirt of my gutters are made of the same stuff.

It was right.

I was contemplating this problem — half a fifth deep — at a moonshine bar in Motor Row, just above the Scaffs, when I ran into an old acquaintance.

Ford looked too nice to be there, that was for sure. His clothes didn’t smell like gin, for one, and he sported an Ocular, a kind of monocle-like implant issued to doctors at high-ranking Conglomerate hospitals. He sat down and ordered a drink before he recognized me.

“Jon?”

I winced when he said my name. Ford had known the version of me that existed a decade prior, fresh-faced and idealist, an exceptionally gifted member of the last graduating class of the Conglomerate Institute’s School of Medicine, after which the whole degree was discontinued in favor of a small certificate program. The Ford that knew me then didn’t know me now.

“Jon Watsin?”

I plastered a smile onto my face, ignoring how twisting in my barstool made my shoulder twinge. “Ford — I thought I recognized you.”

“Jon! I thought you’d gone out to the — what are you doing here?” He searched me, his Ocularly-improved eye whizzing around my person, no doubt diagnosing my arm, my blood-alcohol level, and my profound halitosis all in one.

“I could ask you the same thing. Bit of a dive, for someone who’s clearly doing well for himself.”

Ford smiled, almost guiltily. “Well…”

“In fact…” I had been sharp in medical school, once, but months of sickness and isolation had taken it out of me. Still, though, I knew a sore thumb when I saw one. ���Looking like that, I’m surprised you weren’t robbed on the way here.”

“I’ve just done the right work for the right people, Jon.”

“Damn,” I swore under my breath. “You’re harvesting for them, aren’t you?”

Healthcare in New Chicago was a simple affair. Pay your monthly fee to the Conglomerate, the gov-corp that cropped up in the city in the failing corners of the Federation, and the hospitals would serve you. Not for free, mind you, but even dying’s expensive these days. Fail to keep up your Conglomerate subscription, however, and you could only gain access to Federation clinics. Good for an antibiotic or an STI test, but not much else.

That left a gap. And gaps are filled with — what else? — organized crime.

Around here, it was the Hope Cartel, as in the Hope Family, as in the Hope Diamond. Need a new kidney? Dialysis? A bone marrow transplant? You could get it, for a price, in a Hope Cartel chop shop, a Frankenstein’s laboratory probably in the back of an auto yard or abandoned warehouse. But the cartel needed parts. And that’s where people like Ford came in.

“Relax,” Ford assured me, speaking quietly so as not to be overheard. It wouldn’t matter, though — if Ford was a cartel supplier, he’d be virtually untouchable, even in the dark alleys of Motor Row. “I’m Head Coroner at St. Lucy’s. What I take, nobody ever knows is missing.”

Well, that was a comfort.

I raised the glass of gin to my lips again, allowing the bitter liquid to ease the consternation that had lodged itself in my mind. “I’m not judging, Ford. There’s no angels in New Chicago.”

“There certainly aren’t,” Ford said sympathetically. “While we’re on the topic, want to tell me how you got your wings clipped?”

[mama-qwerty]

Robo Knuckles

Okay, a bit of discord writing. Something something, Knuckles is either turned into a robot, or his entire personality and everything that makes him who he is is downloaded into one. Think Metal Sonic, but in this case the bot kinda IS Knuckles. In a way.

I don't remember if we said this was by Eggman, but I don't think it was. Some other group of scientists or something. I dunno.

ANYWAY, this takes place years and years in the future, when Silver finds the long abandoned base where Robo-Knux is still living, his protective and guardian instincts still driving him.

This was started (as a number of these things usually are) by @nights-nonsensical-ramblings, and then I took it over because my brain went GIMME GIMME. I've noted the different places that Night contributed.

Night

As soon as Silver starts fixing up the old base the robot starts to assist. On closer inspection he can see that the robot has been trying to keep this place maintained, but it’s been a losing battle. The stubborn loyalty to his home reminds Silver of the original Knuckles, and he can’t help but feel deja vu from when he’s watched Knuckles work on Angel Island.

But that’s for another day. He still needs to help this poor abandoned robot and he promises he’ll return with more supplies to help fix the base tomorrow.

And for the first time in many many years a promise of fixing is kept.

Me

As they work together to get the place semi-functional again, the robot seems to be more eager to help. He's often standing at the front, waiting for Silver to come back. He doesn't speak, and Silver can't figure out if it's because his audio circuits are damaged, or if he simply can't.

Memories of Metal Sonic flicker through his mind, but Silver dismisses them quickly. This robot doesn't seem to have any ill intent. He actually does seem to be very much like the Knuckles he remembers.

Over time systems are brought back online. Lights flicker to life. Computers long dead blink awake. Silver isn't as good at technology as Tails was, but he can manage. He flicks through various programs, most of which are of no use or long since defunct. Until he finds the one pertaining to the robotic guardian.

Night

The robot stands beside him as he opens it, watching and observing him as he often does when there’s no task to be done. Silver found it creepy at first, but the robot’s gaze seemed oddly soft, like he was both curious and keeping a watchful eye over him.

Me

A lot of the files are corrupted. Silver can't tell the origin of the metal being next to him, but ultimately decides it didn't really matter. He was here now, what point was there to discovering how he'd come to be? The hedgehog decides to search for diagnostics and schematics instead, trying to make sure his new friend is functioning properly.

It's slow going. Silver isn't really technically inclined, and he needs the robot's help to decipher what a lot of the symbols and labels mean. Through trial and error they slowly begin repairing the metal guardian. Fixing some mobility glitches, patching a few frayed wires. They work for days on what appears to be a vocal speaker. Silver nearly fries the robot's ocular input sensors as he attempts to access the necessary components, and that scares the hedgehog so much he backs off, not wanting to do anything more.

Silver's retreated to the far end of the room, arms hugged around himself. What was he doing?? He wasn't Tails, he didn't know anything about machines, this robot trusted him and he'd nearly caused unfixable damage! He should go. Why was he here anyway? This place didn't exactly seem to be a threat, it wasn't useful to keeping the rest of the world safe. Why was he wasting so much time here? Just because this robot looked like someone he used to know?

Heavy footsteps behind him, drawing closer. He turned, and found the robot echidna mere feet from him. His singular functioning LED eye—the one Silver almost damaged—flickered softly as it locked with Silver's own.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Silver said, and he wasn't sure why he spoke aloud. He wasn't even sure if the robot could hear or understand him. "I don't want to hur—damage you any more than you already are."

The echidna-bot stared for a long moment, before reaching forward and taking gentle hold of Silver's wrist. The bot pulled Silver back to the computer terminal, gesturing to continue.

Silver hesitated. The robot stared, tilting its head toward the console. When the hedgehog still didn't move, the bot reached forward and turned him more square before the computer, and gave a little shove.

A little smile curled Silver's lips. It didn't just look like Knuckles. It seemed to have the same impatience, too.

"You sure?" His voice was soft, with a hint of shake. He really didn't want to mess anything else up. "I might make things worse."

The robot gave a curt nod, before pointing with its large metal mitt.

Silver heaved a sigh, before turning back toward the computer. "Okay. Let's do this."

Hours later. Through careful examination, meticulous comparing the picture on the monitor with the innards of the robot, and more than one near panic attack, Silver worked to repair the metal being.

They'd searched through drawers and cabinets, and managed to find a replacement LED for his . . . its right eye. It was bright green instead of violet, but it worked. The bot gave him a thumbs up when it flickered online.

The voice box was more intricate, and the two had argued over the design. Silver managed to remove what he thought was the speaker, but the robot kept gesturing toward the monitor, pointing at a different area.

"That's in your back, why would your voice box be there?"

The robot pointed almost angrily.

"I see it but that doesn't look like what we need!"

More pointing. A loud whirring sound emanated from its chest. It sounded almost like a growl.

"I don't think that's . . . ugh FINE. I'll check it out."

The bot nodded and turned to allow Silver access. The hedgehog was only doing this to show this stubborn bot that this wasn't . . .

Well, damn.

"You were right."

Silver pulled around the little device the robot had pointed to, and it did better match the schematics of the vocal emulator. The robot held its head up a little, and Silver could imagine Knuckles' smug little smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Finding it is one thing. Fixing it is something else."

It took a long time. Days. The wires were so fine, and the innards so delicate, Silver used his psychokinesis to maneuver around inside it, and even that was painstakingly slow.

But eventually it seemed back to functional order. He reinstalled it, triple checking that everything was connected properly before attaching the last wire. Once done, he stood back, brow furrowed in concern.

"Okay. Try to boot it up. Or whatever you call it."

The robot turned to face him, and its LED eyes flickered slightly as it accessed the repaired component. At first there was nothing, and Silver thought he may have either messed it up, or it had been damaged beyond repair. But then a loud, high-pitched whine split the air, and he slapped his hands over his ears.

The whine cut off, replaced with static. The robot beat its chest with a fist.

"zzzz . . . st-- . . . --pid thi-- . . ."

Another solid pound, and something clicked inside it.

". . . did it work?"

Silver's eyes went wide. His hands dropped to his sides and he stared at the robot.

It didn't just look like Knuckles. It didn't just act like Knuckles.

It sounded like Knuckles, too.

[pageuberalles]

Bob Bob is this AI generated or else explain yourself

Considering my background in computer science and working closely with various neural net architectures, I am indeed qualified enough to answer this question.

*loads the image into my ocular enhancement to have a closer look*

Now, let me see…

*takes a long pause*

…The piece you have presented appears far too sophisticated to be created by a machine-learning algorithm. I would hazard a guess our technology is perhaps, at the very least, 5 years behind this level of performance.

However, the question is…

Where did you get this?

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 28, 2024

Hierarchical control over foraging behavior by anterior cingulate cortex. Alejandro, R. J., & Holroyd, C. B. (2024). Neuroscience & Biobehavioral Reviews, 160, 105623.

Dissociable encoding of motivated behavior by parallel thalamo-striatal projections. Beas, S., Khan, I., Gao, C., Loewinger, G., Macdonald, E., Bashford, A., … Penzo, M. A. (2024). Current Biology, 34(7), 1549-1560.e3.

Active reinforcement learning versus action bias and hysteresis: control with a mixture of experts and nonexperts. Colas, J. T., O’Doherty, J. P., & Grafton, S. T. (2024). PLOS Computational Biology, 20(3), e1011950.

Alignment of brain embeddings and artificial contextual embeddings in natural language points to common geometric patterns. Goldstein, A., Grinstein-Dabush, A., Schain, M., Wang, H., Hong, Z., Aubrey, B., … Hasson, U. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 2768.

Optimal reaching subject to computational and physical constraints reveals structure of the sensorimotor control system. Greene, P., Bastian, A. J., Schieber, M. H., & Sarma, S. V. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(14), e2319313121.

Maturation of cortical input to dorsal raphe nucleus increases behavioral persistence in mice. Gutierrez-Castellanos, N., Sarra, D., Godinho, B. S., & Mainen, Z. F. (2024). eLife, 13, e93485.

Antipsychotic drugs selectively decorrelate long-range interactions in deep cortical layers. Heindorf, M., & Keller, G. B. (2024). eLife, 12, e86805.4.

Perceptual learning changes the amplitude not the shape of the temporal window of visual processing. Lin, L., Ruan, X., Liu, R., Zhu, J., Zhang, W., Lu, Z.-L., … Hou, F. (2024). Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 50(4), 523–534.

Learning leaves a memory trace in motor cortex. Losey, D. M., Hennig, J. A., Oby, E. R., Golub, M. D., Sadtler, P. T., Quick, K. M., … Chase, S. M. (2024). Current Biology, 34(7), 1519-1531.e4.

A role of frontal association cortex in long‐term object recognition memory of objects with complex features in rats. Masmudi‐Martín, M., López‐Aranda, M. F., Navarro‐Lobato, I., & Khan, Z. U. (2024). European Journal of Neuroscience, 59(7), 1743–1752.

Predictive coding networks for temporal prediction. Millidge, B., Tang, M., Osanlouy, M., Harper, N. S., & Bogacz, R. (2024). PLOS Computational Biology, 20(4), e1011183.

Unravelling the multisensory learning advantage: Different patterns of within and across frequency-specific interactions drive uni- and multisensory neuroplasticity. Paraskevopoulos, E., Anagnostopoulou, A., Chalas, N., Karagianni, M., & Bamidis, P. (2024). NeuroImage, 291, 120582.

Collective sensing in electric fish. Pedraja, F., & Sawtell, N. B. (2024). Nature, 628(8006), 139–144.

Stochastic attractor models of visual working memory. Penny, W. (2024). PLOS ONE, 19(4), e0301039.

Brain mechanism of foraging: Reward-dependent synaptic plasticity versus neural integration of values. Pereira-Obilinovic, U., Hou, H., Svoboda, K., & Wang, X.-J. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(14), e2318521121.

Space as a scaffold for rotational generalisation of abstract concepts. Pesnot Lerousseau, J., & Summerfield, C. (2024). eLife, 13, e93636.3.

A midbrain GABAergic circuit constrains wakefulness in a mouse model of stress. Ren, S., Zhang, C., Yue, F., Tang, J., Zhang, W., Zheng, Y., … Hu, Z. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 2722.

A machine‐learning tool to identify bistable states from calcium imaging data. Varma, A., Udupa, S., Sengupta, M., Ghosh, P. K., & Thirumalai, V. (2024). Journal of Physiology, 602(7), 1243–1271.

Ocular surface information seen from the somatosensory thalamus and cortex. Velasco, E., Zaforas, M., Acosta, M. C., Gallar, J., & Aguilar, J. (2024). Journal of Physiology, 602(7), 1405–1426.

Causal functional maps of brain rhythms in working memory. Wischnewski, M., Berger, T. A., Opitz, A., & Alekseichuk, I. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(14), e2318528121.

[woalis]

tumblr Themes

Computer

Win98

Windows XP

windows9800

Terminal - Linux terminal.

Terminal Flashback

neoTerminal

macOS Sierra Theme

TumblOS - Macintosh classic.

Woz - Macintosh theme.

Maccy - Mac OS 8 like.

Minimal Desktop Theme

General

Edwin - Polaroid.

Iconic

Stereo

Jonas Brothers The Album - Like a Field Notes notebook.

Chirp - Twitter like.

Chalkdust v.3.0

chromosphere

One Dream 3.0

tumblr like:

Official

Vision

Ocular

Redux

Wide:

Archetype Theme

Cutout

[separatedway]

Send ♆ for a BODY headcanon.

Talking headcanons:

I.R.I.S is a cybernetic implant that mixes some of the natural ocular tissue with an advanced augmented reality computer program that can see into multiple spectrums. The lens is made up of special metamaterials to make up the quantum optic metasurface, creating a kind of 'camera' without the heavy demand that having an implanted camera would have on the body. She still requires things like telescopes and spyglasses to spot things long range because of the limitations of the lens.

There is a small computer integrated with the visual cortex of her brain that powers the entire inquiry program.

I.R.I.S is only in her right eye because of the risks of the procedure and to accommodate for the natural mechanics that the brain uses for adjusting perception in real-time to deal with accomplishing tasks.

[trigrimoire]

Some Quick Notes For Anyone Else Headcanoning Albino Knives/Nai

From [NOAH]:

A common myth is that people with albinism have red eyes. Although lighting conditions can allow the blood vessels at the back of the eye to be seen, which can cause the eyes to look reddish or violet, most people with albinism have blue eyes, and some have hazel or brown eyes. There are different types of albinism and the amount of pigment in the eyes varies. However, vision problems are associated with albinism.

It’s the abnormal development of the retina and abnormal patterns of nerve connections between the eye and the brain that cause vision problems. The presence of these eye problems defines the diagnosis of albinism.

The degree of impairment varies with the different types of albinism. Although people with albinism may be considered “legally blind” with a corrected visual acuity of 20/200 or worse, most learn to use their vision in a variety of ways and are able to perform innumerable activities such as reading, riding a bike or fishing. Some have sufficient vision to drive a car.

People with albinism are sensitive to glare, but they do not prefer to be in the dark, and they need light to see just like anyone else. Sunglasses or tinted contact lenses may help outdoors. Indoors, it is important to place lights for reading or close work over a shoulder rather than in front. Various optical aids are helpful to people with albinism, and the choice of an optical aid depends on how a person uses his or her eyes in jobs, hobbies or other usual activities. Some people do well using bifocals which have a strong reading lens, prescription reading glasses or contact lenses. Others use handheld magnifiers or special small telescopes, and some prefer to use screen magnification products on computers. Some people with albinism use bioptics, glasses which have small telescopes mounted on, in or behind their regular lenses so that one can look through either the regular lens or the telescope. Some states allow the use of bioptic telescopes for driving.

Because most people with albinism have fair complexions, it’s important to avoid sun damage to the skin and eyes by taking precautions such as wearing sunscreen or sunblock, hats, sunglasses and sun-protective clothing.

While most people with albinism have very light skin and hair, levels of pigmentation can vary depending on one’s type of albinism. Oculocutaneous (pronounced ock-you-low-kew-TAIN-ee-us) albinism (OCA) involves the eyes, hair and skin. Ocular albinism (OA), which is much less common, involves only the eyes, while skin and hair may appear similar or slightly lighter than that of other family members.

[mantisgodsart]

Looks To The Moon Anatomy Post

Because why not?

Rather than having the "normal" two eyes, our Moon has three! The semistandard two, and an overdeveloped parietal eye, which also serves as her forehead marking. As her biological parts are primarily engineered from reptile-equivalent organisms, she lacks an opaque eyelid, instead having a transparent nictitating membrane like a bird or a crocodile.

The surface of all three of her eyes are made largely of a specific (semi-shatterproof) form of borosilicate glass, and is protected by an engineered biofilm that keeps them clean and moist while repairing most damage done to the surface of the eye. Though not indestructible, the glass outer layer keeps mainly-organic inner workings safe from most potential damage more effectively than a more organic outer layer could, and can repair itself within a few days while its native biofilm is intact.

Now what, you might ask, can she see with those eyes?

Absolutely fucking nothing. She's legally blind. She's been drowned enough times that foreign bacteria have entirely outcompeted the biofilm that would normally protect her eyes and her eyesight consists mostly of blurs, smudges, and vague light levels. A lot of her pearl reading is reliant on the fact that pearls are encoded in a format that can be read with equipment imbedded directly into her puppet's arms. If she wasn't a computer then she just wouldn't be able to read anything due to damage to her eyes, her ocular nerves, and... hell, her entire nervous system.

Thankfully for her, there's not a whole lot that really needs vision beyond "a bunch of blurs". It's more than enough to tell if there's something in her can, and figuring out what that something is a lot easier when you're stuck inside a single room and your visitors are either Scavengers or Slugcats, who usually have enough color variance to semi-reliably tell apart. She leans a lot on Overseer footage for things that need fine visual interpretation, once she's got them, which is really not a lot since pretty much everything she might need to do can simply be routed through the computer that is her.

A screen is just a useful way to lay out information, and though not being able to interpret one is annoying, it's really not that big of a deal when she can just look at the raw data instead. The screen's already running on her. Pebbles is close enough to just run any communication through the connection between their superstructures. It's not like she needs to interpret subtle expressions in real-time video data from structures that are miles and miles away anymore, right?

[marlenacantswim]

Fic ask,,, The Editor,,, "You're Gonna Need to Call A Doctor."

You're Gonna Need to Call a Doctor

He's alive. For a brief moment, he thinks this unfortunate, as if he were dead, he wouldn't be experiencing the ghastly stench of his pulverized boss. Former, boss, he remembers. As the events of the past few hours return to him, he tentatively opens his eyes, and sees only complete darkness— a rarity for him. The overall silence in his mind seems to indicate a complete shutdown of the thought broadcast system, and the darkness probably means there's no power to floor 500. It's strange: he almost feels asleep.

See, to minimize any excess heat, lighting on floor 500 was kept to a minimum, which of course necessitated ocular enhancement for The Editor. As such, since being chosen all those decades ago, he could always see in the darkest of environments, even with closed eyes. Add to that his constant operator-level access to the stream of consciousness only ever deactivating for his monthly rest, and it becomes pretty clear why his idiotic human instincts are yearning for a hearty nap at the mo. How blissfully unaware of them.

Alright, enough of this stupidity: where the hell is he? He hears the sounds of searing and thick bubbling, so he can't have been out that long. The amount of heat going on is also tremendous, but living and working in an icebox for several decades hasn't exactly tempered his perception of temperature. He tries to move. There's a lot of wet resistance; his backside must be covered in Jagrafess sludge. "So disgusting," he moans to himself, pushing himself away from the chilled wall of the lifeless computer system. In his panic from Suki's bafflingly strong corpse-grip, he'd rolled himself under the main console as a last-ditch grasp at survival. A typically brilliant call on his part, seeing as the metal paneling retained its cold temperature, and likely shielded him from the onslaught of molten innards.

His struggling motion must set something off, because a single light somewhere in the room hums to life. It's on for maybe a second before it fizzles out, once again leaving him blind. "Woooow, how thoughtful," he muses to no one. As he continues to inch his way out, he notices both his legs can move completely unhindered. A devilish smirk crosses his face: "Ohh, see that, you mole? Really tried your best, didn't you?" Feeling around for the edge of the console, he pulls himself up to a sitting position. "All the good that did you, ay Suki? Still had some kindle of life in you, and you wasted it! Your husk boiled away, and I remain completely untouched!"

As if on cue, that same bulb from before reawakens. The first thing he sees after the writhing masses of sinew coating the place are his legs: his left, loafer still shiny, and about two thirds of his right— the only two thirds that seems to be remaining. "Aw, what? No, that— c'mon!" How annoying. It'll cost him at least 3,000 credits for a new one. The end of it, still sizzling, sits in a pool of what he first assumes is anti-freeze, before coming to the conclusion that no, actually: that's just what his blood looks like. He's never really seen it before; always assumed it looked like everyone else's— just how much altering did Max do to him?

Whatever. No time for an identity crisis— he's got to get out of here. For one, it smells like absolute rubbish, but more importantly, it can't be good that he's... leaking, and of course he's got to get the bum leg thing sorted. He's still got administrator clearance for the lift, he'll just go down to the 417th floor, fork over the credits for a leg prosthesis, and blend in with the citizens of Satellite Five until some new, decent opportunity presents itself. He pauses, staring at his reflection in the blue-ish pool of his own blood. His irises are so massive, and his pupils more jarringly so in the dim light. Would the masses even consider him human? The surgeons would probably take one look at the foreign substance seeping from his wound and report him to... well, himself, he supposes. This is what he gets for being too good at his job.

Maybe their expertly curated xenophobia is right, though. Would his name— his real name— even show up in their systems? What would a medical scan reveal? They'd probably find his genome more analogous with one of those cold-faring species. Regardless, It's been so long since another alien's been on the station, the medbay no longer carries anything but iron-based blood— certainly nothing resembling whatever's flowing through his veins. A frown forms, unbefitting of his face. "Bloody hell, I look pathetic," he spits. Fine. Screw it. Guess he's having this identity crisis now. Who the hell even is he without the Jagrafess's influence? Not that it was particularly grand; must've been a pretty flimsy system if it only took one fool and a lucky break to blow it up completely. All that aside, it still gave him power and purpose, and now what has he got?

He perks up— Knowledge. He tilts his head, and a foxy grin sneaks back onto his mien. He's got knowledge. Valuable, valuable knowledge. Knowledge of the Doctor, and his time-traveling capabilities. That anomaly and his human plaything may have squandered his previous, let's say, "business endeavor," but they've shown themselves to be a far more lucrative investment opportunity. He brings himself to his fee— foot. To his foot, and cackles. "Oh Doctor," he sneers, "won't you be excited to see me again." Perhaps there are some benefits to his unexpected survival. How many people in the universe know that there's a Time Lord frolicking about spacetime unsupervised? How fewer can identify him by face alone? The Editor gives another scan of the alien remains around him, and bursts out laughing. "Sorry for the late notice, Max, but my resignation still stands. I think it will greatly benefit both of us." He points at a lifeless eyeball that wound up in the chair next to him— "Can I put you down as a reference?"

As he hears the metered sound of the approaching lift, he puts on his most pathetic pitiable face, and begins weaving his sob story.

It's about time he became his own boss, don't you reckon?

[susiron]

Man I'm having so many frustrating thoughts about my jaw lately and I want to SCREAM!!!

Like ah, here is a long fucking rant.

Over a decade ago, pretty much overnight, my quality of life did a 180 with a host of symptoms starting up. Tinnitus, visual snow, pattern glare, light sensitivity, ocular migraines, an increase in headaches, some vertigo, brain fog, and just this like complete inability to focus my eyes like I used to be able to.

I've always been really sensitive to stimuli, but ever since this happened it's been cranked up to 100. I get disoriented extremely easily, with really no good way to avoid it. Like if the lighting changes in my room, I get disoriented and feel exhausted. If I go somewhere with fluorescent lights and walk around, I get exhausted. If I look at repetitive patterns I get fucking exhausted and confused and I hate it.

I kind of snapped honestly. And I let my anxiety take over my life. I convinced myself I had a tumor in my head or something, and I was so scared to look into it that when I got an MRI order for a brain scan I just ignored it.

And I just kind of lived like that for a long time, constantly worried there was something fucked up in my head that I was ignoring.

And I know that's a shit way to deal with concerning health problems, but I was scared, and I have OCD and it was just sort of a Mess. And arguably still am.

I've been trying to figure things out now, finally getting over my anxiety. I got that brain scan-- nothing. Didn't realize how much anxiety that was giving me, for a decade, until I did it.

But I still didn't have Answers for why I feel like shit all the time. I literally just spend most of my time on a computer, and have for years, because looking at a stationary screen is a lot easier for my shit focusless vision to handle-- and even then, I STILL wind up exhausted and confused if I have too much stimuli on a page. (And I'm sure the eye strain from the computer doesn't help in ways, but I cannot stress enough that being on the computer is like the only thing that keeps me sane and focused)

But the thing is, at the start of all of this I was having jaw issues. Like really severe jaw popping on my right side and a lot of pain. And I did look into my jaw Years ago, and found out through an MRI (of the jaw, not the brain, so it didn't scare me to get at the time), that the right condyle of my jaw is literally deformed. Like your condyle is supposed to be rounded at the top, but my right condyle is shaped like a lopsided heart, and it's surrounded by scar tissue.

And at the time I like was given a jaw splint to sleep with and told I'd probably need surgery to correct it, but the pain was bearable so I never looked into surgery. And I've just sort of lived with the constant jaw ache since then since I figured it was just a bum jaw and I could handle it so it wasn't worth looking into more.

And now I'm actually doing research on all of the havoc that TMJ can cause. And I'm just kind of feeling like something of an idiot, because it looks like I had my answer a decade ago and I ignored it. And now I'm just a miserable 30 year old who's struggling to just be a person because I can't focus, and I'm in pain, and I'm tired and confused and at this point I can only assume my deformed jaw I've ignored for years is the root of it.

And now I've gotta like get in contact with my dentist to ask about those old MRIs I had, and I gotta figure out going to a TMJ specialist through my current insurance and just--

Ugh.

I'm so frustrated. I'm so tired. And I feel like I've wasted so much time and I've been trying so hard to do better and get better but it's a fucking mess.

And like my family is expecting me to snap out of the funk I'm in and be a functional person since that brain MRI o had came out clean, and it's just like-- I still feel like shit all the time??

Nevermind when my family says my screen time causes all of this, when I literally started having heavy screen time BECAUSE of these symptoms that made it difficult to enjoy anything outside of a flat screen

[omoghouls]

Currently written the start of a fic where my fallout oc gets jacked off my Modus in order for them to bypass some biometric scan within the enclave bunker- whoops

Here's a vague snippet

--

A jolting pain traveled down his spine. Sending the man to the ground with a sharp inhaled grunt and loud thud as body met concrete.

Tears blurred his vision. The room now an array of contrasting colours and soft edged blobs. One shape standing out amongst the rest.

"There are areas even we are not permitted to wander," the computer spoke, "I have been...unable to bypass the locking mechanisms through my data base."

Ben rubbed the back of his neck as the pins and needles sensation subsided, and the ringing in his ears lessened. His brow cocked as he concentrated on Modus' voice.

"It requires a biometric scan to pass through," Modus continued as Ben grappled with the wall in order to stand.

"So what? We find one of their eyes or hands?"

"Unlikely. Eyes are one of the first appendages to disintegrate upon death, and skeletal remains do not hold the proper dna required."

Ben groaned, looking at the barred door, fiddling with the grooves of the doorway.

"Okay, so we have zero ways to get in there, save for a nuke."

"Not...nessicarily."

The man looked over to the super computer plastered with Modus' visage.

"Spill it then because I have no clue how else we get past a bio scanner."

"In the realistic event of amputation or ocular liquidfication, they included a secondary, emergency biometric," Modus paused, "that of blood-"

"So I prick my finger and we'll be good to go?"

"...or in our case, semen."

A silence fell over the room.

"Beg your pardon?"

Modus took no time in relaying a response, "When created, you were given blood of the outsiders so your body would be acclimated to the new Appalachia. However," Modus paused, "in the event of a required pro-creation initiation, you were given the potential seeds of several of the head scientists."

Wamrth bloomed over Ben's face. He held no blood or seed of his own? The latter, although the saving grace in this situation felt worse.

[chriskhou]

Better

I resent you For your intelligence. You speak doubly For all the infinity you know beyond me Do you feel it when I struggle to follow your assertions? I do not care enough To accumulate the knowledge

You might be right about the puritans Definitely on the subject of the classics I'll probably never read those Too busy Too busy

When you look into my eyes as they stray about the floor, then the wall the ceiling - the rain outside The entrance and computers Do you see the blanks I draw? Ocular post-it notes Never to serve a purpose

I can't read eyes I just see fluid Some jelly I pause mid-sentence - Shake my head.